The Will of Wisteria

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  The Benefactor’s Group was housed in a mud-colored brick building that offered no welcome at all, no invitation. It also offered no parking. Elizabeth left the Jeep on the street and waded through the papery grass to the sidewalk that led to a chipped and faded front door.

  She took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside. The scent of grapefruit overwhelmed her—the odor of a cheap candle that didn’t even begin to mask the musty, mousy smell. Gray Styrofoam partitions divided the office into cubicles, and everywhere stacks of law books overflowed rickety wooden bookcases and spilled over onto a floor covered with shabby navy blue carpet.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Elizabeth Wilcott.”

  Elizabeth bristled at the sound of the obnoxious voice.

  “I see you’ve made your decision.”

  Elizabeth turned and faced Ainsley Parker. “I’m here to work.”

  “Well then, work you shall. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  Ainsley started walking through the maze. Elizabeth assumed she was to follow.

  “These are our offices. Hopefully we will get larger ones later, but right now we’re trying to conserve our funds for more important purposes.”

  Ainsley slid a stack of books to the other side of a desk and cleared another stack from the seat of a black armless office chair. She plopped them on the floor behind the chair. “These are the staff attorneys’ cubicles. You can take this one. My office is back there, the one with the glass wall. That way I can keep my eye on you.” She pointed behind.

  Elizabeth swallowed down a sarcastic response. Who did that surprise?

  “The office is pretty quiet at the moment. Everyone is already out in the field—interviewing clients, filing motions. All those sort of things we lawyers do. You’ll notice there is no receptionist.”

  “Is she out in the field as well?” Elizabeth muttered.

  “No, she doesn’t exist. We are the receptionist. We take turns. Cover what needs to be covered. Do what needs to be done. It keeps us humble.”

  Humble wasn’t exactly a word Elizabeth would apply to Ainsley Parker, but she kept her mouth shut for the moment. “So who was that who answered the phone the other day, a law clerk?” She narrowed her eyes. “You do you have law clerks, right?”

  Ainsley let out a piercing laugh. “Of course we have law clerks. But they’re out in the field today too. Everybody hits the ground running on Monday. And most of our work is done outside the office anyway.”

  Well, Elizabeth thought, at least that was one thing to be grateful for. If it didn’t matter where she worked as long as things got done, she might even go back to her own office. She wondered if the provisions of the will would allow for that.

  “To tell the truth,” Ainsley said, “I’m kind of surprised you showed up. I didn’t know if you’d really come get your hands dirty with the likes of us. But since you’re here, I’m going to head out as well. You can play receptionist today and get yourself acclimated.”

  Ainsley grabbed an oversized black tote bag from a desk chair and threw it across her shoulder. She gave Elizabeth a hard slap on the arm. “I’m really glad you’re here, Liz. I think this will change your life.”

  “It’s Elizabeth.”

  “Yeah, yeah, get over all that prim and proper stuff, sweetie. We’re all just family around here. Oh, but if it makes you feel better, we have one amazing coffeemaker in this office. And if you’re still the coffee snob that you were in college, I know you’ll appreciate him.” And out she walked.

  Elizabeth watched the door slam shut. When Ainsley was gone, she stood motionless in the middle of this strange, confined, and rather pungent environment. Once her eyes caught sight of the offensive fruity candle, she walked right to it and blew it out, then went on a mad search for the person, whoever he was, who made such fabulous coffee.

  The small kitchen was located in the back of the office building across from the restroom. She tried to ignore the proximity. Kitchens too close to restrooms gave her the creeps, and coffeepots in hotel bathrooms made her gag reflex go into overdrive.

  A lime green dish drainer sat on the top of the counter filled with about ten coffee cups. Apparently most people in this office had the same addiction.

  No one was back there. Elizabeth scanned the tiny kitchen and found nothing. Apparently this “amazing coffeemaker” guy Ainsley had referred to hadn’t done his job this morning. She searched around, hoping to find a system like she had in her own office.

