I nodded only half understanding what he meant. Was he concerned I would reveal that he was gay? Or that he had something to do with Gwendolyn's death? “Sure, it's not my place to say anything. I want everyone involved to be happy.”
“Thanks. I figured you of all people might understand, Kellan. Maybe I'll see you around again.” Sam tossed on his coat and left The Big Beanery looking partially relieved.
I needed time to process the whole conversation, but I was fairly certain Sam's attitude toward me had suddenly changed. Maybe he'd seen I wasn't bothered by his news and didn't need to worry about hiding the truth from another person. Or maybe he was cleverly keeping me confused so I wouldn't discover what'd really happened to his grandmother. I stood from my seat realizing I had to get to the debate. Nana D had forced Marcus to stick to the original date and location despite his every effort to change both.
Twenty minutes later, they both took to the stage alongside Lara Bouvier in Wellington Park. We sat in an outdoor amphitheater protected from the cool weather by dozens of heat lamps. Lara asked both candidates to share a personal message to the constituents. Marcus talked about how his family had been in Wharton County for over two hundred years, highlighting all the donations they'd given to build the hospital, promote the concert hall, and re-develop the Finnulia waterfront. Nana D countered with all the benefits her ancestors, the Danbys and Betschas, had given to everyone including creating jobs at the Betscha mines, developing the farmland, and organizing all the volunteer programs. She even cited the new opportunities she would commit to, including the suggestions I'd made to help clean up the Second Chance Reflections facility.
For almost the entire debate, they were neck and neck. Until it came time for the audience to ask questions. The first speaker asked Marcus how he would handle addressing growing concerns about the environment. Crilly Lake was starting to shrink due to limited water from mountain run-off properly draining off into its basin, and several of the older chemical companies in the area had been dumping toxic waste into the Finnulia River. A few had been caught but the latest readings on the cleanliness of the water showed a major focus was soon needed. The councilman had already been researching the impacts on the environment in the county and announced several plans he would put in place to stop the current offenders and increase the fines on future ones.
When it came time for Nana D's speaker to ask her question, she focused on Wharton County inhabitants who were worried that as the county grew more populous and offered opportunities for bigger businesses, how would it impact the percentage of funding we'd receive from the state in the future. Unfortunately, Nana D's full grasp on the political structure within the town of Braxton, Wharton County, and the state of Pennsylvania was still limited. While she was aware of what the county's citizens needed in terms of more jobs and less red tape, she hadn't learned enough about the risks of increased profits and revenue impacting the balance of what the state contributed to the county. She misspoke a few times about what she thought we should do, and Marcus called her out on it in his rebuttal. In the end, Nana D's supporters still rallied for her, but she took a painful step backward in the eyes of big business and corporate groups who had yet to reveal which candidate they planned to back.
As the debate ended, I listened to a few conversations and the news didn't bode well for Nana D. As much as the county's inhabitants wanted change, they were afraid of money being taken away from them as well as supporting a candidate whose experience wasn't as strong as they needed. I comforted Nana D who barely spoke on the walk back to the car. When we reached the parking lot, we saw a woman standing near a car and trying to keep herself from falling over. As we got closer, I realized it was Jennifer Paddington. I grabbed her hand and steadied her against my body. “Are you okay?”
“Kellan, yes, thank you,” she mumbled. After regaining her composure, she handed me the keys to her car. “Can you grab the bottle of water from the bag on the passenger seat, please?”
I gave the keys to Nana D who opened the door and reached for the bottle. When she got back to Jennifer and I, Nana D reached into her purse. “You look like you could use something to eat, too. Here, have an apple,” she said after taking a Macintosh from her purse.”
“What happened, Jennifer?” I asked when she leaned against the side of the car.
“I was feeling a little faint. It must be the morning sickness,” Jennifer said looking green.
“Um, are you pregnant?” Nana D asked.
