Death of a Modern King

by Angela Pepper

I held very still, waiting for the ax to fall. Every muscle in my body tensed. I didn’t dare let go and fall apart.

  He winked at me and patted my shoulder. “You’re a good listener,” he said, and he turned to his root beer float. “Go ahead and talk now. I just wanted to get that out before you brought up something about work. Today’s officially a personal day for us, and whatever work business you’ve got going on with Kyle, I hope it can wait until after midnight. Or, better yet, tomorrow.”

  I stammered, “Wha- wha- what changes?”

  He turned and gave me a pensive look. “I just told you,” he said.

  “No, you didn’t.” I could barely breathe with all the tension in my body.

  He frowned. “I’ll start taking every second Friday off from the law office.”

  His words made no sense. “What?”

  “Not every Friday. Every second Friday. My weekends will be two days or three days.”

  My heart was still pounding, and I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him right.

  “That’s it? You’re taking off two days a month?”

  “You know how lawyers are. Announcing to the firm that I want a four-day work week at my age is like telling the partners I want to come in wearing pajamas and clown shoes.”

  “Oh. So, you want to take off every second Friday?” I felt dumb repeating the question, but it was all I could do.

  “If that’s okay with you. I don’t want to slow you down at all. You live to work, and I don’t want to drag you down. But I thought we could take some three-day mini vacations if we have longer weekends. Would you enjoy that?”

  I had to think about it for a moment, since I was still reeling from the awful feeling he was going to dump me.

  “Yes,” I said. “I would enjoy some mini vacations.”

  “Good. I booked us a room at the Flying Squirrel Lodge.”

  My jaw dropped open for the second time that day.

  He started to laugh. “Kidding! I really got you, didn’t I?”

  I started to cry. I tried not to cry. I cried harder.

  He stopped laughing and slid off the barstool. He stood next to me and stooped forward to look into my eyes. I turned and hid my face. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me to his chest.

  “What’s wrong?” He squeezed me and rubbed my back. “You’re trembling. You’re shaking like a leaf! Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  I didn’t cry that often, and my tear ducts were making up for lost time. Blubbering, I told him what I’d thought our talk was about and how I’d been so sure he was about to break up with me. Between sad sobs and embarrassed laughter, I let it all out. What came out of my mouth was mostly vowel sounds.

  Eventually, I was able to calm down enough to put in some consonant sounds between the vowels and get my message across.

  “That’s just bananas,” he said. “To borrow an expression from Jessica, that’s feeding-time-at-the-gorilla-cage bananas. Why would I ever break up with you? Stormy Day, you are smart, funny, kind, and cute as heck. I should be asking you to marry me.”

  I cried out some more vowel sounds.

  He pulled back and got down on one knee. “Do you want to marry me?”

  More crying. “Someday,” I sobbed.

  He grabbed my hand and held it between his. “Do you want me to ask you this question some other time?”

  I nodded and pulled him back up to standing.

  He hugged me again. “You really surprise me sometimes. You stumble across dead bodies and interrogate killers, but I make a few terrible word choices, and this happens.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said into his chest. “Sorry for being such a mess.”

  He squeezed me and kissed the top of my head. “Don’t ever apologize for caring about me. I love you so much, and knowing you feel the same way... it’s such a relief. Moving here and meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  I circled his back with my arms and held him like I was never going to let go.

  Chapter 39

  After our heart-to-heart talk on Thursday night, Logan and I decided to spend a luxurious three-day weekend together. We wouldn’t discuss business at all, at least not verbally. We would bend our rules by emailing each other messages about work matters, but only a couple of times.

  On Friday, we started with the breakfast special at the Olive Grove and went for a long walk in the park, where we made up funny names for all the dogs playing and rolling around in the grass. We went to the Misty Falls next, where we hiked into the woods and stopped at the lake for a picnic lunch. The late-summer sun felt so good. We rolled out a blanket and napped by the lake’s edge. Logan hadn’t put on sunscreen, so he got a little red, but just on one side of his face.