  Then she saw it, and the mocking irony of Ainsley’s words made the blood rush to her face: If you’re still the coffee snob that you were in college, I know you’ll appreciate him.

  An old black plastic Mr. Coffee machine sat in one corner, with a glass pot that looked to have been used for the better part of the current decade.

  “Coffee snob, huh?” she muttered under her breath. “Forget this, Ainsley Parker. I don’t have to live with your snotty little—”

  The telephone rang. She left the kitchen and went to the receptionist counter, staring down at the phone as if she had never laid eyes on such a contraption. In her office, calls were put through to her, not answered first by her.

  “Hello, Benefactor’s Group,” she said, refusing to say her name.

  “Just making sure you know how to answer a phone.” Ainsley’s voice was grating even when she wasn’t in the room. “Did you find the coffeemaker to your satisfaction?”

  Elizabeth snapped. “Go to—”

  “Now, now,” Ainsley chided. “Let’s not burn any bridges with the boss on the very first day. Glad to know you’re a part of our team. Have a great day, Liz.” The line went dead.

  “My name’s not Liz!” Elizabeth screamed into the receiver. The pulsing tone of the disconnected call sounded a great deal like chuckling.

  chapter seventeen

  As Jeffrey pulled into the Medical University physician’s parking lot, he hit redial and got the investigator’s voice mail. Again.

  The man was not returning his calls. His mind raced out of control. For all he knew, the investigator was in cahoots with the Executor. What if the investigator had found something, and the Executor paid him off?

  It was possible. Jeffrey knew he was being watched. He could feel it. Sense it. Besides, the Executor had told him he would be under constant scrutiny. If the Executor knew every move Jeffrey made, then surely he was aware that Jeffrey had hired an investigator to find him.

  He felt the sweat gather in the armpits of his starched white shirt.

  He hated sweat-stained shirts. They never looked the same again.

  Dr. Nadu was waiting for him, surrounded by a swarm of residents and interns. “Good morning, Dr. Wilcott. I hope you are ready to get your hands dirty this week.”

  “Yes, sir, I certainly am. I do my best work in the operating room.” Jeffrey looked forward to teaching these young students a thing or two.

  “I’m glad to hear that. Follow me, please.”

  Dr. Nadu set off, his white coat flowing behind him, his black sneakers squeaking on the tile floor, the residents and interns following in his wake like baby ducklings. Jeffrey picked up his pace as his expensive Bailey Florsheims drew even with Dr. Nadu. One way or another, he had to stake out his territory, let people around here know he was Nadu’s equal.

  When they finally reached a door marked Research Lab, Jeffrey hesitated. He knew from his own med school days that much of an intern or resident’s education took place in the lab, though he had always preferred hands-on experience. He stepped back, letting the students enter before him. He’d just wait for Dr. Nadu out here until he had given them their assignments for the day.

  But apparently Dr. Nadu had other plans. When the last student had filed through, Dr. Nadu gave him a curt nod. “After you.” Jeffrey smiled awkwardly and proceeded through the door.

  The smell of formaldehyde was overwhelming. In the center of the room lay a stainless steel autopsy table and a cadaver.

  �
��Dr. Wilcott, this is Dr. Randall,” Nadu said, indicating the young resident at his elbow. “You and the interns will be working with him this week. The rest of the residents will be with me.”

  The resident offered him a sheepish smile. Jeffrey offered none in return. “You’re leaving me in here with a bunch of interns and researchers?”

  “You can go home if you wish, Dr. Wilcott. No one is holding you here. But if you are to work with me, then you will respect Dr. Randall, listen to what he has to say, and learn from him.” And with that Dr. Nadu left as if nothing else needed to be said.

  When Nadu was gone, Dr. Randall turned to Jeffrey. “Do you know how good that man is, Dr. Wilcott? He is one of the foremost authorities on face transplants in the world.”

  “Yeah, well, I do face transplants too,” Jeffrey muttered. “I move them back about ten years.”

