Divas Are Forever

by Virginia Brown

  “Brett Simon hit Sammy Simpson smack in the mouth and made him bleed. Then he said Sammy had somehow swindled the rest of them, and he’d see him in hell before he got a penny. I think that’s when Jackson Lee stepped in to separate them.”

  “And Brett Simon is an heir, I take it?”

  “He’s Deevine Faithann Grace Simon’s son, Walter’s great-grandson. Deevine goes by her middle name now, Faith. For obvious reasons.”

  “Hunh. She’s Deelight Tillman’s sister, right?”

  I nodded. “She moved away years ago but comes back for family occasions.”

  “Sounds like her son is a hothead.”

  “I’ve never met him. I know Faith is worried about his reactions and wants to get all the mess about the will straightened out before she has to leave town again. She called Rayna to see if she knew an investigator who could help.”

  Kit opened my car door for me, and when we pulled out of the parking lot, he said, “An investigator into breaking a will might have a difficult time going up against Jackson Lee. I imagine he dotted every I and crossed every T.”

  “It’s not Jackson Lee’s handling that’s in question. Apparently, there was an attorney up in Desoto County who wrote a codicil for Walter, giving Sammy everything.”

  Kit was quiet for a moment; then he said, “You know, I ran into Sammy and Walter up in Southaven not too long ago—about four or five months, I think. It surprised me, since Walter didn’t leave Holly Springs that often. Sammy said he’d been seeing a new doctor up there by the Baptist Hospital. Walter was his usual cantankerous self, bullying Sammy like he always did. I wouldn’t have thought much of it if Walter hadn’t asked me what I thought about a grandson who’d drag him off to a new doctor when he liked the one he had. He went on about it for a few minutes and seemed—well, out of it. He kept ranting about unrelated things—I just thought his new meds weren’t agreeing with him so when they left, I didn’t think any more about it.”

  “And now you suspect there might be more?”

  “I don’t know what to think. Walter wasn’t himself, but that happens a lot with older people. New doctors are a part of aging. Their medications have adverse effects or don’t work at all. The elderly often tend to blame those closest to them for their problems. They can even have hallucinations. Brain cells misfire. So it could be that Walter was just having a bad day.”

  I thought about it a moment. “What unrelated things did he rant about?”

  “For one thing, lawyers. He called them ‘bloodsuckers’ and worse. It just seemed at the time to be a random comment along with many others. He rambled on about people stealing from him, how his things were disappearing from the house and so forth.”

  Surprised, I asked, “Is any of that true, do you think? What kind of things disappeared?”

  “Sammy said he’d been insistent that someone stole the kitchen stove and replaced it with an inferior one. Walter agreed with that, saying it looked the same, but he knew it wasn’t since his eggs had burned.”

  “So he was just reflecting medicine or age-related issues. I remember that my grandfather had the same type of problems. He had trouble getting enough oxygen to the brain, I think.”

  “It’s likely that the family members who know about these kinds of issues will use them to challenge the will,” Kit said, and I agreed.

  Night air filtered in through the open car windows as we drove down 78 Highway, bringing the scents of meadows and cows inside the car. I thought about Walter’s behavior right before he died. He’d certainly done a few odd things, but I’d seen nothing like what Kit described. He’d been more upset about wearing a Yankee uniform than anything else.

  “I’m sure any investigator the family hires will find out a lot of this,” I said. “I’ll tell Faith or Deelight to be sure to have him talk to you, if you don’t mind.”

  Kit reached across the seat and took my hand, squeezing it slightly. “That’s why I told you about it. It may mean nothing, but if it does, then they’ll have the info at hand.”

  AS IT TURNED out, Kit’s information was of great interest to not only Deelight and her sister Faith, but to Jackson Lee as well.

  “Knowing the state of mind of an individual who amends his will is an important aspect for those who want to challenge it,” he said.

  “Are you going to represent the family?” asked Bitty, and Jackson Lee shook his head.

