“What do you think? Is the second one real?”
“I don’t know, but I think we should assume it is. You can always challenge it in court and let a judge decide.”
“All this sounds expensive. I don’t even know exactly what an executor is supposed to do.” She sat up. “And won’t this make me look more guilty of murder if I am supposed to inherit the money? I can just see that detective’s face now.”
“Look, Kitty. We need to find out what your grandfather’s true intentions were regarding his estate. For all we know, Marcie could have tricked him into signing this will. You need a good lawyer, for sure. Some will work on contingency.”
“What’s that?”
“It means that they won’t charge you a fee but will take a portion of the money they recover for you.”
Kitty’s face brightened a bit. “That sounds good. Something is better than nothing.” She darted her eyes. “You know what I mean. Part of the reason I stayed behind in Maycroft when my parents moved to California was to take care of Granddad.”
“I get it,” Deena said. “I have an idea. Before we do anything else, I want to get someone’s opinion on these signatures. Do you mind if I take these and a couple of those carbons of the checks?”
“Help yourself. They aren’t doing me any good at this point.”
Deena put all the papers in her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “By the way, I have a picture of Marcie. Look at it and see if you recognize her.” She opened the picture she’d taken for Christy Ann at the neighborhood watch meeting and enlarged it on Marcie’s face.
Kitty studied it closely. “She looks a little familiar. I think she could be Granddad’s friend at the bank. Does she usually have chopsticks poking out of her head?”
“That’s her.”
Chapter 24
As soon as Kitty left, Deena called the high school and made an appointment with the art teacher during his conference period. That left her about an hour. The thrift store was right across the parking lot and Deena was tempted to go see Sandra, but she had a nagging feeling she couldn’t ignore.
She got in the car and drove toward the bank. If Clay had skipped town as Kitty suspected, it would be up to the police to find him. Her hands were tied there. But if he was just hiding out, Deena had an idea of where he might be.
Only a few cars were in the bank parking lot. Deena knew more would appear as soon as the lunchtime crowd arrived. She headed inside and straight to the teller window where Leslie sat on a tall stool looking at her phone.
Leslie must have sensed someone coming because she quickly stuck the phone under the counter before looking up. “Hi. How may I . . .” When Leslie realized it was Deena at the window, she hesitated, then added, “Help you today?”
“You can start by telling me where Clay is.” Deena smiled and put her purse on the counter as though she were conducting a bank transaction.
Leslie’s voice rose an octave higher and her face reddened. “I have no idea. I swear.”
Deena leaned in. “You’re lying and I’m not in the mood for games.”
Leslie opened her mouth, but no words came out.
“Look,” Deena said, “I can call the police to come question you here at the bank, or you can make this easy on yourself and tell me where he is. Scenario one probably gets you fired. Scenario two may save your job, unless it turns out you and Clay were in on it together all along. And while you’re considering your options, think about how bad you will look in orange.”
That’s all it took for her to spill her guts. “He’s at my apartment. I told him he could stay until they arrested whoever killed Kitty’s grandfather. He made me promise not to tell anyone. He didn’t want Kitty to know where he was so he could protect her.”
Deena dropped the Dirty Harry persona. “But what if Clay is the killer? Did you consider that? You and Kitty could both be in danger.”
Leslie’s eyes watered then. “He swore he didn’t.”
“Like you just swore you didn’t know where he was?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Are you going to tell the police where he is?”
“Yes. Write down your address and I am going to stand right over there and make the call. And I think I’ll hold on to your phone while I do it.”
Leslie handed over a slip of paper and her cell phone just as another customer walked up. “Hi. How can I help you today?”
Deena made the call and the dispatcher put her through to Officer Santos. He was grateful for the information, telling her they had an APB out on Clay Brooks. After ending the call, she slid the phone back to Kitty, feeling a sense of accomplishment. She had performed her civic duty and could breathe a sigh of relief.
But not so fast.
She spotted Marcie escorting a gentleman to the lobby and couldn’t help but wonder if she was aware of Edwin’s will naming her a beneficiary. She hesitated. Kitty had said she got stuff out of her grandfather’s safe deposit box, but she didn’t say she emptied it. Maybe there was a third will dated more recently that was made out to Kitty. It was worth a shot.
Deena caught the woman as she walked back to her office. “Hi, Marcie.”
“Oh, hi, Deena.” She was obviously caught by surprise. “Here for a loan to buy SWAT equipment for Christy Ann?”
“Good one, but no. Can I talk to you in private?”
The woman’s smile faded. She nodded and waved Deena into her office. Once they were seated, she said, “How can I help you today?”
Apparently, the bank employees were hardwired to say that. “I have a question about Edwin’s safe deposit box.”
“It’s sealed, as per state law when someone dies.”
“Sure, but I need to see what’s in it.” Deena smiled sweetly across the desk.
“Mrs. Sharpe, you know I can’t do that. Even if you were listed on the account—which you’re not—only a judge can order a box to be opened once it is sealed.”
