I made a mental note to get Nick a pair of those as a graduation present.
Nick and I barely had a chance to shake the attorney’s hand before Scarlett came scurrying toward us. “I see you’ve met Mr. Withers,” she said to us. Turning to Charlotte, she added, “It’s probably a good idea to hold the reading of Mr. Merrywood’s will in the conservatory. That way, there’ll be plenty of room for all of us.”
As Nick and I followed Charlotte, Mr. Withers, and Scarlett into the conservatory, I saw that Tag, Brock, Missy, and Townie were already in attendance, along with Harry, Betty, and Winston. It looked as if Charlotte had also invited Jonathan-as-Jives, Gwennie, and Cook to sit in. That made fifteen of us in all.
The womenfolk lined the couch and filled the chairs, while once again most of the menfolk chose to stand in front of the fireplace or elsewhere in the room. Only Brock opted for the floor. He sat in the lotus position, with his legs folded pretzel-style and his feet balanced on top of his knees.
“I see that everyone is here,” Mr. Withers said as his eyes traveled around the room.
“Excuse me,” I piped up, having just realized that wasn’t quite the case. “Shouldn’t we ask Alvira to join us?”
“Aunt Alvira?” Brock scoffed. “She doesn’t want anything to do with us.”
“It’s hard to believe she’s related to us,” Missy agreed petulantly. “She wouldn’t even come downstairs for Daddy’s birthday party. You’d think she’d want to help her own brother celebrate.”
But she did help him celebrate, I thought. Quietly, with just the two of them enjoying a glass of champagne and no doubt talking and laughing about old times.
I realized I’d become quite fond of Aunt Alvira.
In fact, I was about to protest that she should at least be invited as a matter of courtesy, when Charlotte said, “After the reading of the will, one of us will go upstairs and inform Alvira of its contents.”
“Then without further ado,” Mr. Withers said, pulling out a pair of glasses and perching them at the edge of his nose, “I’ll begin.”
You could have heard the proverbial pin drop as he took a deep breath, preparing to read.
“I, Linus Ellsworth Merrywood, being of sound mind and under no restraint, do make, declare, and publish this my last will and testament, hereby revoking all wills and codicils hereto made by me—”
“You can skip all that,” Tag interrupted. “We don’t need to weed through the legalese.”
“Taggart, show some respect,” Charlotte reprimanded him. “Mr. Withers, please proceed in whatever way you usually do.”
Eyeing his audience warily, Mr. Withers said, “I’ll just skip ahead a few paragraphs.… Ah, here we go. I bequeath each of the following charities the sum of fifty thousand dollars, to be used in whatever manner they choose.” He glanced up. “There’s quite a long list of organizations here. Should I read it?”
“Not now,” Brock said impatiently. “You can go back to that later.”
“Of course.” Frowning, Mr. Withers bent his head over the will once again. “To my dear sister, Alvira, I leave the following mutual funds, stocks, and other securities. My intention is that she maintain her present lifestyle for the rest of her days, residing in my house and using the funds from these accounts however she pleases.”
The lawyer looked up and blinked. “There’s a long list here, too. Do you want me to skip that, as well?”
“Can we please just get on with this?” Taggart asked crossly.
Mr. Withers bent his head over the document once again. “To my children, Taggart, Melissa, and Brockton, I leave each the sum of ten thousand dollars—”
“That’s it?” Tag cried.
“You’re joking!” Brock seconded.
Missy just gasped. Glancing over, I saw that all the color had drained out of her face.
“There’s more,” Mr. Withers said quietly. “I encourage each of my children to donate this money to a worthy cause or to use it in some way that will benefit others who have been less fortunate—”
“Is this a joke?” Brock exclaimed.
“Maybe there are additional provisions in subsequent paragraphs,” Townie suggested.
“Why don’t you continue reading?” Charlotte suggested.
With a nod, Mr. Withers went on. “To my loyal assistant, Scarlett Sandowsky, I leave the sum of fifty thousand dollars plus the following pieces of jewelry from my mother’s estate: one diamond and emerald necklace, one pair of ruby earrings …”
Automatically, I glanced over at Charlotte. Yet nothing even close to jealousy appeared to register on her face.
I couldn’t say the same for Cook. Her eyes had narrowed and her cheeks had turned the color of those rubies that were apparently going to Scarlett.
“To my right-hand man in both business and friendship, Harrison Foss,” Mr. Withers went on without looking up, “I leave my gold Montblanc pen—”
“What?” Missy cried. “A pen?”
Harry, meanwhile, looked as if he was going to be sick.
“—as well as fifteen hundred shares of stock in Merrywood Industries,” Mr. Withers continued. Glancing up, he commented, “I believe that makes him an equal shareholder with Charlotte.”
Harry’s look of horror immediately relaxed into an expression of satisfaction. “Oh. Well. That’s more along the lines of what Linus and I had discussed.”
“To Margaret Reilly,” Mr. Withers read, “who served my family and me well for so many years, I leave the sum of two hundred thousand dollars, which will hopefully enable her to retire whenever she chooses.”