Jennifer nodded. “Yes, I only found out a couple of days ago. It was a complete surprise.”
“But I thought you were going to the fertility clinic, Jennifer?” I said feeling dumbstruck by her last statement and our discussion at the toy store.
“I'd been going for the last year, but I ran out of money after the last one. I was shocked when I took the home test earlier this week and it said I was pregnant. I went to Dr. Betscha who confirmed it. I'm six weeks pregnant,” Jennifer said with the beginning of a smile forming on her lips.
“Congratulations! I guess the procedure must have taken after all,” Nana D added.
“No, that's not what happened. I know for sure the last one didn't work out. I got pregnant the old-fashioned way this time. I'm sorry to be so blunt,” she said wiping her cheek. “I'm still shocked!”
“You must be thrilled,” I added wondering what it all meant.
“Yes, definitely. Don't get me wrong. My body's been through a lot. It's trying to adjust to different drugs, getting pregnant, and my mother's death. I need to go home and rest, I think,” she said while getting into her car.
“You shouldn't be driving right now, Jennifer,” Nana D demanded as she looked at me. “Kellan can take you home. I'll follow him and we'll come back for his car afterward.”
“No, really. I can't trouble you both. I'll be okay,” Jennifer replied.
“If you think you can drive, that's fine. I'll follow you until you get home to be sure everything's okay. Is that alright?” I said. Jennifer nodded, and Nana D left for her car. As I got into mine, she texted.
Nana D: What was that all about? You're not the father, are you?
Me: What is wrong with you? Of course, I'm not.
Nana D: I'm just sayin'. I wouldn't blame you if you needed to address that side of your life.
Me: What side's that? Having children with a strange woman who might have killed her mother?
Nana D: Don't be a fool! If it's not you, then who's the father?
Me: I haven't a clue! I'm not even sure what this means in regard to Gwendolyn's death. Or will.
Nana D: By the way… are you seeing anyone? I think it's time you moved on. Emma might like a baby brother or sister one day. She'll stop asking about that puppy.
Me: This is none of your business. Especially right now. Go do some research for your campaign.
Nana D: Sometimes you can be a bad grandson. I've got a nerve to leave you outta my will now!
Me: Not funny! Maybe I ought to get you a glass of iced tea?
Nana D: Do you need another margarita lesson?
That shut me up quickly. When I got back to the house, I spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening updating my 'Who killed Gwendolyn?' chart. I had more questions than answers, but at least everything was written down. As I got ready to pick up Emma from gymnastics class, my phone rang. It was likely going to be the rotten cherry on the pinnacle of my bad day. “Hello, Myriam.”
“Good evening, Kellan. I just received the mail for the department,” she said in a perfectly normal voice. There wasn't a hint of sarcasm coming from her. Was she preparing for a sneak attack?
“Is there a reason you called to tell me this?” I asked as pleasantly as possible.
“Correct. There's a package addressed to someone who doesn't work here, but I believe you are the best person to handle it,” Myriam replied. Still no rage or peculiar Shakespeare quotes.
What could she be talking about? “Okay, I'll come by
to pick it up in the morning. Who's it addressed to?”
“Gwendolyn Paddington. It's also from Gwendolyn Paddington. It appears she sent herself something at Paddington's Play House,” Myriam noted.
There was only one thing I thought it could be—we finally found her revised will!
Chapter 20
Another night passed with hardly any sleep since my cold had turned into something much worse. While living in LA for nearly a decade, I'd avoided every possible germ and illness there was to catch. A month back in Braxton's harsh winters, and my body was ready to abandon me. I suppose that wasn't the only reason I couldn't sleep.