She noticed Marcie had dropped “Deena” and now referred to her as “Mrs. Sharpe.”
“Well, Marcie, I know that you have special authority when it comes to those boxes and could open it if you wanted to. Or, I could ask Mr. Rusk.”
Marcie leaned back in her chair. “Seriously? You are trying to blackmail me again?”
“I promise not to take anything. I just need a peek inside.”
The woman seemed to weigh her options, then grabbed a ring of keys from her desk drawer. “Okay, but this is the last time.”
They walked to the vault and went inside the small room of safe deposit boxes. Marcie stooped down to one near the bottom and ripped off a piece of duct tape.
Deena chuckled. “That’s how you seal a box?”
“It’s largely symbolic.” She inserted two keys and opened the drawer.
Deena crouched down and looked inside. She took out two letter envelopes that had been pushed to the rear.
Marcie let out a huff and stood up. “You said you wouldn’t take anything.”
“I won’t, but I’ve got to see what I’m not taking.” Deena opened the first envelope. It contained a life insurance policy for ten thousand dollars made out to Kitty. The second one was the same but from a different company. At least Kitty wouldn’t be left penniless. Deena returned the envelopes and traded places with Marcie so she could lock the box.
“Whose box is that?” Deena asked, pointing to another sealed box two rows over on the top.
“If you must know, that’s Edwin’s also.”
Deena waved her hand. “Come on, sista. Give it up.”
Obviously unamused, Marcie clenched her jaw and proceeded to open the second box.
This one was much more interesting. Inside were at least six bundles of one-hundred-dollar bills. Deena gasped at the sight.
Marcie put a hand on her hip. “It’s not unusual for some people to keep cash locked up so they can get their hands on it quickly if needed. Also, some people, especially older customers, don’t always trust the banking
system.”
Deena slowly moved her hand forward to touch the beautiful bundles. She’d never seen that much cash in person. When she moved in closer, she saw another envelope lying at the bottom of the box. She reached under one of the stacks of bills and pulled it out. This could be the third will she was looking for. She quickly pulled out the papers and was thrilled to see it was indeed a will. But there on the dotted line was Marcie Phillips’s name. She turned to the back page and saw that the date matched the copy she’d gotten from Kitty. Her body slumped in disappointment.
Marcie must have sensed something was wrong. “What is it?” She took the document from Deena and started reading. She gasped when she got to her name. “What? Me?”
Either Marcie was a really good actress or she was reading the document for the first time. After glancing through all three pages, she folded and stuffed the document back into the envelope and returned it to the box. “We shouldn’t be reading this.” She closed the box, locked it, and replaced the duct tape. “Let’s get out of here.”
Deena followed her. Once they were in the lobby, Marcie plastered on a fake smile and reached out to shake Deena’s hand. “This will be our secret,” she said through clenched teeth.
When Deena returned the gesture, she felt Marcie’s hand trembling.
Chapter 25
Most of Deena’s thirty-three years as a journalism teacher had been spent at Maycroft High School. She knew the building as well as she knew her own home. Some of the faces had changed since she agreed to resign amid controversy, but most had stayed the same.
She came through the front door and started to walk past Patty Betts, the receptionist who had been there as long as she could remember. In fact, the woman had been at the school so long there were likely roots growing from the legs of her chair down through the building’s foundation.
“Hi, Patty,” Deena said with a wave.
“Whoa there, Deena. Where do you think you’re going?” The woman’s wrinkles deepened.
“Oh, sorry. I’m headed to the art room. I’ve got an appointment with Hector Firestone.”
“Not without checking in with me first.” There was an edge to Patty’s voice Deena didn’t remember from her teaching days or from speaking to Patty on a regular basis Sundays at church.
Patty pushed a clipboard at her.
Deena took the pen and filled in the information.
When she started to walk off again, Patty held out her hand and said, “Driver’s license, please.”
“What? Why?” Deena was anxious to get to the art room before Mr. Firestone’s conference period ended.
Patty pointed to a large laminated sign. “There’s no such thing as too much safety.”
Deena pulled out her billfold and flashed her ID.
“Take it out, please. I have to hold on to it until you check out of the building.”
“Are these new procedures?”
“We implemented them last year. Because”—she pointed again—“there’s no such thing as too much safety.”
“Got it.”
Patty picked up the phone. “I’ll call Mr. Firestone so he can escort you to his room.”
Deena reached over and pressed down on the button to hang up the call. “Seriously? I’m practically still an employee.”
Patty leaned forward. “Are you here on official business with the newspaper?”
“No.” She bit her bottom lip and then added, “I am no longer working there.”
“Hmm. Well, I suppose you can be trusted this once.” She pulled a “Hi, my name is” sticker out of her drawer, wrote Deena’s name on it, and handed it to her. “Don’t forget to stop by on your way out.”
Deena took the sticker and started to walk off again.
“Uh-uh,” Patty said and wagged her finger. “You have to wear it.”
Deena pulled the waxed paper off the back and slapped the sticker onto her blouse. She had forgotten just how strict school environments could be and was grateful to be retired.