  “No. It’s a conflict of interest. I represented Walter with his original will, and now I’m Brandon’s attorney in the matter of Walter’s death. Our firm cannot represent their challenge.”

  We sat in Bitty’s kitchen at her table, drinking sweet tea and going over the information Catfish Carter had relayed in a written report. He was thorough, I had to admit, and even Bitty grudgingly agreed he’d found out a great deal in a relatively short time.

  “He’s done better than I thought he would,” she said. “Maybe people tell him things just so he’ll go away.”

  “Whatever works,” Jackson Lee said blandly, and I hid my smile.

  “So what we now know is that there were several people at the reenactment who wouldn’t have minded seeing Walter Simpson shot, right?” I asked. I pointed to three names on a sheet of paper. “Riley Powers surprises me. The other two, Mitchell King and Royal Stewart aren’t that big a shock, I guess. But Royal Stewart was supposed to be in jail. That’s why Walter had to wear the blue instead of the gray.”

  “Royal was released at ten that morning. While he wasn’t in uniform, he did attend the reenactment. Mitchell King wore a gray uniform, and Riley Powers was General Van Dorn.”

  “I wouldn’t think Riley would be able to get away with shooting him,” I said. “He was on horseback, and everyone was watching him. He’d have to know he’d be seen. What reasons do the three of these people have to dislike Walter enough to shoot him?”

  “Over the years, a lot of people have had run-ins with Walter. He wasn’t the most popular man in town. He and Riley had a business deal involving a piece of land out by Highway 4. Walter sold it to him as ten acres, but when a surveyor came in, it turned out to be only eight-point-two acres. Walter refused to refund him any money or do anything to make good on it. He said Riley should have checked it out before he bought it, and buyer’s remorse didn’t get refunds.”

  “Did Riley take him to court?”

  “Yes, but the contract was ambiguous in the size of the parcel and listed it as between eight and ten acres, which it was. Riley didn’t read it carefully before he signed it and he lost.”

  I shook my head. “What about the bank that loaned Riley the money? Surely, they would make sure it was what it was represented to be before issuing payment?”

  “Certainly they would have, but Riley paid cash.”

  Bitty sniffed. “Walter knew what he was doing, the old reprobate.”

  I agreed. “No wonder Riley was mad at Walter. And Royal? What was his problem with Walter?”

  “Royal and Walter had it out after a fender bender. Royal was driving down Memphis Street when Walter came up behind him too fast and hit him in the rear. It dented the fender of his car, and Walter said he’d take care of it if Royal didn’t call the police to file a report. It’d make his insurance rates go up, particularly because of his age.”

  “And then Walter wouldn’t pay,” I said, and Jackson Lee nodded.

  “Right. When Royal showed up with the estimate from the body shop, Walter chased him off his property with a loaded shotgun.”

  “Were the police called?” Bitty asked.

  “Yes, but it was a he-said, he-said situation and nothing was done. Walter had put away the shotgun by the time they got there, and Royal didn’t have any witnesses.” Jackson Lee shook his head. “Mitchell King sold Walter a lawnmower, and Walter took it back after the summer was over and said tha
t it didn’t work and he wanted his money back. Mitchell refused, of course, so Walter stood out in front of his small engine repair shop and told everyone that he did shoddy work and cheated his customers. When police told him he couldn’t be on Mitchell’s property, Walter just stood across the street with a sign. It infuriated Mitchell.”

  “You know,” I said, “I don’t feel nearly as bad about not giving Walter the gray uniform after all.”

  Jackson Lee laughed. “He was something else, even before he got old and senile.”

  “I’ll say.” I shook my head. “I’m glad I didn’t know him better. Then I’d be on the short list of people with reasons to shoot him.”

  Bitty scooted her chair back from the table. “Well, all those people have reasons to kill Walter, and Brandon doesn’t, so I don’t see why the police won’t drop the charges against him.”

