Hidden Riches (7 page)

Winslow nodded in agreement.

While his sisters discussed or argued with their spouses, Clayton got up to look at one of the paintings on Rollings's wall. Muddied browns and greens depicted three hounds at the hooves of a big bay horse carrying a rider with a rifle. Looking at Archer, he muttered, “I've never understood the appeal of these country hunt scenes.”

“It takes all kinds,” Archer said.

“Hmm. Well, what do you think?”

“What do you think is the question?”

“We don't need the money,” Clayton said.

“No.”

“But ten thousand dollars is ten thousand dollars. That was nice of Ana Mae.”

Archer remained silent.

“You really have no opinion?” Clayton asked.

Archer grinned. “I have lots of opinions. You know that. But on this, it's a decision solely for you to make.”

Clayton shrugged. “I really don't care. I just want to get out of here. But I am curious about the rest of her so-called estate. What kind of estate does a domestic worker leave behind?”

“I'm sorry,” Rollings said. “But your time is up. I will need your decisions now.”

The heirs all returned to their seats—except Lester, who stood sentinel behind JoJo's chair.

Rollings opened the portfolio and picked up three manila envelopes identical to the one he'd given Rosalee.

“Mrs. Foster?”

“We'll . . . I'll waive,” Delcine said.

“As you wish,” Rollings replied, placing one of the envelopes back on the desk.

“Do we still need to be here, Mr. Rollings?” Rosalee asked, leaning forward. Her manila envelope fell to the floor. “It looks like you're done with me and Reverend Toussaint.”

“Please remain until we have concluded the proceedings,” Rollings said.

Rosalee sighed and sat back.

The minister picked up the envelope and handed it to her. Rosalee looked at it a moment as if she'd forgotten all about it. Then she opened it and pulled out the papers.

Rosalee gasped.

Eyes wide, she glanced at Rollings as if for confirmation and then shoved the bank statement back into the envelope.

“How much did you get?” Lester asked.

Rosalee opened her mouth, but no words came out. She just clutched the envelope to her chest.

The edges of Rollings's mouth curved up for the briefest of moments, then he asked, “Mrs. Coston, what is your decision in the matter?”

Before JoJo could answer, Lester placed a hand on her shoulder.

“All right, Lester,” she said, shrugging off his hand. “God, you can be a pain in the ass.”

“The decision is yours, Mrs. Coston,” Rollings reminded her.

“I'll take the money.”

“That's my girl!”

Lester bent over and kissed the top of her head like a good luck charm. “You're gonna be sorry, Margie . . .”

“It's Marguerite,” she said, ice dripping from each syllable.

“. . . you should have taken the cash,” he said. “I bet this is gonna be just like ‘Let's Make a Deal.' You've traded ten grand for a chicken coop.”

His chortles filled the office.

“Ana Mae did like her game shows,” Rosalee said. “She got that fancy satellite TV just so she could get the Game Show Network.”

“Oh, God,” Delcine said.

Winslow too practically moaned his disappointment.

Clayton and Archer looked at each other, and Archer raised a brow in question. Clayton shrugged. “That doesn't change anything,” he said.

“I sure hope not,” Delcine muttered.

Rollings handed JoJo one of the two remaining manila envelopes.

“Suckers,” Lester taunted.

“Mr. Coston, please have a seat,” Rollings said.

“And shut up,” Rosalee added.

Even Reverend Toussaint cracked a smile at that.

Lester sat, and JoJo, looking glum, handed over to him the envelope with the check.

Grinning, Lester settled down.

Rollings turned toward Clayton. “Dr. Futrell, that leaves your decision.”

Clayton glanced at Archer who simply said, “It's up to you.”

“All right,” Clayton said. “I'll play. I'll waive the money and see what the big mystery is.”

“Another sucker,” Lester said not quite under his breath.

“Mr. Coston.”

The warning from Rollings came in the tone of a principal giving a recalcitrant pupil one final warning before consequences were meted.

“All right. All right.” Lester pinched his thumb and forefinger together and ran them across his mouth to indicate it was zipped.

Rollings picked up the envelope Delcine rejected and, in a deliberate motion, placed it with the one Clayton turned down and tore them both in half.

Delcine sighed, as if resigned to the fact she'd made a bad decision.

The lawyer then aimed a remote control at a paneled wall, and it opened to reveal a large flat-screen television.

“Miss Futrell left final messages to you via a video recording,” he said. “She did this on my advice and recommendation so there would be no misunderstandings given her, well, as you'll see, her rather unusual wishes. These statements were filmed at her home with myself and another attorney from the firm present as witnesses.”

Rollings glanced around at the heirs. Seeing or hearing no objection so far, he gave a nod, then said, “Here now, in her own words, she will explain about the rest of her estate.”