  Dr. Randall did not laugh. Instead he turned to the cluster of intense young interns. “Who can tell me what the major cause of death is in the first four decades of a person’s life?”

  One student raised her hand. “Severe trauma, sir. It outnumbers even cancer and heart disease.”

  Jeffrey didn’t know this, but he refused to act impressed. He wouldn’t give Nadu—or this infantile Dr. Randall—the satisfaction.

  “You did what?” Nate shouted.

  Mary Catherine lay on the sofa with her feet propped up on a pillow, a cold washcloth stretched across her head. “Don’t yell, Nate.

  It makes my head worse.”

  “You just left when you were supposed to be watching those children?”

  “Children? They aren’t children! Children are human. These are beasts. Mongrels! Horrible little creatures!” She sat up, and the wash-cloth slid awkwardly down her face. She jerked it up and slapped it back onto her forehead. “They mocked me. They slithered around like little snakes waiting to devour me as their prey. And you don’t even want to know what they did to me at lunch.”

  “It’s only a year.”

  “It will take a year to recover!” She threw her head back on the pillow.

  He sat down on the end of the sofa and began to massage her feet. “Pookie, you’ve got to remember the goal. It’s only one year. I’m certain you can do this. Just remember your brothers and sister. I wonder if they’ve started their jobs.”

  He moved his hands up to her calves. “You just go in there and let them know who’s boss, and I’m sure it will be perfect.” He lay down beside her and kissed her softly on the neck. “I know you can win them over just like you did me.”

  She returned his kiss. He could be rather convincing, when he tried. She smelled a foreign fragrance on him. It distracted her, just briefly.

  “I can’t go back,” she wailed. “I can’t.”

  He moved his kisses to her cheek, and then to her mouth. “You can. You can do this, baby doll. You can do it because at the end, you’ll be the last sibling standing.”

  At a quarter to six, Elizabeth was crawling down Meeting Street in a snarl of brake lights. She had never seen this kind of traffic; she was at work before most of them woke up and didn’t leave the office until most of them were three drinks into happy hour at their favorite bar.

  The traffic came to a standstill in front of the Charleston County Courthouse. With a surge of rage, Elizabeth realized that her next trip there would not be as Elizabeth Wilcott, respected attorney at law, but as Liz Wilcott, no-account receptionist for Ainsley Parker. The very thought made her honk irritably at the car in front of her and swear under her breath.

  Elizabeth had arranged to meet Aaron at the FIG restaurant—an acronym for Food Is Good. She loved the bistro atmosphere, the eclectic menu, and Chef Michael Lata’s fanaticism for organic foods. And the coffee. Good coffee.

  She had already downed most of a pot before Aaron made it to the table. She ran her hands across the white tablecloth and leaned back in her chair. “Is my business still afloat?”

  Aaron sat across from her and ordered a glass of sweet tea for himself. “Nice to see you too. And how was your day, Aaron?” He answered his own question in a mocking singsong: “My day was wonderful, Lizzy. And yes, your business is fine. However, you look like crap.”

  “The same to you, thank you very much. I’m thrilled that you had such a wonderful day. I, however, am just having my first cup of coffee, and it’s almost 6:15 p.m. For the last eight hours I’ve sat with a phone glued to my ear, answering questions regarding legalities I have absolutely no interest in. So looking like crap is a rather fine achievement, I’d say.”

  Aaron ignored her and opened his menu. “Mmm, the hanger steak with bordelaise sounds delicious. What are you thinking about?”

  “Two of everything.”

  The waitress returned with another refill of coffee before she took their order. Aaron ordered the hanger steak for himself and the pepper-seared tuna for Elizabeth. It was her favorite, but she was too obsessed with Ainsley Parker to have the grace to thank him.

  “That woman’s going to make her point no matter what.”

  “And what point is that?”

  “The point she’s always had to make with me—that she is in control. She’s a control freak, you know.”

  He rested his elbows on the table, placing his head in his upright hands. “You don’t have to go back, Lizzy.”

