Where There’s a Will

by Beth Pattillo

  She opened her well-worn Bible and turned to a familiar passage—the parables of “lost things,” as Paul called them. First was the shepherd who went looking for the one sheep out of a hundred that had wandered away. Then came the woman who searched tirelessly for her lost silver coin until she found it. Finally, of course, was the most familiar parable of all: the story of the lost son.

  Kate paused to read the familiar words once more. They gave her a little more insight into how Ellen Carruthers must have felt coming home and not expecting any welcome from her family. Although Ellen clearly hadn’t lived a prodigal’s life, Kate realized that, like the prodigal son, Ellen must still have had a strong need to belong. Perhaps that was why she kept the picture of Paul—more as an anchor to the past than a memorial to an old love. Kate hoped that was the case. She liked Ellen, but she also knew that lonely people were vulnerable. They sometimes tried to recreate what they’d lost.

  Oliver Coats, on the other hand, sounded much like the resentful older brother in the parable. If Oliver refused to even speak to Ellen, Kate was sure he wasn’t about to kill the fatted calf for the homecoming of his wife’s long-absent cousin.

  The long-standing dispute had evidently begun with Carol and Ellen’s great-grandfathers and continued to the present. Even if Kate solved the mystery, she knew it wouldn’t solve the problem of Ellen’s loneliness. The money from the sale of the land would help Ellen financially, but a reconciliation between her and her cousin Carol would be far more valuable. And in the long run, it might be the most rewarding result of Kate’s efforts to track down the paintings and find the missing will.

  “Lord, put me on the right path,” Kate prayed softly. “And help me to be as faithful as the shepherd, as diligent as the woman in her search for that coin, and as loving as the father who welcomed home his lost son.”

  Kate closed her Bible and held it in her lap for a moment, drinking in the stillness of the morning. For all the satisfaction she had experienced in solving mysteries in Copper Mill, she found helping people rebuild their relationships even more rewarding.

  With that thought in mind, she stood up and walked to the telephone to call Oliver Coats.

  SEVERAL DAYS LATER on a sunny Monday morning, Kate stood on the sidewalk in front of Oliver and Carol Coats’ enormous Victorian home in Pine Ridge. Beneath the shade of towering elms, the house dominated the quiet residential street. Gables, gingerbread trim, balconies, and a wraparound front porch made the home resemble Scarlett O’Hara’s bonnet.

  Kate took a deep breath and headed up the walk.

  Ellen’s cousin Carol and her husband were expecting Kate Hanlon, art student, not Kate Hanlon, sleuth. She felt a twinge of guilt, but given Oliver Coats’ treatment of Ellen, Kate limited herself to a twinge. Besides, thanks to Paul, she wasn’t lying about her reason for wanting to speak with Oliver. Her art-history project was a legitimate excuse.

  Kate’s low-heeled pumps tapped against the porch steps as she made her way toward the door. With no doorbell in evidence, she knocked on the screen door. For several long moments, the house remained silent, and Kate wondered whether the Coatses had forgotten the appointment. But then she heard footsteps inside, and a moment later, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged brunette in an old-fashioned print dress. The woman looked like June Cleaver’s dark-haired twin.

  “Hello—” Kate began.

  “Kate Hanlon?” the woman asked. Her furrowed brow indicated perpetual worry.

  “That’s me.” Kate smiled, hoping to alleviate the other woman’s concern.

  The woman unlatched the screen door and opened it. “Come in. I’m Carol Coats.”

  “Thank you.” Kate sensed that her presence somehow distressed the woman. “I hope I’m not early,” she added, even though she knew she was exactly on time.

  “No, no. You’re fine.” But Carol’s fluttering hands gave away her discomfort.

  “Your husband is expecting me,” Kate offered, unsure what else to say to the nervous woman, who was now practically wringing her hands.

  “He is.” Carol cast a quick glance over her shoulder and then turned back to Kate. “Would you follow me?”

  “Of course.” Kate forced a smile, trying to ignore the other woman’s strange behavior.