A moment later, Ana Mae Futrell popped onto the fifty-two-inch plasma screen.

“Hey, everybody!” she hollered, waving energetically.

Rosalee and JoJo gasped.

“Oh, for God's sake,” Delcine muttered.

The men—Reverend Toussaint, Clayton, Archer, and Lester—just stared. Rollings watched all of them.

Ana Mae, wearing a floral print dress, spoke to them from her front porch. At her side a round pie-crust-edged table held a pitcher of lemonade and a glass. It looked like a sunny day in the spring.

“If y'all all are watching this,” she said, “it means I'm gone on to glory. Don't shed any tears, though . . .”

Delcine harrumphed. “As if.”

“. . . 'cause I'm walking with Jesus now,” Ana Mae said.

“Hallelujah,” Reverend Toussaint responded with a holy wave of his hand.

“Everett shoulda done read all that legal stuff to you. Now we get to the good part.” She grinned as a cat jumped into her lap.

“That's Baby Sue,” Rosalee said. “Diamond Jim is probably on the railing. He likes sunning himself up there.”

“Shh.”

“This here is one of my cats,” Ana Mae said. “This is Baby Sue. Diamond Jim is around here someplace,” she adding, looking around for the animal. “Anyway, back to this will and estate stuff.

“But first, I wanna tell y'all all how much I love each and every one of you, Delcine, JoJo, and my Clayton. You all made me so proud to be your big sister.”

Here, Ana Mae got choked up. She put the cat down and reached for a napkin on the round table beside her. She dabbed at her eyes. In Rollings's law office, JoJo swiped a finger at her own eyes, and Rosalee put Archer's handkerchief to use again.

“I wish I could have seen each of you one more time, just to give you a big hug.”

Reverend Toussaint cleared his throat and pulled a handkerchief from his suit coat pocket. Even Delcine looked choked up and damp-eyed.

“As Mr. Rollings should have told you by now, I had a little money and wanted to make sure everybody got equal. So that's what the ten thousand was for. Everybody equal. No matter what, I want everybody to be happy with the decision you made.”

On the screen, Ana Mae chuckled to herself. “The good Lord knows I wish I could see y'all all right now 'cause here's my news: There's a little bit more than that thirty thousand.”

“Huh?” Lester said. “What was that?”

Ana Mae poured herself some lemonade from the pitcher that had lemon slices floating on the top and then took a sip from the glass. After drinking, she let out an “ahhhh” and put the glass back down.

“I hope all three of you turned down the ten thousand because only Too Sweet and the ones of you who did can go on for the rest. In all,” Ana Mae said, “I got about three point eight million dollars in cash.”

“S
on of a bitch!” Lester hollered, jumping up as if his behind was on fire.

“Oh, my God,” Delcine whispered. She clutched Winslow's arm so hard he winced.

“Did I hear that right?” Clayton asked, looking dazed.

“Y'all all heard me right,” Ana Mae said from the TV. “I have almost four million dollars, but there's . . .”

“Son of a goddamned bitch,” Lester said, running his hands through his hair and pacing the office in frantic steps.

“Mr. Coston, please,” Reverend Toussaint said. “I have tried to be patient and understanding given the circumstances, but the profanity here is an abomination to my ears. And taking the Lord's name in vain is a blasphemy I will not be privy to.”

“I agree,” Rollings said. “Mr. Coston, please be seated.”

“Shh,” Rosalee said. “We can't hear what she's saying.”

With a look thrown in Lester's direction, Mr. Rollings rewound the video a bit.

“Y'all all heard me right,” Ana Mae said again. “I have almost four million dollars, but there's a catch.”

She leaned forward and pulled what looked like a blanket from the porch railing.

“Only the ones who figure out the clues in this here quilt I made can get all or a share of the money. That's the big money, I mean. And if nobody figures it out,” she said, “the money goes equally to Diamond Jim, Baby Sue, and Too Sweet.”

The preacher jumped up and hollered “Glory! Glory!”

Rosalee's mouth dropped open. “What?”

Clayton looked at Archer. “Is that another cat?”

On the flat screen, Ana Mae stood and shook out the quilt so they all could see it. “Good luck, y'all. Somebody's gonna be rich.”

The television screen went dark.

“Oh, my God,” JoJo said. “What have I done? What have I done?”

Lester, back on his feet despite the warnings, was pacing and looking for all the world like he wanted to punch something or someone, specifically Ana Mae. His glares in Rollings's direction gave testament to the living target he had in mind.

“We were tricked,” he said.

“No, you were greedy,” Rosalee said. She settled back in her chair, looking satisfied.

“Says she who's probably over there sitting on a cool million.”

Rosalee sniffed.