Once Myriam notified me about the package Gwendolyn received at Paddington's Play House, I immediately thought about rushing off to collect it. Then I realized it was probably a violation of federal law to open someone else's mail even if the person was no longer alive. Actually, it was Myriam who brought up that last part. When I told her that I'd stop by to get it last night, she discreetly tried to explain why she couldn't give it to me without proper approval. When I asked whom she expected to provide said consent, I listened to a litany of possible ways to legally transfer the document. I wanted to suggest holding a séance where Eleanor could contact Gwendolyn's ghost and ask her to haunt Myriam until she caved in, but I was certain that would send my vindictive boss to Second Chance Reflections for therapy. Even I knew that wouldn't be very nice of me.
Myriam had been too busy with the King Lear performance to discuss next steps, but she agreed to give me the document this morning if I had approval from both Gwendolyn's attorney and her estate's executor. Finnigan and Eustacia were kind enough to send me an approval via email while I'd been sleeping. All I needed to do was show them to Myriam when I went to teach my courses at Braxton. Except I felt so awful, I moved as slow as a snail with a hangover and broken shell. But my hangover wasn't from drinking alcohol, it was from a combination of cough medicine and various over-the-counter drugs I'd bought in a mad dash raid at the Nutberry Pharmacy the day before. Not only did they run one of the funeral parlors, but the Nutberry family also kept us well-medicated in life. I was still trying to avoid one of Nana D's infamous cures. She probably want me to drink some worm root and ground-up eucalyptus leaves. I'm only hazarding a guess as to her holistic cures as the last time I had a four-day leg cramp from running, she made me drink the most awful concoction ever. I still had freakish hallucinations and swore to myself I'd never again accept her brand of medicine.
I re-planned my lecture on the drive to campus, settling on showing a thirty-minute film and organizing the class into groups for discussions. I could walk around and comment as they were discussing it, then request a one-page paper summarizing their thoughts. It was not the way I preferred to teach, but there was little chance I could make it through the entire day when my body was in need of more sleep.
I called the sheriff to let her know about the package at Paddington's Play House. She asked me to meet her at Finnigan's office that afternoon to open it while she was present. I printed the emails—including signatures—after I finished teaching both classes and stopped in Myriam's office. “Good afternoon. How's your day going?” I said followed by a loud sneeze and several unattractive sniffles.
“Better than yours, Kellan. You look worse than usual. Out partying too much? I'd hoped you would take this job much more seriously and stay in good health. The students depend on us to educate them using our full potential,” she said while opening her desk drawer. She pulled out a small package of disinfectant towelettes and began wiping her desk as though I'd sneezed on her belongings.
“I'm not in any shape to engage in our usual combat fighting. And your wife asked us to play nice,” I said while handing her the printed approvals. “Signed by both Finnigan Masters, esteemed attorney for the recently deceased Gwendolyn Paddington, and Eustacia Paddington as the executor. I assume this will be sufficient for you to give me the package you received yesterday?”
“Leave them there on the desk. When I have a pair of gloves, I will sanitize them and put them in my files. It seems there is a plague upon both your houses.” Myriam's lips frowned as she stood and walked to the other side of her desk to read them.
Both my houses? Either she'd become more obtuse than usual or my various symptoms were playing games with my hearing. “Come again?”
“Not only are you riddled with some sort of disease you've brought on campus, you're caught up in another one at the Paddington estate with drugs and murder. I spoke with the sheriff this morning. She told me Gwendolyn didn't just die of a heart attack. There's murder most foul in the air.” Myriam used a pencil to move the top copy away from the bottom print-out so she could finish reading the approvals.
“I guess you felt the need to double-check my work. Shouldn't there be a stronger sense of trust between us?” I asked followed by another sneeze. I was certain I covered my mouth, but Myriam jumped so far away from me, I couldn't tell.
“I trust no one. Your papers appear to be in order. If you don't mind, please take your virus-ridden presence elsewhere. The package is over there,” she demanded and pointed to the corner chair.
“Well, you're a haven of comfort in a sick man's time of need. A regular Mother Theresa and Florence Nightingale all wrapped up into one generous human being,” I snarled before grabbing the package and leaving her office. As I turned the corner, I caught her nose wrinkle in anger and shock. There was no visible guilt or sorrow in her expression, only a satisfied repugnance I wanted to slash with a cleaver.