Margaret let out a cry of surprise. “Oh, my,” she said breathlessly. “All that money! The man was a saint.”
“And for us?” Gwennie asked, using her Cockney accent. “Did Mr. M. leave me and Jives anything?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mr. Withers said. “In fact, we’re almost at the end.”
I stole a glance at Gwennie and the man masquerading as Jives, my stomach curdling at the horrified looks they cast at each other.
Mr. Withers cleared his throat, then read, “I leave the remainder of my estate, including my residence on Solitude Island, my apartment at 1255 Park Avenue in Manhattan, my cars, boats, and personal effects, as well as all my financial investments, to my beloved wife, Charlotte.”
He glanced up and said, “That’s all, except for more legalese.” Glancing at Charlotte, he asked, “Should I continue?”
“Thank you, Mr. Withers,” she said, her eyes drifting over the forlorn expressions on her children’s faces, “but I think we’ve all heard what we needed to hear.”
Chapter 12
“Though the lion and the antelope happen to live in the same forest, the antelope still has time to grow up.”
—African Proverb
The mood in the house felt oppressively heavy as the group dispersed. While those who had been the beneficiaries of Linus’s generosity were obviously pleased, those who hadn’t fared as well looked—well, ready to kill.
All three of Linus’s children seemed dazed. It was as if they still hadn’t digested the fact that their own father, who was wealthy beyond imagination, had left them an amount of money so small that it basically amounted to a slap in the face.
As for Gwennie and Jonathan, they, too, seemed to be in a state of disbelief. Yet I knew perfectly well that they had no real claim to any of Linus Merrywood’s money.
Still, the fact that no one seemed in the mood for reminiscing over home movies or making idle chatter didn’t deter me from seeking out a family member I had yet to have a heart-to-heart talk with. I watched Missy leave the conservatory after making an excuse to her husband about wanting to finish up the organizing she’d been doing in her father’s study. I waited a minute or two, then wandered over to the study, hoping to catch her alone.
She was standing in front of the shelves behind Linus’s desk, studying them. For a moment, I wondered if she, too, was searching for his missing not
ebooks.
“Missy?” I said quietly as I entered the room, not wanting to startle her.
She whirled around, her eyes wide with panic.
“Jessie! You scared me!” she cried, clasping her hands against her chest like the heroine in a romance novel.
“Sorry,” I said sincerely. “I was actually looking for, uh, Nick. He was here a minute ago, but he seems to have suddenly disappeared.”
Her fearful expression softened. “I don’t blame you for wanting to keep track of that husband of yours,” she remarked, sounding as if she was only half teasing. “He seems like a real catch.”
“I think so,” I said, unable to suppress a genuine smile. “Frankly, it took Nick and me awhile to get hitched, but now that we are, I couldn’t be happier.”
Missy let out a long, deep sigh. “You two are so lucky,” she said, a dreamy look coming into her eyes. “There’s no better time than those first few months of marriage.”
Choosing my words carefully, I said, “You and Townie have been married for years, but it looks as if you two are still on your honeymoon.”
Missy giggled. But I was nearly certain I detected an edge to her girlish glee, as if it was forced. “You’re right about that,” she said simply.
“I wonder if you could give me any advice,” I continued, watching her carefully. “About how to keep a marriage happy, I mean. What’s the secret of you and Townie still seeming so incredibly happy together?”
I was almost certain I saw a strained look cross her face. But a second later, the tension was gone.
“I think the secret to a happy marriage is each partner treating the other as if they were the most important person in the world,” she said with a resolute nod. “And doing it every single day.”
“That’s pretty good advice,” I replied earnestly. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
Figuring there was no time like the present, I casually asked, “What about Harry Foss? Is he married?”
I guess I wasn’t casual enough. “Why do you ask?” Missy asked sharply, her eyes narrowing.
I hesitated for a moment. Got me there, I thought.
But I’d gotten pretty good at thinking on my feet, especially at times like this. “I have a friend who’s in the market,” I said. Remembering that old saying about sticking as close to the truth as possible whenever you’re telling a lie, I added, “Suzanne is in a relationship with a really nice guy right now. A New York State trooper, in fact. But I’m afraid she’s putting too much pressure on him and that at some point the whole thing is going to fall apart. I’m thinking that it’s not a bad idea to keep an eye out for any other prospects in case that time ever rolls around.”
“That’s considerate of you,” Missy commented.
I shrugged. “Suzanne and I have been friends for years. In fact, we met in college. So what about Harry? Is he available?”
“He’s single.” She sidestepped my question about whether or not he was actually available. “He got divorced about five years ago.”
“And he never remarried?” I asked, sounding as surprised as I felt. “Or got into a serious relationship?”
“He’s pretty involved in his work,” she replied, quickly adding, “From what I can tell, that is. I don’t know him all that well.”
“I see.” I did my best to keep all skepticism out of my voice. “What about your brothers?” I asked offhandedly. “I get the impression that neither of them is married.”
Missy shook her head. “Not at the moment, anyway.”
When I cast her a confused look, she added, “Brock has never been married. The man can’t make a commitment to which avocado to buy, so how could anyone expect him to choose a life mate?