  Ellen’s cousin seemed more like a servant than the lady of the house. And her anxiety was contagious. Kate’s heart was beating faster than usual.

  Carol led Kate through the foyer and into a long corridor. Kate darted quick glances into each room as they passed. Beautiful antiques vied with luxurious oriental rugs for prominence beneath the nine-foot ceilings. Intricate molding and gleaming hardwood floors completed the lavish picture. The home had been painstakingly restored. Clearly the sale of the disputed land wasn’t a financial necessity for this branch of the Harrington clan.

  At the rear of the home, Kate’s hostess turned to the right, and Kate found herself entering an exquisite sun porch decorated in peach and cream. The dark wicker furniture boasted thick cushions, and here again several antiques—a beautiful inlaid occasional table and a small sideboard—added a restrained elegance to the room.

  “Please have a seat. Oliver will be with you in a moment.” And then to Kate’s consternation, Carol Coats disappeared far more quickly than she’d answered the door. Kate was left alone, when what she’d really wanted was the chance to learn more about Ellen’s cousin. She sat down on the wicker sofa and placed her handbag in her lap. In the quiet, she could hear a clock ticking from another room. The sun porch was warm, the air a bit stuffy. Several minutes passed, and Kate had begun to wonder whether Oliver would come, when a tall masculine figure appeared in the doorway.

  “Kate?” With his height and reserved manner, Oliver Coats was certainly intimidating.

  Kate rose to her feet. “Yes. And you must be Oliver.”

  He smiled, and the effect changed his appearance entirely so that he looked almost handsome.

  “Please, sit down,” he said, moving toward the chair opposite her. “I understand you’re interested in some pieces in my collection?”

  Kate forced a smile. “Yes. I’m doing a class project on your wife’s great-aunt, Lela Harrington. I thought it would be interesting to focus on a local artist.”

  Oliver looked puzzled. “For a class project, you say?”

  Kate nodded. “I’m an artist myself, in stained glass. I’m taking a class at Pine Ridge College for...well, for inspiration, I guess.”

  “How did you learn about my wife’s great-aunt?”

  His dark eyes pierced through her, and Kate swallowed. She knew she would have to navigate a fine line.

  “My professor showed me an example of her work. Her style is very striking. My professor said that Mrs. Harrington was known as the Grandma Moses of Pine Ridge.”

  Oliver didn’t reply, but he looked thoughtful.

  “My professor suggested that if I was interested in learning more about her grandmother’s work, I should contact you. She thought you might have some artwork of hers that I could use for my project.” Kate wondered if Oliver would mention his estrangement from his wife’s cousin. “If you do, I was hoping that you might let me photograph—”

  Oliver frowned. “I don’t think—”

  “I can photograph without a flash if you’re worried about the artwork deteriorating.”

  “Actually, I only have one of Lela Harrington’s paintings.” He shifted in his seat and ran a finger around the inside of his collar. “I have to apologize...” He paused and smiled again as if to turn on the charm. “I hadn’t realized just how warm it is in here. Would you like a glass of iced tea?”

  “That would be lovely.” Anything to prolong her visit. She’d learned in her sleuthing that the longer she could keep people talking, the more likely they were to reveal important information.

  “Carol!” Oliver practically shouted.

  Kate jumped and then tried to pretend she hadn’t been startled. Oliver’s mousy wife appe
ared in the doorway almost immediately.

  “Iced tea, please.” He was curt with his wife, but when he turned back to Kate, his expression was as pleasant as could be. “Do you prefer sweetened or unsweetened?”

  “Whatever you have,” Kate said, hoping to ease the burden on Carol.

  “We have both,” Oliver said decisively, and Kate felt a pang of sympathy for his wife. Oliver was clearly something of a despot in his own home. “Carol, just bring a tray with both kinds of tea.”

  Carol nodded and disappeared again.

  “Now,” Oliver said, “if you’ll come with me, I can show you the painting.”

  Kate followed obediently—did anyone follow Oliver Coats any other way?—as he retraced her earlier route through the house. Halfway down the long corridor, he turned into one of the rooms.