“One more outburst from you, Mr. Coston, and you will be physically removed from this office.”

As if to enforce the threat, the office door opened and a giant stepped in. He stood close to seven feet tall and looked like an NFL linebacker.

“You need me, Mr. Rollings?”

Rollings let his associate's presence cover the room for a moment. “Not just yet, Clyde. But do stand by.”

“Yes, sir,” he said with a nod.

When the door closed behind Clyde, Rollings looked at Lester, who'd suddenly turned a bit pale.

“Did Ana Mae really have three point eight million dollars?” Clayton asked.

“Yes,” Rolling said.

“And what's Too Sweet? Is that another one of her cats?”

“No,” Reverend Toussaint said, grinning. “That would be me.”

Despite his warning, Lester fell back in his chair with a moan.

“Honey, are you okay?”

The question came from Winslow and was directed not toward his brother-in-law, but at his wife. Delcine was almost doubled over, hyperventilating.

Clayton jumped up and was at his sister's side almost immediately.

“Get her some water,” he told Winslow. “Hey, Del. Take it easy. Deep breaths,” he said, taking her pulse. “That's it. Take deep breaths and relax. Relax.”

Rollings poured a glass from a sideboard and handed it to Winslow. Water sloshed from the sides as Winslow hurried back to his wife.

A moment later, Delcine sat up and started fanning her face with her hands. Winslow pressed the glass of water into her hands.

“Thanks,” she said. “I'm fine. Really.”

“She's just a little overwhelmed by the news,” Winslow added helpfully.

“That's one way to put it,” Delcine said, taking a sip of water.

Clayton checked her pulse again. “If you feel light-headed, put your head between your knees again.”

“I'm fine,” she assured her brother. “Thank you.”

“Mrs. Foster? Are you sure you're all right? I can call the paramedics.”

“No,” she said, nodding. “I mean, yes, I'm fine. Really. Paramedics aren't necessary. Go ahead with”—she waved an uncertain hand—“with whatever.”

“What have I done? What have I done?” JoJo was still muttering. She was up and at the door. With a hand at her mouth, she appeared to be biting her finger—maybe to keep from screaming.

With a flick of the remote control, Rollings closed the panel housing the television screen and faced the heirs of Ana Mae Futrell.

“I'm sure you have questions.”

That was an understatement. Everyone started talking at the same time.

“We were cheated.”

“How soon can we get the money?”

“Where did Ana Mae get four million dollars?”

“One at a time, please,” Rollings said, holding out his hands to halt the verbal assault. “First, Mr. Coston, you were not cheated out of anything. As the heir of Miss Futrell, your wife, Miss Futrell's sister, was the person who ultimately made the decision to accept the guaranteed cash offer from Ana Mae.”

JoJo leaned against the door as if it were the only thing supporting her. Tears were in her eyes.

“To answer your question, Mrs. Foster, the money, which as of August the seventh, the day Miss Futrell passed,” Rollings said, returning to his desk and the file with the last will and testament, lifting a piece of paper, and reading from it, “came to exactly three million, eight hundred fifty thousand seven hundred twenty-six dollars and thirty-four cents. It will be available immediately to the heir or heirs who solve the quilt clues. It can be a cashier's check, although a wire transfer is recommended.”

JoJo pressed a long-nailed hand to the door and whimpered.

Lester pounded the arm of his chair in mute frustration.

“Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus.”

Everyone in the office heard Delcine's thankful and whispered prayer.

“And,” Mr. Rollings said, turning to Clayton. “In answer to your question about the source of Miss Futrell's wealth, that, Dr. Futrell, is something you will have to determine.”

“I don't understand.”

“It's very simple,” Rollings said. “The quilt Ana Mae created contained information she wanted you to know. All you have to do, individually or collectively, is decipher the clues she left behind. When someone believes he or she has interpreted the clues, we shall reconvene here for an analysis.”

Rollings took his seat behind the desk and clasped his hands together. “I tried to get Miss Futrell to leave the quilt here since it is a part of her will, but she said she liked looking at it at the house. I'll ask you to retrieve it from her home and deliver it here for safekeeping,” he said. “The person or persons who claim the inheritance will receive it.”

“And what if no one does?” Archer asked.

“Then the quilt and the money go to Reverend Toussaint . . . and the cats.”

The minister, now over his initial glee, sat looking dazed.

“I saw Ana Mae making that quilt,” Rosalee said. “She never said it was anything special. But she did call it her legacy project.”

From the door, JoJo took a tentative step forward and then paused. “Uh, Mr. Rollings, can I have a word with you?”

The question from JoJo brought all eyes to her. She stood, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and looking pitiful. It was pretty clear to everyone what she wanted to talk to the lawyer about.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Coston,” Rollings said. “You made your choice. Ten thousand dollars is, in my opinion, a very generous personal bequest.”