  Saturday, I took Logan to see more of the local attractions, and in the evening we caught up on some movies we’d been wanting to see.

  On Sunday, we drove to Portland with Jessica for a day of shopping. She found some incredible bargains, but the real haul was the indoor climbing tree we found for Jeffrey. It was made from Oregon-coast driftwood plus other natural materials and promised to be more appealing in our living room than the carpeted monstrosity he’d ripped to shreds.

  Monday morning, we were refreshed and ready for business, which was good, because it promised to be quite the day. If nobody got slapped, punched, stabbed, or pistol-whipped, we’d consider ourselves lucky.

  And if the plan I’d concocted actually worked and we caught a killer, we’d be overjoyed.

  Logan wished me luck over morning coffee and left to get ready.

  I did some nervous cleaning around the house until it was time to leave for the reading of Dieter Koenig’s will. Jessica would be going to work, where she promised to bite her nails and check her phone every thirty seconds for news.

  “Not every thirty seconds,” I said. “Every five minutes is fine.”

  “Do you have an ambulance standing by?”

  “It shouldn’t be that bad,” I said. “My father won’t be there with his cane sword.”

  She twirled her tiny red braids into a bigger braid. “Make sure you pat down Della for weapons.”

  “It won’t do any good,” I said. “She’s a resourceful woman. I bet she could kill someone with a stapler.”

  “I’m glad I won’t be there. It will be easy for you without me fainting at your feet like some wilting flower.”

  I clenched my jaw. It wouldn’t be easy, no matter what.

  “You’ll have fun,” she said. “There’s nothing like a big, theatrical reading of the will. It’s a shame they don’t do it more often.”

  “There’s probably a good reason lawyers don’t gather family members into a room together to wage war over the estates of loved ones.”

  “Too many people getting clubbed with staplers,” she said.

  “Or chairs. Don’t people throw chairs?”

  “Jessica, you’re not helping.”

  She hugged me. “You’ll be fine.”

  I hoped so.

  These days, people don’t gather to hear the wills. It’s usually faxed or emailed through lawyers. But Della wanted to let everyone know at once and then have bailiffs accompany the sons back to the mansion so they couldn’t clear out the valuables once they got the news.

  Also, Lady Octavia would be there, ostensibly as a family friend but secretly as someone who wanted in on the fortune. She would either drop the bombshell about her offspring right there, or she’d wait until later and have her new lawyer contact Logan’s office. There were plenty of surprises to go around.

  Whatever happened at the reading, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  At 9:35 a.m., I got into my car and started driving to the Mesa Office Tower. The family had requested having the reading at the mansion, but Logan insisted they meet at the offices of Tyger & Behr.

  I was still early for the meeting when I parked in the underground parkade and walked over to the elevator.

  “Wait for me,” call
ed a woman’s voice. It was more of a command than a request.

  Della.

  I stepped into the elevator car and resisted the urge to jab the Close Doors button. I held the elevator open until Della strutted in to join me.

  She looked the part of a grieving widow... in a heavy-metal music video. Black lace. A dark veil over her face. Red lipstick visible through the veil. Tight dress. Bare legs. Stiletto heels. Thankfully, a tiny clutch purse, barely large enough for her car keys and a tube of red lipstick. Nowhere to hide a weapon.

  Automatically, I said, “Hi, Della. How are you?”

  “How do you think I am? The love of my life is dead, and now I’m rich. I’m a little mixed up, okay? Am I happy or am I sad? I don’t know.”

  “You could write a song about your feelings,” I said.

  “Don’t be mean. And you don’t have to pretend you like me. I know you don’t.”

  “Della...” I had no words other than, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks,” she said sweetly. “Is your finger broken?”

  I blinked in surprise. “No. Thanks for asking. I hurt my shoulder a little when Kyle crashed the car we were in, but I’m feeling better.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I mean, are you going to press the button for Logie’s floor?”