  “Nice try, Aaron. But I wrote the book on reverse psychology. I will go back, and you know it. Because you know me.”

  He leaned back in his chair and waited.

  “The thing that gets me more than anything,” Elizabeth ranted, “is that fake sweet act of hers. Honestly, the whole thing just reeks.”

  “You went to her for the job, remember?”

  “And as I recall, you’re the one who thought I should take up this ridiculous challenge. It’s a—” She stopped midsentence. “No. It can’t be.”

  He leaned forward. “What?”

  “You don’t think Ainsley could have anything to do with this, do you? I mean, out of the whole country, why would she pick Charleston? Why would she pick the one organization that’s the greatest obstacle to my clients? I can’t believe I haven’t thought of this before.”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but she shushed him. She was already on the phone. “Ainsley Parker. Investigate her,” she barked, then slammed the phone shut and laid it on the edge of the table.

  “That man has got to get an assistant!”

  He palmed the phone and slid it to his side of the table. “I thought she told you not to even show up.”

  “My defenses are down. My mind isn’t sharp. She wanted me to show, all right. And I went, and so she won that one too.” She threw her hands ups in the air and reached for her coffee cup as her left hand came down. She blew and then sipped. “She’s two for two. I’m losing by the hour.”

  The waitress arrived with their dinners.

  “Eat, Lizzy,” Aaron said. “Just eat.”

  And eat she did, never stopping to say another word.

  As Aaron sat and watched her, he saw the child she worked so hard to hide, the child she never admitted was there. She tried to be so strong.

  But he could no longer protect her from herself. If she chose to squander an opportunity that could possibly change her life, that might actually give her a life, he was not going to stop her. He was through playing her rescuer. Until she was willing to admit she needed rescuing, he was going to quit saving her from herself.

  He kissed her good-bye on the sidewalk and headed home. No matter what she said, she would go back tomorrow. He knew she would. That was perhaps the only good thing about her competitive nature. It would keep her playing just a little longer.

  Or until she won.

  Will hit the eight ball into the corner pocket.

  “You really think this whole college payment thing is just a mistake?” Tate asked. Tate and two of the new pledges hovered around the pool table, cues in hand.

  Will racked a new set of balls. “I alread
y called my dad’s attorney, and he’s getting right on it. Should be settled by tomorrow.”

  Tate went to Will’s fridge, cue stick in hand, and peered in.

  “There’s only half a pack of hot dogs in here. Where’s the beer?”

  “I haven’t even had time to get any.”

  Will lifted the triangle from around the perfectly racked balls.

  Tate set down his cue stick and motioned to the other two. “We gotta get going. Got a few last minute things to pick up at the bookstore.”

  “What? We just got started.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve still got things to do at the fraternity house.”

  Will frowned. “Well, okay, I guess. I’ll be over there later.”

  “You’re bringing the keg right?”

  “I got it all under control.”

  They closed the door behind them. Will chalked his stick, aimed at the cue ball, and popped it viciously. His cue stick slipped and stuttered across the surface of the table, leaving a ragged gash in the felt.

  Under control. Right.

  He had a bad feeling that things were just beginning to spin out of control.

  chapter eighteen

  Mary Catherine let her bare feet slide into the cool damp sand. She hadn’t been able to sleep, so she and Coco had slipped out for an early morning walk. Seagulls chattered overhead, and sand crabs scurried away at Coco’s lumbering paws. Coco ran ahead and circled back again, energized by the clear predawn air.

  The sky was just beginning to lighten as they approached the house. Mary Catherine’s pulse accelerated when she saw a dark figure silhouetted at the bottom of her steps that led down to the beach. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

  Coco, of course, was useless. The Lab ran headlong toward the dark stranger, never barking, wagging her tail wildly.

  Then she recognized him. It was Mr. McClain. If he was coming to her house at this hour of the morning, she was in deep trouble.

  He stood up and shook the sand from the cuffs of his khaki pants. “Hello, Mary Catherine. Sorry to stop by unannounced like this. But we need to talk.”