Ms Chapman pointed us both to the swivel chairs. ‘Coffee?’ she asked.
We shook our heads and sat down.
‘I was just explaining to Beth,’ said Melissa to me, ‘that it was necessary to come in disguise because of the paparazzi.’
‘Absolutely understandable,’ said Ms Chapman and sat behind her desk. ‘So, Mrs Winsford – you’re looking for someone to represent you in the divorce?’
Ms Chapman’s eyes glinted like the diamonds she clearly hoped she’d be able to buy with the money she’d make from this potential wealthy client.
‘Please. Call me Melissa,’ she said and swivelled in her chair. ‘No doubt you’ve seen the tabloids, Beth. You know what a pickle I’m in. But before I can even consider using you, there is one thing: Kimmy is my Life Guide and must soak up the aura from your work space immediately.’
And I thought I was a blagger extraordinaire!
‘A Life Guide?’ Ms Chapman frowned.
‘All the celebrities have them, darling.’ Melissa beamed. ‘If you and I could just leave Kimmy to it for ten minutes, she’ll do a mental sweep of your room; decide whether you are right for me.’
‘I don’t know. That’s not the normal procedure, first of all I need some details and…’
Melissa put on her most velvet tones. ‘Beth. Would you like to know how much Jonny earned last year after tax?’ She stood up. ‘What about that coffee. Why don’t you and I find somewhere else to talk business?’
Ms Chapman stared at me and then smiled. ‘Of course. Come this way. What harm can ten minutes do?’
On my knees, I pressed my hands together and bowed my head, like some mystical guru. Way to go, Melissa! The door clicked shut and I jumped up. Where to search first, the computer or filing cabinet? I checked my watch and went over to the window. Damn, the cabinet’s drawers were all locked. I went back to the oak desk. Its drawer was locked too. Where would she hide her keys? I looked under the desk. There was a plain brown handbag. Taking a deep breath, I knelt down, zipped it open and rummaged around inside.
Bingo! I pulled out a bunch of keys. I tried the smallest in the desk drawer. No good. Then I shot over to the window and tried the cabinet. At that moment the office door opened. Shit! I folded my arms to hide the keys and started humming, swaying to and fro.
‘Would you like a drink?’ asked a voice. I recognised it as belonging to the receptionist.
‘No,’ I said, without opening my eyes. ‘Please, don’t interrupt me again.’
The door clicked closed and I stopped swaying. Phew. I slotted in the key and turned it. Thank God it worked.
A… B… C for Carmichael… Nope. Nothing there. I sighed. Perhaps it was filed under M for Murphy. K… L… M… No. Pursing my lips, I locked the cabinet back up and returned the keys to the bag.
I looked at my watch. Five more minutes. Perhaps there was something on the computer. I pushed a file out of the way to grab the mouse and just happened to notice… Of course! The file on the desk said Carmichael. Mr Murphy had only just visited – she wouldn’t have had time to put it away yet. I opened it and flicked through the paperwork until… Finally! I lifted out the will and a similar looking document attached, underneath it, crossed with a great big red line of biro. I closed the folder.
There was no time to find a photocopier so, reluctantly, I stuffed the two documents into my leopard print handbag. Then I rushed around the desk and knelt on the floor, just as the door opened.
‘Kimmy?’ It was Melissa, holding a business card.
I stood up and pretended to shake off a deep trance.
‘Have I passed?’ asked Ms Chapman, politely.
I smiled. ‘Must speak with my client first.’
Melissa pushed her blonde hair up into her wig then put on the glasses and cap. She held out her hand. ‘Thank you, Beth. I’ll be in touch.’
I bowed to the solicitor. ‘May… the breeze of eternity be with you.’
As quickly as we could we scuttled out of the building, turned immediately left, and walked out of view. I burst out laughing.
‘What the hell is the breeze of eternity?’ said Melissa.
I snorted.
‘Any success?’ she asked as we slowed down outside a newsagent’s.
‘I’ve got the will,’ I said. ‘Well, two versions, I think.’
‘You stole them!’
‘Borrowed! What else could I do?’