  Right. Logie’s floor. I pressed the elevator button, and the doors closed.

  “I saw cop cars out front,” she said. “Why are they here?”

  “For our protection,” I answered.

  She snorted. “I can protect myself just fine.”

  “If it comes down to a standoff, promise me you’ll keep your hands off other people’s guns this time.”

  She snorted again. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.” She stared up at the panel that displayed our floor number. “But I still don’t understand why the police are here. The family’s going to be surprised at the news, but they’re classy people. They’ll get their lawyers to fight against the will, but they won’t be throwing chairs.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  She turned and narrowed her eyes at me. “You still think one of them had something to do with my darling Deets’s accident?”

  “Of course not,” I said pleasantly. “Would I walk into a boardroom filled with people who were about to learn that they won’t be getting thirty million dollars if I thought one or more of them were capable of murder?”

  Della adjusted her black lace veil. “You’re talking about that countess woman, aren’t you? She’d better not throw me any shade, or I’ll test the glue on those blond hair extensions of hers. That European skank.”

  The elevator dinged and opened on the lobby floor.

  Countess Octavia of Krengerborg entered with a man in a suit at her side.

  Della looked right at me and said, “Speak of the devil, and she appears.” Her upper lip curled, and she practically meowed.

  Lady Octavia looked ready to hiss right back. “Miss Day,” she said to me, pointedly ignoring Della. “Have you met my attorney? You should give him your card.” She turned to him and said, “Miss Day is a brilliant investigator. Very sharp.”

  The man, who was young and attractive in a bland sort of way, introduced himself, and we exchanged business cards. He looked terrified and sweaty.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” I said to him.

  “If you say so.” He clutched the handrail inside the elevator so tightly, his knuckles turned white.

  We reached the floor for Tyger & Behr. The elevator doors opened to reveal Officer Kyle Dempsey in uniform. He squinted at Della while moving his right hand to cover the snap closure of his gun holster.

  Laughing, Della said to Kyle, “Relax, cutie pie. I’m a good girl now. I’ve been reformed.”

  “By what?” he asked.

  “You’ll see,” she teased.

  We walked through the carpeted hallway. The door to the law office opened, and Corine, the receptionist, waved at us to hurry. “They’re ready and waiting in the boardroom.”

  “Am I late?” I asked. Everything was happening so fast. I felt like I was on a conveyer belt at an amusement park.

  “You’re right on time,” Corine said. “I guess everyone’s excited about the you-know-what.” She winked, not-so-subtly.

  Beside me, the young lawyer’s stomach made a scary rumbling sound. He asked Corine, “Is there a washroom?”

  “We have our own, and there’s also one behind you,” she said.

  The lawyer was already scrambling for the men’s room off the hallway.

  “Look at you three ladies,” Corine said. “I know you can’t see yourselves, but I can, and you’re a real picture, with your nice little figures. And you each have your own exciting fashion look. You could start a girl band, like the Spice Girls, but new, and not British.”

  The other ladies eyed each other and didn’t comment. Lady Octavia stared at Corine’s floral-print romper with curiosity as we moved through the office lobby and toward the boardroom.

  Corine held back, caught my arm, and whispered, “Sorry about that girl band comment. I’m so weird sometimes, and I blame it on my juice cleanse or my new diet, but the truth is I’m weird all the time. I was only trying to lighten the mood.”

  I gave her a smile and squeezed her arm. “I’d never be in a girl band unless you were in it with me.”

  “Good luck,” she whispered.

  “Corine, I just want you to know... I’m sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “You’ll see,” I said, which was already revealing too much.

  I took a deep breath and entered the boardroom, where the Koenig family was already assembled. Brandon was fastidiously cleaning his glasses with a kerchief, avoiding eye contact with anyone else. Drake was giving elaborate coffee instructions to a paralegal he’d mistaken for someone who fetched coffee. There were half a dozen other family members I didn’t recognize, except for Dieter Koenig’s niece, Dharma Lake. She was the daughter of his much-older sister, so she was close to his age, as well as one of the eldest family members present.