“As for Tag, he’s the exact opposite.” Missy gave a disapproving snort before explaining, “He’s already been married twice, and he’s not even out of his thirties.”
“What were his two wives like?” I asked.
Another snort. “Not exactly the kind of girls you’d be anxious to bring home to meet Mom and Dad. The first one, Monique, was a French model. Or so she claimed. Personally, I thought she’d found other ways of using her looks to make money—and that not all of her beauty was natural. That girl’s breasts were so big, thanks to the humongous implants she got somewhere along the line, that she looked as if she were shoplifting basketballs underneath her blouse.
“That marriage lasted less than a year,” Missy continued, her voice dripping with disdain. “As for the divorce, that went on for at least three. But do you think my big brother learned a thing from the experience?”
I didn’t have to answer.
Missy sighed. “Their divorce lawyers were still battling it out when Tag announced all over again that he’d found the woman of his dreams.”
“Another model?” I asked.
“Another supposed model,” she corrected me. “This one was Brazilian—Mariana. She was about seven feet tall, with legs as long as palm trees.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “She also had the IQ of one. But Tag didn’t seem to care. I swear, he married her before the ink was dry on the divorce papers.”
“But it sounds as if that one didn’t work out, either,” I prompted.
“No, it didn’t,” Missy replied. “That one lasted only a few months. And I’m pretty sure that divorce ended up costing him even more than the first one.” With a sardonic smile, she explained, “That one got herself a better lawyer.”
Something was troubling me. Tag clearly had a taste for expensive women and expensive toys. But when it came to the question of how he paid for both, I was mystified.
He certainly wasn’t getting the money from Linus. And he didn’t appear to have much of a career going.
Which made me wonder where the money for his hobbies was coming from.
“Missy,” I finally asked, hesitant about pushing her even further, “is there anything else Tag is involved in besides flashy women?”
“How about stuff?” she shot back. “He’s probably the biggest consumer of ridiculous boy toys in this entire hemisphere. My big brother is all about fun, and his version of it takes a lot of accoutrements. Fancy cars, luxurious condos in glamorous locales, yachts—”
“I’m talking about something else,” I said quietly. “Something that might have gotten him into trouble.”
A look of puzzlement crossed her face. “Like what?”
By this point, I had a few theories of my own. But I decided not to share them. “I don’t know. It’s just that yesterday I found him doing something kind of strange.”
“What do you mean, strange?” she asked suspiciously.
“I happened to run into him while I was doing a little exploring,” I said. “It was shortly after Nick arrived on the island. I was getting us some lunch in the kitchen, and I noticed a staircase I hadn’t seen before. I couldn’t resist taking a peek, since this house is so amazing. Anyway, I found Tag way up at the top of the tower. Somehow, I got the feeling he was hiding.”
Missy’s look of confusion melted into one of disgust. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Not that again. I thought that was one problem he’d finally gotten under control.”
“What problem?” I asked.
I wasn’t surprised when she responded, “Gambling.”
Bingo, I thought. One of the possibilities I’d already come up with. “Tag gambles?”
“One more of his vices,” Missy replied angrily. “My brother has brought shame on this family again and again, ever since he discovered the power of a pair of dice. It’s gotten him into trouble more times than I care to think about. And there’s no doubt in my mind that that’s why you found him cowering in a corner somewhere.
“Oh, sure, there were times when he’d win,” she noted. “That’s how he financed that abomination of a car down there—among other things. And he happened to meet both Monique and Mariana when he was flush.
“But that’s only one side of the coin,” she continued. “I can’t tell you how ma
ny times he came slinking into this house with his shoulders slumped and his head down, begging Daddy for money to pay off his gambling debts. A lot of money. And he’d swear up and down that he’d give it up if only our father would bail him out. ‘Just this once!’ he would always say. By this point it’s practically become his slogan. He probably means it, too, at least when he’s saying it. But before you know it, he’s back at it again.”
“And did your father bail him out?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“For a while. But even then, it was never without making Tag grovel. Daddy would give him a stern lecture every time. He also made it clear that the only reason he was helping him out was because the characters Tag owed money to were so—well, they were pretty unsavory. They meant business, too.”
“But you make it sound as if Linus stopped paying back Tag’s creditors,” I observed.
“Only lately.” Missy frowned. “Finally he’d had enough. So the last couple of times Tag came begging, Daddy told him he was on his own. I imagine he got the money he needed somewhere, but I don’t have a clue as to how or where.”
Shaking her head disapprovingly, she added, “They say gambling is an addiction, one that’s as hard to break as an addiction to drugs or alcohol. Believe me, I’ve done tons of reading on the topic. And I have to admit that that certainly seems to be the case with Tag. But it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.”
My mind was racing. Tag’s fear of loan sharks could explain why he might need a lot of money fast, which he could get hold of most efficiently by killing Linus and benefiting from a large inheritance—at least, the one he assumed he’d be getting.
I was about to change the subject, now that I had the answer I’d been looking for, when Missy let out a wistful sigh.
Crossing the Lion: A Reigning Cats & Dogs Mystery Page 20