‘I think we deserve some chocolate after that, Miss Marple. Or I do at least, for making conversation with that woman for ten minutes.’
‘Hard work?’ I said.
‘She could hardly contain her excitement when I hinted at how much Jonny earns.’ She showed me the business card. ‘Look what she jotted on the back: “When you’ve decided ring me. Have a nice day. Best, Beth.” Melissa pulled a face. ‘She obviously thinks the American personal touch will swing it.’
I grinned. ‘A family-sized bar for you, then! You wait out here and ring for a taxi.’ Which she did – thank goodness, as the first thing I spotted inside the shop was Saffron in a bra and suspenders on the front of a tabloid. A grown-up paper (that’s what I called the big ones) had a smaller headline saying that some family-orientated sponsors were thinking of dropping Jonny Winsford. As quick as I could, I chose two bars of chocolate. My hand skimmed over a Snickers bar, which reminded me of Adam and the question mark still sort of hanging over our relationship. What was I going to do about him?
Standing by a black bin, Melissa read the two documents, one with a red line through. Whilst she unwrapped her bar, I took them and scanned the details. At a first glance, they looked identical and they were newer versions than the ones from the attic, both with the same date from this year. Sure enough, a large part of the estate – about half – was left to Murphy. As I read further, it appeared that the rest, four hundred thousand pounds, was to be split between the two charities mentioned in the other will – Bluebells Children’s Home and Wildlife Watch UK. So, according to this, Mr Murphy was entitled to more than the twenty thousand in the 1990 will, but not every single penny.
I examined the small print again. ‘Like in the earlier 1990 will, there’s mention of Lily’s best friend, Eleanor Goodman on both of these – she’s still been left a diamond necklace and earrings. The paintings are still to be auctioned off and the money given to Harpenden Twilight Years care home…’I shrugged at Melissa. ‘I don’t understand. Okay, so this will does entitle Mr Murphy to a lot more than previously – a massive amount of money – but not the whole estate, like we assumed, and those charities are more than well catered for. Plus the smaller requests are still mentioned. So what’s wrong? Why isn’t Walter happy?’
She glanced sideways at me. ‘Apart from the fact you fancy the pants off him, why are you so convinced that Luke’s right about Mike somehow fiddling Walter?’
‘There’s nothing going on between us now,’ I muttered.
‘And doesn’t that bother you? He’s pretty hot.’
‘You thought he was gay!’
‘I’ve always thought he had an amazing bottom.’ She shrugged. ‘And his eyes, kind of consume you – like you’re the most important person in the world… What if he got together with someone else? You’re not bothered?’
I shrugged. ‘He’s not interested in me. Now, can we change the subject? You asked why I think Mr Murphy’s fiddling Walter?’
She nodded.
I caught her eye. ‘Promise not to laugh?’
She snorted. ‘In recent years I’ve seen and heard it all.’
I took a deep breath. ‘During the last week, I’ve, um, been communicating with old Mr Carmichael.’
Her face was deadpan. ‘How?’
‘He plays me music – that tune White Christmas; he knocks three times to reply; I always feel a cold gust of air when he’s around. Then he’s left useful things out for me – an apron, a cake stand, a recipe for the cake competition… He made it quite clear that he’s not happy wi
th the will. I didn’t tell the paranormal investigators about him because I knew he needed to hang around a bit longer, to sort things out. I was just hoping they’d get rid of the other violent spirit – the one who grabbed me and made that smoke. That was before I knew it was Luke.’ I gave a half-smile. ‘Do I sound bonkers?’
‘Trust me, I’ve heard more bonkers things, since mingling on the celebrity circuit – so Luke definitely isn’t pretending to be the old man?’
I shook my head. ‘Do you believe me?’
‘Several of my friends have had paranormal experiences. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. But thanks,’ she said and popped a small square of chocolate into her mouth.
‘What for?’
She put an arm around my shoulder. ‘For making my life seem a little saner.’
I grinned. ‘Lily’s waiting for him, you know. They had an agreement, that whoever went first would wait for the other at the Pearly Gates.’
‘That’s so romantic.’
‘You don’t think I’m completely mad, thinking a ghost has told me he’s unhappy with the way his estate is being executed?’