  Dharma waved at me, smiling, and mouthed a hello. I waved back and took a seat in an empty chair near the door.

  Logan caught my eye across the room and gave me a calm, supportive nod. Unlike the attorney who was using the washroom to deal with his nervous stomach, Logan was alert and eager for battle. He thrived when doing his job, and he wanted to continue loving his work, which was why he’d be taking more three-day weekends to be his non-lawyer self. I returned his nod with my own, faking calmness. I was nervous, my heart pounding and my palms moist. As of this Monday, it had been eight days since Dieter Koenig’s death. It promised to be an exciting start to the week.

  Logan stood, and the room hushed. He introduced himself then asked everyone present to stand briefly and do the same.

  The boys spoke first but didn’t stand.

  Brandon said, “Brandon Koenig, eldest son.”

  Drake said, “Drake Koenig, youngest and best-looking son.” The paralegal who’d brought him coffee tittered behind me from her station near the door.

  “Alexander Vander Voss,” said a white-haired man, remaining seated.

  “Dierdre Koenig-Vander Voss,” said his wife, also seated.

  Five more Koenigs and hyphen-Koenigs introduced themselves.

  Dharma stood. “Hello, everyone,” she said with her usual friendly charm. “I’m Dharma Lake, Dieter’s niece by his sister Corabelle. My dear mother, bless her soul, will be happy to see Dieter again in heaven—as happy as the rest of us still on earth are sad to see him go. I know the official funeral isn’t until Wednesday, but after we finish up here, drinks are on the house at the Fox & Hound, courtesy of the new owner.” She held up a hand and gestured to Della, who stood and bowed.

  With all the action and intrigue over the past eight days, I’d forgotten Della had taken over the pub after the unfortunate events up at the Lodge. Once she acquired the Koenig Estate as
well, she would have her hands full.

  Logan told Della to introduce herself, since she was already standing.

  With the ease of a natural performer, she announced, “I’m Della Koenig, beloved wife and devastated widow of Deets.”

  The boardroom froze. I could hear a photocopier running in an adjacent room.

  Brandon broke the silence. “Wife?”

  “That’s right, honey,” Della said with a wave of one hand. The other hand struck a sassy pose at her hip. “I’m your new step-mommy.”

  Alexander Vander Voss stood and shouted, “This is preposterous!”

  His wife grabbed his arm, pulled him back to his chair, and started fishing around in her purse, all the while muttering about pills.

  Logan cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “I suppose the cat’s out of the bag now. I’ll get right to the reading of the will.” He pulled some papers from a folder and was about to begin reading the will when he was interrupted.

  “Wait!” Lady Octavia got to her feet shakily. Her Chanel suit fit perfectly that morning, and she looked downright deflated in the chest area.

  “Of course,” Logan said. “We didn’t finish the introductions. As many of you know, this is Lady Octavia of Krengerborg, a dear friend of the family.”

  “More than a friend,” she said. “I am part of the family.” She made steady eye contact with Brandon Koenig, who gave her a subtle nod to continue.

  The white-haired man across the table asked his wife, “Give me another one of those pills. My heart isn’t made for this preposterousness.” She handed him one and popped one herself.

  Lady Octavia glanced around for her lawyer, who hadn’t returned from the washroom yet. She remained standing and continued, “Dieter has another son you don’t know about.” The family members gasped. “And a daughter.” Everyone gasped again.

  Next to me, Della shouted, “I knew it! I knew you were up to no good, you gold-digging Eurotrash!”

  Lady Octavia whirled to face her. “You should talk! You gold-digging American Ludertæve!”

  Della growled, “I don’t know what that word means, but...” Her face wrinkled in concentration. In a lighter tone, she said, “But if it’s Danish for someone who takes care of their babies and provides for them, go ahead and call me that, because that’s what I am.”