Crossing the Lion (a Reigning Cats and Dog) (2010) (25 page)

Warily, Nick said, “Frankly, I don’t know if anything was going on between Linus and Scarlett. But she told me she’s been dating someone seriously for almost two years. A doctor. A surgeon, in fact. An orthopedic surgeon. They met when she broke her wrist skiing.”

A surgeon, huh? That meant her beau was someone who made a pretty good salary—which could explain her pricey possessions.

“He also happens to be an older man,” Nick added.

“How much older?” I was back to thinking about Linus. I wondered if there was a pattern here—if Scarlett tended to go for men who were several decades her senior, including both her boss and her surgeon.

“He’s thirty-five,” Nick said. “‘An older guy,’ she called him, even though he’s around my age.” Frowning, he mused, “Gee, I never thought of myself as ‘an older guy’ before.”

“She only thinks thirty-five is older because she’s something like twenty-four or twenty-five,” I reassured him.

“That’s a relief.” Nick sighed. “Although I have noticed a few gray hairs lately.”

“It’s only when you notice
no
hair that you have to start worrying,” I told him.

“Besides,” I added, patting his hand affectionately, “I’ve already agreed to stay with you in sickness and in health and all kinds of other contingencies. I’m pretty sure those vows you and I took covered gray hair and baldness and everything else that comes along with you turning into an older guy.”

“So I guess you’re stuck with me,” Nick said with a grin.

“Like glue,” I said, grinning back. “Krazy Glue, the kind that never gets unstuck.”

•  •  •

Nick and I were marveling over the fact that we were bonded for life—something I still hadn’t gotten completely used to—when I heard Betty outside our closed bedroom door, calling us in a soft voice.

“Jessica? Nick? I hope I’m not disturbing you …”

“You know what she thinks we were doing, don’t you?” I asked Nick teasingly.

“Another two minutes and she would have been right,” he replied, moving his eyebrows up and down in a lascivious way.

I just rolled my eyes. “Come on in, Betty,” I called back.

She opened the door hesitantly, then looked relieved to find Nick and me sitting side by side on the bed, fully clothed. True, my hair was mussed and our clothes were a bit disheveled. But I figured she was
afraid she might find us in a considerably more compromising position.

“Sorry to bother you,” Betty said, “but Linus’s lawyer just arrived, and he’s about to read the will. I suggested to Charlotte that she might want those of us who are outsiders to find something else to do, but she invited us to join everyone else downstairs. I thought you would be interested …”

Nick and I exchanged excited glances.

“We’re interested,” I assured her. “We’ll be down in a second.”

As she closed the door behind her, Nick whispered to me, “I think this may be the part where the plot thickens.”

“Maybe we’ll get some answers,” I replied, less interested in the drama of the event than in the possibility that it might help me put my finger on the killer.

As soon as Nick and I put ourselves back in order, we rushed down to the first floor. Charlotte was standing at the bottom of the staircase, chatting with a man who was a newcomer to Solitude Island.

Glancing up at us, she said, “I see you two have decided to join us for the reading of Linus’s will. You might as well, since I’m sure that afterward everyone in this household will be talking about nothing else.”

She placed her hand gently on the newcomer’s arm. “Let me introduce Oliver Withers. He’s been our family attorney for years.”

Charlotte made it sound as if having a family attorney was as common as having a family doctor—or a
family pet. Of course, now that I was married to a lawyer, I supposed I had a family attorney of my own.

This particular one happened to look very lawyerly. While he didn’t have much in the way of hair, the silver strands that remained did a really good job of staying in place. He was dressed in a conservative gray suit that had either been made for him or customized by an expert tailor. The blue in his striped black-and-blue tie was almost the exact color of his shirt. Instead of ordinary buttons at the ends of his sleeves, he wore cuff links. Gold ones, engraved with his initials.

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.”

T
he 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 notebooks.

“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?”