JoJo shook her head. Then she hazarded a glance at Lester who, dejected, simply bowed his head.

“I'm sorry, Jo,” he said. “I didn't know. I just didn't know.”

“No one knew,” Rosalee snapped at him.

But Reverend Toussaint reached out and patted Rosalee's hand in a calming and comforting gesture. There was already enough tension in the room.

“Mr. Rollings, I really need to speak to you. In private,” JoJo added.

Rollings rounded his desk. “All right, Mrs. Coston.” To the others, he said, “If you'll excuse us for a moment.”

He ushered JoJo out of the office.

The room erupted behind him.

“I still don't get where Ana Mae got that much money,” Clayton said.

“Maybe she hit the Powerball or something,” Rosalee offered.

Reverend Toussaint shook his head. “Sister Futrell told me she never played the lottery before or after she won that scratching ticket. And I believed her.”

“It's called a scratcher, Reverend,” Rosalee said.

Reverend Toussaint shrugged.

Delcine and Winslow were again huddled together, whispering.

“This is the answer to a prayer,” Delcine said. “If we get this clue business out of the way today, we'll be able to get that wire transfer on Monday.”

She smiled, the sight rare and radiant.

“I wonder what she's out there talking to him about?” Reverend Toussaint said.

“Getting us part of that money. That's what,” Lester mumbled. Then he quickly turned around as if expecting the bouncer Clyde to bust through the door and take him down.

But when the door did open, JoJo came through followed by Mr. Rollings. He looked ashen, and JoJo was wringing her hands.

“What's wrong?” Archer and Lester asked at the same time.

Mr. Rollings guided JoJo to her chair and then, after again taking a seat behind his desk, clasped his hands together in what the siblings now recognized as his “serious” pose.

He cleared his throat, then took a deep breath.

“What happened?” Delcine asked, her joy of just a moment ago dissipated.

“Mrs. Coston has informed me that the quilt has been disposed of.”

“Disposed of?” Rosalee echoed.

“Oh, God,” Delcine moaned.

“This just keeps getting better and better,” Archer said, shaking his head in wonder.

“The quilt,” JoJo said. “I threw it away. I thought it was junk. There are so many throws and quilts and blankets and whatnot in that house. How was I supposed to know that that one was special?”

For a moment, no one said a word as the reality sank in.

They were on a treasure hunt and no longer had a map or a compass or any clue to what they were actually looking for.

Then, almost simultaneously, the outbursts:

“How could you be so stupid?”

“What are we going to do now?”

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” JoJo said, practically wailing herself.

Clayton got up and came over to his sister. He knelt at her chair and took her hand in his. “Hey, Jo. It's okay, sis. Really. Don't worry about it.”

“Don't worry about it,” Delcine screeched. “That's almost four million dollars she threw away.”

“Hey, stop yelling at her,” Lester said, coming to his wife's defense—even though he'd done his own share of yelling and berating. “That house is full of junk. It was an easy enough mistake to make.”

“That's easy for you to say,” Rosalee said. “You have ten grand.”

Lester whipped around for a comeback, but caught Rollings's eye. Without a word, he sat down and ran the zipper across his mouth again. But a moment later, he raised his hand, asking for permission to speak.

Rollings sighed. “Yes, Mr. Coston?”

“What if she found it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What if she's able to find the quilt?” Lester clarified.

Delcine, on her feet and now standing behind Clayton, glared down at her sister. “Do you think you know where it is?”

The question, which could have come across as a gentle query from Clayton, barreled out of Delcine like the demand it was.

Lester, still focused on Rollings, made an appeal. “If she finds it, let us back in the game for the big money.”

“Mr. Coston . . .”

“It's only fair,” Lester said. “She finds it and we give back the envelope.” He was already reaching for the manila envelope. Not finding it in his chair, he leaned over and grabbed it from the edge of JoJo's chair cushion.

Lester thrust the envelope at the lawyer.

“There was no contingency. . . ,” Rollings started saying.

But Clayton piped up. “That's fine with me,” he said giving JoJo's hand a gentle squeeze. “If she, if we, find the quilt, JoJo is allowed back in the clue hunt.”

He turned around to glance up at their remaining sibling. “Delcine?”

Holding her head as if she had a migraine and looking generally disgusted, Delcine scowled and then just said, “Whatever.”

Clayton took that as acquiescence and rose, turning to Archer. “That's legal, right?”

Archer looked at Rollings. “As long as all of the invested parties agree, I don't see a problem. Do you?”

“Well, there was no contingency for this scenario,” Rollings said. He mulled it over for a moment, then, apparently, like Archer, coming up with no legal objection, nodded.