She took one of the documents off me and held it up. ‘No, and I’ll show you why. Take a look at Walter’s signature on the one without the red line through it. Do you think it looks like all the ones we saw on all that paperwork last night?’
I studied it. ‘Yes – a big upright W and then Carmichael scribbled and leaning to the left.
‘But something’s missing,’ she said. ‘And I should know about these things as a calligraphist.’
‘You said you only did a short course!’
‘Seriously, Kimmy, can’t you spot the difference?’
I looked again and shook my head.
‘The top ends of the W are curled slightly inwards,’ she said. ‘Walter curled his ends the opposite way. There’s also no full stop after Carmichael. Yet on every single signature I saw last night, from all the paperwork in that cardboard box, there was. I notice details like that. He wouldn’t change the habit of a lifetime all of a sudden, for one document.’ She shook the piece of paper. ‘I’d say that the other one, slashed with red pen, was actually signed by Walter. This one wasn’t. No wonder the old boy’s not happy. It’s forged.’
Chapter 30
‘Shh! I’m concentrating!’
Luke, Melissa and I rolled our eyes at each other as Jess sat under the chandelier at the black circular breakfast table in Melissa’s kitchen. She stared hard at the two documents, like we all had, determined to find a difference between them.
‘We’re at a dead end, darlings,’ said Melissa. ‘Let’s face it – we haven’t enough to prove that there’s anything dodgy going on.’
She bit into a savoury cupcake. When we’d got back I’d quickly made up a batch using cheese and juicy tomatoes from the fridge. The topping was cream cheese, sprinkled with chopped basil. The house clearers had arrived soon after, along with Mr Murphy. His errands hadn’t taken as long as he’d expected, so he gave me and Jess the afternoon off. Apparently his solicitor, a Ms Chapman he said, was coming around later. She was a huge fan of cross-stitch and he’d promised her the pick of Lily’s threads, fabrics and needles.
Jess passed a hand over her stomach. ‘It could be nothing, but all I can find is a discrepancy in the name of the charities. On the red-slashed document, with Walter’s proper signature, they are called Bluebell Children’s Home and Wildlife Watch and exactly match the charities mentioned on the 1990 will. On the other document they read as Bluebells Children’s Home and Wildlife Watch UK.’
‘Worth checking out,’ said Luke and pulled off the black wig a giggling Melissa had placed on his head. ‘Aren’t solicitors supposed to be meticulous about that sort of thing?’
‘You’d think so, for the amount they charge,’ said Melissa. ‘Jonny’s set his pre-nup out in minute detail – although it wasn’t exactly straightforward.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘After his first divorce, Jonny was wary, wanted to protect his assets. And who can blame him? Jeanie still puts in a claim every time he has a big win; says she supported him when he was just starting out, put her own career to one side, so deserves a cut of his winnings for life. I wasn’t bothered about what I got if we split up – I was never in this marriage for the money. But for fun, I suggested taking a leaf out of Catherine Zeta-Jones’s book; she receives a “bonus” if the marriage is ended by her husband cheating.’ She sighed. ‘Little did I know that if it actually happened, the last thing I’d want was money earned directly from him shagging another woman.’
Jess opened Walter’s laptop, which we’d smuggled out of Mistletoe Mansion, and Googled the charities and their different names.
‘Interesting,’ said Luke to her and she nodded.
‘There are four websites to go with the four charities,’ she said. The children’s homes ones look very similar, as do the wildlife ones – apart from the contact details.’
‘Which sites were created first?’ I said.
‘Yeah, can you find out when the websites were registered?’ said Luke.
Jess duly clicked the mouse several times, jumping to and fro between computer windows.
‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ she said. ‘The website for Bluebell Children’s Home, mentioned on the 1990 will, was registered in 1996. Wildlife Watch’s site was registered in 2001. Whereas the two charities from this most recent will, with slightly different names and Walter’s funny signature, they were both registered… just under six months ago. No doubt soon after Walter died.’
We all looked at each other.
‘Where are their headquarters?’ I said. ‘Googlemap the addresses.’