  “Here it is.” Oliver walked to the middle of the room, then gestured to a spot over the fireplace.

  Kate recognized Lela Harrington’s work at once. This painting, though, was nothing like the one Ellen owned. Hers was a gentle scene of High Hoot Ridge. Oliver’s painting portrayed the ironworks in full operation, with heavy streams of black smoke rising from the blast furnace and streaming across the canvas. Even the apple trees at the edge of the clearing looked wan and sickly. Where High Hoot Ridge had once been peaceful and pastoral, this work showed the ruinous effects of industrialization on the beautiful scenery.

  “It’s very dramatic, isn’t it?” Kate stepped closer to study the painting. “Even in the Primitive style, you can feel the impact of people on the environment.”

  Kate looked over her shoulder in time to catch Oliver rolling his eyes. He quickly stopped when he realized Kate was watching him.

  “I doubt Lela Harrington meant this painting as a commentary on anything. More likely, she was painting a scene from memory.”

  “She was alive while the ironworks were still in operation?”

  “Just at the end. She would have been a very small child.”

  “Yet it must have made quite an impression on her.”

  Oliver moved to stand beside her, his gaze on the painting. “How much do you know about the ironworks?”

  Kate hesitated. She wouldn’t be untruthful, but she also didn’t have to reveal everything she knew.

  At that moment, Kate saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Carol entered the room carrying a tray with two pitchers of iced tea and two tall glasses.

  “I’m sorry to take so long,” she said, more to Oliver than to Kate. She set the tray on a sideboard just inside the door.

  “Oh, what lovely crystal,” Kate said before Oliver could speak. “Is it antique?”

  She continued to make small talk while Carol poured the tea and handed glasses to Kate and Oliver. Oliver gestured for Carol to sit in a chair in the corner of the room.

  “So,” Kate said several minutes later in an effort to bring the conversation back to the painting, “what happened to the ironworks? Why was it abandoned?”

  Oliver grimaced. “A family feud, unfortunately. The ironworks was profitable, but for years the ore had to be brought down from the ridge by mule cart. In the late 1800s, other ironworks began building railroad spurs up to their works so they could move the ore faster. Carol’s great-grandfather and his brother disagreed about building a spur to High Hoot Ridge. The brother was against it, and Carol’s great-grandfather couldn’t build without his brother’s consent.” Oliver’s voice was bitter, as if he’d personally participated in the disagreement between the brothers.

  “And that shut down the ironworks?” Kate asked.

  “Not immediately.” Oliver took a long drink of his iced tea. “But eventually the brothers couldn’t keep up with their competition. By the time they died, they’d closed up the ironworks, and Harrington, the company town, was abandoned. The only remaining legacy was the name of the county.”

  “Were there ever any attempts to reopen the ironworks?”

  “Carol’s grandfather considered it, but by then...well, it wasn’t worth the investment that would have been necessary to make them operational again.”

  “So it’s all still there, on High Hoot Ridge?”

  Oliver nodded. “For now. Although I expect it to be sold shortly.”

  “Sold?” Kate tried to hide her surprise. Ellen had mentioned the offer from the state, but the sale hadn’t sounded imminent. “To whom?”

  “A paper company,” Oliver answered. “They can make good use of the land.”

  Kate bit her lip to hide her surprise at this news. She wanted to ask more questions, but she didn’t want to draw Oliver’s suspicions, so she changed the subject.

  “Have you ever been up there?” Kate asked, looking at Carol.

  “Not since she was a child,” Oliver said, answering for his wife. “No need, really. What’s there to see?”

  Kate wondered that anyone could be so indifferent to his wife’s heritage. “Yet you put the painting in a place of prominence?”

  Oliver shrugged. “It’s a valuable piece of art. And it does hold some sentimental value, I suppose.”

  Kate could understand why Ellen wasn’t fond of her cousin’s husband. His arrogance and coldhearted pragmatism weren’t very endearing.

  “May I photograph it then?” she asked.