Although I had several administrative tasks to complete, I left knowing I couldn't focus on anything to save my life. As I drove by North Campus, Maggie texted to tell me she was looking forward to our date. My stomach sank when I realized I might not be well enough to socialize with her. I decided to first meet with Finnigan, Eustacia, and the sheriff, then go home to take a nap. If I felt as bad as I did now once I woke up, I'd re-schedule the dinner with Maggie.
As I was leaving, the DNA testing facility called me back to indicate they weren't authorized to tell me anything, but they would be in contact the following week with the person Gwendolyn had named as the individual to receive the results. They couldn't give me any additional information, which made sense given the need for privacy and security in the current day and age.
Thirty minutes later, I entered Finnigan's law offices at the base of the Wharton Mountains. He'd inherited the practice from his father who didn't want to be in the middle of all the action in downtown Braxton. He'd instead chosen a charming converted log cabin as his law offices so they could bask in a gorgeous landscape each and every day. When we all assembled in Finnigan's conference room, I handed him the package. Finnigan explained that he would need to authenticate the document by verifying signatures and ensuring it was the exact text copy he'd sent to Gwendolyn. He reminded us that all she was supposed to do was fill in a few names next to each of the bequeathals, sign the document in a few places, and obtain signatures from two non-interested witnesses.
Eustacia stared at him hard. “Just open it, will you. We've been waiting centuries for this dang document to show up.” She banged her cane on the wooden floor. As it reverberated against the walls, Finnigan tore open the package with fervor.
“I will need a copy of that,” Sheriff Montague said pulling her chair closer to the table. “It may not have any bearing on the case, but I always keep my records clean and up to date.” She turned to me as if I needed to be reminded of her keen attention to detail.
“Excellent point,” I said followed by another sneeze.
Eustacia handed me her handkerchief when I appeared to be in need of one to stop the drip threatening to explode from my nose. “You should talk to your nana. She's always got those miracle cures. Just last week, she fixed this rash I had on my leg. I don't know where it came from, but Lord Almighty, it wouldn't go away. I kept scratching for weeks until she saw it all red and puffy like a rampant fungus. Seraphina fixed me u
p in less than forty-eight hours.”
I choked on a small amount of bile that had propelled up my throat. “I'll do that.” When Eustacia looked toward Finnigan, I rolled my eyes wincing from the exerted pressure on my face.
The sheriff stifled a laugh as she leaned over in my direction. “You really do fit right in with your nana's friends, don't ya, Little Ayrwick?”
Finnigan cleared his throat. “I'll skip the normal approach when I read a last will and testament. Shall I focus on just the particulars?” he said looking around the room. We all nodded in agreement.
“Get on with it, Masters. I could die before you spit everything out. I'm not paying you by the hour on this one,” Eustacia snarled. Two more bangs of her cane on the floor.
Finnigan smiled and clapped his hands together. “Certainly. Let's see… okay, Gwendolyn Paddington split her fortune in half. Fifty percent was left to various charities and Paddington's Play House at Braxton. The remaining fifty percent of her estate was split equally among three people.”
Interesting. She'd included someone new since the prior version. Eustacia coughed. “Go on.”
“Millard Paddington, her brother-in-law. Timothy Paddington, her son. And Sam Taft, her grandson. She mentions leaving behind another letter that's meant to be read aloud at the final will reading. She explains why she made these decisions,” Finnigan clarified. His gaze swept across the room starting with the sheriff, then me, and ending with Eustacia. “Apparently, she left it with you, Eustacia. This note says it's safely hidden in something you depend on greatly to keep you living each day.”
The sheriff stood. “I think we need to read it, Ms. Paddington. That letter might let us know who would be angry enough about her decision and want to kill her. Hand it over.”
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