Mr. Firestone stood in his classroom covered in a garment that resembled a hazmat suit. He wore plastic goggles and a protective mask over his mouth.
Deena took one look and shook her head. “What on earth are you doing? Teaching kids to make art with biohazardous waste?”
He pulled off the goggles and mask. “Hey, Deena. No, we are using paint.”
“Like house paint?”
“No, watercolors.” He shook his head and pointed to a sign. “You know what they say—”
“There’s no such thing as too much safety. Yeah, I learned that from Patty.”
He wiped up a spill with a paper towel. “Don’t even get me started on what we have to do for origami. I mean, I remember when I was in school we used to carve animals out of bars of soap using real knives. And we used broken glass to make mosaics. Sure, we’d get cut now and then, but that’s what made us tough.” He threw the paper towels in the recycling bin. “Now let’s see these papers you told me about.”
She pulled the two documents out of their envelopes, turned to the last pages, and handed them to him.
He sat at his desk and pulled out a large magnifying glass to examine the signatures.
Deena watched over his shoulder. “I know you teach calligraphy and we always had you check the report cards that looked suspicious, so I thought you might be able to tell if one of these is fake.”
He went back and forth between the signatures, appearing to study each letter at a time. “On first glance they are identical.”
Deena let out a sigh. She had secretly hoped that the one made out to Marcie was a forgery. She really wanted Kitty to inherit her grandfather’s estate.
“But that’s a problem,” Hector said. “They are almost too similar.”
Deena felt her heart start to race. “That’s what I thought too.” She pulled out the checkbook carbons. “I know these aren’t great, but here’s some other examples of his signature.”
Hector laid the carbons out and examined each one.
Deena hadn’t told him that the documents she was bringing him were wills, and he hadn’t seen the first pages where the benefactors’ names were listed.
“Look here,” he said. “There are slight differences on each of these, especially at the end of the last name. Some people have a signature they use every time they sign an official document. For a lot of people, the signature can vary slightly depending on the writing surface, writing instrument, and even the situation. I sign letters to parents much more meticulously than my credit card receipt at a restaurant. Also, as a person ages, their signature can get more erratic due to health issues.”
“This one was written a couple of years ago,” Deena said, pointing to the will she knew had Kitty’s name listed. “It seems logical that the most recent signature is the fake, if one of them is, right?”
Hector sat up. “Not necessarily. These are wills, I’m assuming. I read about Mr. Cooper’s death. It could be that someone copied the signature and backdated it.”
Deena hadn’t considered that possibility.
“But if I had to bet on it, I’d say this newest one is a forgery.” He backed away from the desk and handed Deena the magnifying glass. “My guess is that someone practiced tracing the signature and then traced this one onto the document. It seems to be written with a lighter hand.”
Deena couldn’t really see a difference, but she nodded as though she did.
The bell rang and she knew the room would soon be flooded with students. She picked up the papers and put them all back in her purse. “Thanks, Hector. You’ve been a big help.”
“Remember, I’m not certified in handwriting analysis. You’ll need to get an expert to testify in court.” He walked over and picked up his safety gear just as two girls walked in, threw down their backpacks at a table, and began chattering like hens.
“I will. Thanks.” As she weaved her way through the throng of teens, Deena had two thoughts. One: Did these kids get taller or
was she shrinking? And two: Who could she trust? Kitty or Marcie? She decided she shouldn’t put her trust in either of them.
After all, there’s no such thing as too much safety.
Chapter 26
I quit my job, Deena repeated to herself as she drove away from the high school. So why do I have these two wills from Kitty?
She knew the answer. It was partly because of her determination to see a project through to completion. Another part was her desire to seek justice, but another part was just plain nosiness. She’d never been as much of a busybody while she was teaching, but since she’d quit, that piece of her had grown exponentially. She supposed it was because she had more time on her hands, which was why she needed to get over to the antique mall and check on her booth. She needed to keep busy with other things besides investigating murders.
But first, she needed to return the two wills to Kitty. She steered her car in the direction of the tire store since she didn’t have Kitty’s address, but then her cell phone rang. She saw it was Guttman and pulled over to answer it.
“We apparently just missed Clay Brooks,” the detective said. “A neighbor said he’d just left on foot when we got there. Any idea where he might have gone?”
Deena looked around to see if she spotted anyone walking in the area. “Did you try Kitty’s house?”
“We did. No luck.” Then it sounded as though Guttman covered the phone with his hand to muffle the voices. Then he came back on the line. “You’ll never believe it. Guess who just showed up to turn himself in.”
“Who?”
“Clay Brooks.”
The busybody reared her head again. “I’ve got some new information. I’ll be right there.” Deena hung up before Guttman could protest. Hopefully, he’d be willing to talk to her since she’d been helping them with the case. She looked at her purse with the two wills inside and remembered how Kitty had wanted her to keep them private. She punched in the girl’s number. When she answered, Deena told Kitty she had some news and asked her to meet in front of the police station.
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