  “Only for personal use,” Oliver said in a warning tone. “I don’t want to come across the image on the Internet or on some cheap reproduction...”

  “Just for my class project,” she assured him.

  She pulled her digital camera from her handbag. As she adjusted the settings and turned off the flash to avoid damaging the painting, she continued her efforts to draw information from Oliver while Carol sat in the corner, her eyes focused on the floor.

  Kate framed the painting in her viewfinder and bit her tongue. She could feel Oliver’s eyes boring into the back of her head. Clearly he felt Kate was tainted by her association with Ellen.

  “Has anyone else expressed interest in buying the land?” Kate couldn’t resist asking the question, though she knew she was playing with fire.

  Oliver sniffed, whether in triumph or disdain Kate wasn’t sure.

  “The state expressed an interest in turning the area into a wildlife preserve, but their offer was far less than the commercial one.”

  Kate remembered Ellen’s lyrical description of High Hoot Ridge, the way she’d brought the town to life with her words, the treasured time she’d spent with her grandmother at the ironworks. Clearly Oliver felt no emotional connection to the property.

  “You won’t be sorry to let go of the land?” she asked Carol. “You must have spent time there as a child.”

  Kate finished taking pictures, turned off the camera, and stowed it back in her handbag. She looked expectantly at Carol, but the woman continued staring at the floor.

  Oliver drained the last of his iced tea and set the glass down on the sideboard with a thunk. Kate winced at the danger to the valuable crystal.

  “The past has never held much appeal for Carol,” Oliver said. “The future is what matters. And once the deal goes through, we can put this old family dispute behind us once and for all.”

  Of course he wanted to see the sale go through quickly, Kate thought. She wondered whether it was merely his greed that made him so eager or if he had any idea about the missing will that might interfere with his plans.

  “When do you expect the sale to be final?” Kate asked.

  A shadow crossed Oliver’s face, and she realized she’d pushed the conversation too far.

  “I thought you were interested in the artwork,” he said, his eyes darkening with suspicion. “Not an old family squabble.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound nosy. The history behind the painting could be important to my project. Knowing what motivated the artist to paint certain scenes or people, that sort of thing.”

  “From what I’ve been told, Lela Harrington was forever tromping around the ridge with her easel and her pai
nts. You won’t find many canvases of hers that aren’t somehow connected to the town or the ironworks.” He glanced at his watch. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have an appointment in twenty minutes.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry.” Kate gave him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to monopolize your time.”

  “I’m always happy to share pieces from my collection,” Oliver said, and she could see he meant the words. Not from a sense of generosity, Kate was sure, but because of the prestige it added to his position in Pine Ridge’s social hierarchy.

  “This will help so much with my project,” Kate said. She turned to the silent Carol. “And thank you for the iced tea.”

  “Carol will see you out,” Oliver said.

  They exchanged good-byes, and Kate gratefully followed her hostess to the front door.

  “It was nice to meet you,” she said as she stepped outside.

  Carol smiled sadly.

  “You too. We don’t get a lot of visitors.” She blushed, then gave a little wave as she closed the front door.

  Kate was left alone on the porch. What a strange couple. And there’d certainly been nothing in Oliver Coats’ behavior to contradict anything Ellen had told her. He was conceited and condescending, but at least she now had a picture of the painting for her second clue. She’d head home and print out her photographs. Then she’d set up a time to meet with Ellen.

  Kate hadn’t seen any obvious indication in the painting of where the will might be hidden. A big red X, for example, would have been helpful. But the clues must be there somewhere if Ellen’s grandmother had meant for her to find them.

  Kate walked to her car, unlocked the door, and slid inside. She’d had no idea what she would be getting herself into by signing up for a course at Pine Ridge College. Her class project might very well turn out to be more difficult than anything she might have dreamed up on her own.

  Chapter Six

  After class the next day, Kate waited patiently while the other students filed out of the room. Two or three of them approached Professor Carruthers to speak with her about their projects, so it was much later by the time Ellen turned her attention to Kate.