Melissa fiddled with her coffee machine and got us all to select a disc beverage pod, whilst Jess and Luke searched the different locations.
‘Bingo,’ said Luke finally.
‘The earlier websites look kosher,’ said Jess. ‘But the ones registered this year… their contact addresses are the same and belong to a random burger bar in Luton.’
Melissa slid her mobile out of her pocket. ‘Let me dial those phone numbers,’ she said. ‘This is getting more and more weird.’
Ten minutes later we all sat in silence, drinking coffee. The charities mentioned in the 1990 will had answered professionally. The other two numbers linked to the random burger joint address never rang out; they didn’t exist. They were phoney.
‘Looks like someone has forged this will without the red biro, then – presumably the one considered kosher,’ I said, eventually, ‘with Mr Murphy still getting half of the estate but the other half going to fake charities. Do the websites give the names of the charities’ founders?’ I asked Jess.
She clicked the mouse a few times. ‘Yes – in dead tiny print at the bottom. Let’s see… Both the fake ones were set up by the same person – an E. Chapman. Of course!’
Luke let out a low whistle.
‘The solicitor. E for Elizabeth Chapman. But why would she risk her reputation like this?’ said Melissa. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘She and Mr Murphy must be in on it together,’ said Jess. ‘But why would Walter’s nephew push to get even more money? He’s already due a decent share.’
Melissa went to one of the kitchen drawers, rummaged around and pulled out a card. ‘I thought so,’ she said. ‘Look at Beth’s business card and what she wrote on the back.’ She put it on the table and we read the message: “When you’ve decided ring me. Have a nice day. Best, Beth.”
‘The capital W’ said Luke. ‘Well spotted. You’re quite good at this detective lark.’
‘Thank you,’ said Melissa and her cheeks tinged pink. ‘See everyone, the top ends slightly curl in, like on Walter’s forged signature.’
‘Ms Chapman – Beth – is coming round to see Mr Murphy this afternoon,’ I said and jumped up. ‘Come on– we don’t want to miss her.
‘I’ll ring the police,’ said Luke and grinned at Meliss
a. ‘Keep that wig – if I ever need something investigating I know who to call on.’
Melissa giggled. My stomach pinched. I’d been in on it too. Why didn’t his moss green eyes twinkle at me?
‘I’ll keep the cameras hanging around,’ said Melissa. ‘If she – or Mike – denies everything, we can always threaten to go public.’
When we got back to Mistletoe Mansion, a sensible-looking, new, saloon car was parked outside. Jess and I let ourselves in. Mr Murphy had just come off the phone. I looked around. It was so sad to see Walter’s home stripped of many pieces of furniture. Even the little hallway desk was missing. But the paintings were still up. I cleared my throat as footsteps came into the hall.
‘Hello, girls,’ said Mr Murphy. ‘I’m just making my solicitor, Beth Chapman, a coffee. She’s waiting for me in the lounge.’ He smiled at us. ‘Actually, I’ve a favour to ask. Um… there’s quite a lot of personal stuff left. I couldn’t let the house clearers take it all.’ He fiddled with the end of his tie. ‘Would you two go through my uncle’s address book and invite round any friends to take an item they might like – you know, to remember him by. I’ve held onto Walter’s golf memorabilia, the ornaments, Lily’s jewellery and lot of books. There’s also a fur coat and some top-notch crockery and cooking equipment. It’s something I should have done before.’
‘Er, of course,’ said Jess.
Maybe he did have a heart after all. And yet that time in the Games Room, when Melissa was there and he’d been mouthing off about how close he’d been to Walter, my spooky friend made it clear that his nephew wasn’t telling the truth.
‘You must miss your uncle,’ I said, and eyed him closely.
At that moment, quick, abrupt footsteps entered the hallway. Ms Chapman appeared. She stopped dead. ‘Kimmy, isn’t it? Mrs Winsford’s Life Guide? You know Mike?’
‘Didn’t you know, Melissa Winsford lives next door?’ I ignored Mr Murphy’s puzzled expression. ‘We were just talking about Mr Carmichael. I’m sure he’d be pleased that his estate was finally being sorted out.’ A cold gust of wind blew around my shoulders.
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