  “We have to show cause, sweetings,” said Jackson Lee. “I’ll file motions. It’s not as simple as just saying he didn’t have motive so he shouldn’t be charged. His fingerprints are on the murder weapon, and he was there.”

  “Isn’t all that circumstantial evidence or something like that?” Bitty asked.

  Jackson Lee nodded. “Yes, but it’s an inference that can add up to corroborating evidence when presented. There’s a video showing him aiming the rifle almost straight at Walter. That’s direct evidence. We have to show that Brandon didn’t know the rifle was loaded, that he didn’t deliberately aim the weapon at Walter, and that the rifle was long-held to be inoperable. We have to muddy the waters, in other words.”

  It sounded nearly impossible, and I saw from Bitty’s face that she thought so too. It’s hard to prove a negative, and that essentially is what Jackson Lee had to do.

  After Jackson Lee left, I thought Bitty might cry. Instead, she drew herself up, sucked in a deep breath, and said, “Let’s go comfort Deelight.”

  Even though I knew it wasn’t just a mission of mercy, I nodded. “I’m ready when you are, Jessica.”

  “Jessica?”

  “Jessica Fletcher. Murder, She Wrote. You know. Angela Lansbury.”

  “Good lord, Trinket. I’m much younger than the character she played. Although I do admit, I’m not bad as an amateur sleuth. Maybe better than her, since she had a script, and I’m dealing with real-life killers.”

  It was my turn to say, “Good lord.”

  When we arrived at Deelight’s house, her sister was still there, and so was Brett Simon. One look at his face was enough to tell me he was furious. A rangy young man with blond hair already thinning on top, Brett paced back and forth in Deelight’s living room. Faith perched on the flowered sofa, hands clasped around her knees, a worried expression on her face.

  Bitty sat on the couch between the two and turned to Deelight. “Oh honey, I’m sorry that things haven’t worked out. I just can’t imagine what Walter was thinking.”

  “Neither can I,” said Deelight with a sigh. “I thought I was going to fall out on the floor when Jackson Lee read the codicil. My mama would be shocked by all this. I mean, it just flies in the face of family tradition. The Simpsons have always held together at family tragedies. I just cannot imagine why he’d do this.”

  “You know,” Faith said, “it’s not the loss of any part of the inheritance that bothers me, as much as it is the way it was done. Sammy should have told us about the codicil. For that matter, our grandfather should have told us.”

  “How long ago was the codicil written?” I asked.

  “In January. The twentieth, I think,” Deelight answered.

  “Four months ago. Kit saw Walter and Sammy in Southaven about that time. He said Walter was complaining about lawyers, among other things. There may be a connection if you want to check it out,” I said. “Perhaps there’s been a mistake.”

  Brett wheeled around to look at me. Rage twisted his features. “Sammy forced Walter to name him as sole heir. I’m sure of that. He’s been living with him for three years and had plenty of time to talk him into cutting out the rest of us. My mother should have her fair share! It’s not right, and I’m not going to stand for it.”

  Faith reached out a hand to snag his shirt sleeve. “Brett, honey—it’s not as if I expected to get much of anything. The house and land always goes to the oldest direct descendant, and that would be Mama’s brother, Uncle George. Not even he is supposed to inherit it all. I knew all that, and it’s never been about the money or house. Not for me, anyway. I wanted just a few things, the painting in the dining room and one of the Limoges vases that Grandmother collected over the years. That’s what was agreed upon, nothing else.”

  “Yes, we all chose something,” Deelight agreed. “I asked for one of the Fabergé eggs our great-grandmother collected. Grandmother used to take them out of the display cabinet and let me touch them when I was little.”

  “Only children and grandchildren inherit,” Faith explained to me and Bitty. “Unless there are no living children or grandchildren, and then the house and land would go to the eldest niece or nephew. In this case, that’s not an issue.”

  “So you’re only going to inherit the things like the eggs and vases?” I asked.

  Faith shook her head. “We get nothing. Not so much as a pencil, according to the codicil. I don’t understand it.”

  “That seems extreme. Walter surely left you the things you were already promised.”

  Deelight shook her head. “No, everything was left to Sammy. If he wants to keep to the promises already made, that will be up to him.”

  “Everything?” Bitty echoed in astonishment. “That’s awful!”

  “It’s complicated,” Deelight said.

  “It’s not tradition,” said Faith.

  “It’s outright theft,” Brett said loudly. He was fuming. I thought steam would come out of his ears at any moment, he was that mad.

  Bitty and I shut up. It seemed the wisest thing at the moment.

  Deelight managed a smile and asked, “More tea or cake?”

  I still had half a glass of sweet tea and a few bites left of Hummingbird cake. Bitty took more tea and “a small piece of cake,” so that left us alone in the living room with Faith and Brett.

  Bitty immediately leaned forward and asked in a hushed tone, “Who do you think killed Walter?”

  Faith started to shake her head, but her son had no qualms about replying: “Sammy. He’s the only one who stood to gain. Of course he killed him!”

  I could tell Faith was caught between wondering if Brandon had really killed him or if it was someone else, so I said, “The police will no doubt find the real killer eventually. It’s unlikely that someone deliberately loaded live ammunition in a rifle being used in a crowd of people.”

  Brett turned to look at me. “I wouldn’t put it past Sammy. He directed the reenactment, didn’t he? He’d have known who was supposed to be where.”

  “That’s true, but it’s rather obvious. Would he be foolish enough to commit murder in front of half the town and busloads of tourists? I don’t think so.”

  “Walter is dead, isn’t he? Someone killed him. I don’t for a minute think it was just an accident.”

  I hesitated, then said, “It seems extremely risky to shoot someone in full view of all those people. I just keep thinking it has to be an accident of some kind.”

  “Are you kidding?” Brett stared at me. “It’s the perfect alibi. Sammy wanted Walter dead, so what better way to do it than have it look like an unexpected tragedy?”

  “But what you’re forgetting is that my nephew was arrested for something he didn’t do, even accidentally. The heirloom rifle he carried is incapable of firing. I don’t know how it might have happened, but I do know that Brandon didn’t deliberately shoot him. And since he had the rifle that did kill him, it couldn’t have been Sammy. It’s dangerous to go arou
nd accusing a man unless you’re positive he did it, you know.”

  Brett snorted. “I’ll risk it.”

  Faith stood up. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. It’s bad enough that all this has happened. Must you make it worse, Brett?”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I should go on back home. I’m only upsetting you, and that’s not why I came.”

  Faith patted his arm and said softly, “We’re all upset. First the shock of his death, then the funeral, now all this about the will. . . . It’s just too much. None of us are ourselves lately.”

  I had the thought that some of us hadn’t changed too much as Deelight returned, and Bitty took her second piece of cake with a smile. “Thank you, Deelight. Faith, Brett may be right, you know. It’s true that my son had nothing to do with loading the gun that killed Walter, but Sammy has to be the most obvious suspect. Who benefits the most from Walter’s death? He does. And since Walter didn’t drive anymore, you know Sammy had to be the one to take him to a new lawyer to write up that codicil. I wonder whose idea that was. Somehow, I doubt it was Walter’s.”

  As Bitty took a bite of cake, I hurried to fill the appalled silence. “Of course, all that is just conjecture. None of us know what might have happened. The police are still investigating.”

  “Not to mention Catfish,” said Bitty after the bite of cake disappeared. “He’s running around town asking a lot of questions and poking his nose where it shouldn’t be, so maybe the truth will come out soon.”

  Faith blinked in bewilderment, and I explained, “Catfish is the name of an investigator who’s trying to find out what happened.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I think I heard that Jackson Lee had hired someone to help. He’s been doing some work at the insurance offices.”

  “I thought y’all didn’t have anything to do with the insurance office anymore,” said Bitty. “Not since Walter sold it, anyway.”

  “Brett works at a branch of MetLife, the parent company. They do the underwriting.”