Fatal Impulse: A Widow's Web Novel (7 page)

S
he sat the insurance policy on top of the desk and returned to the hanging files in the file cabinet again. The file marked “Legal” contained photocopies of their Wills. Chad's small, neat print on the bottom of each indicated that the original was in the safe deposit box at Harbor Regional Bank. She pulled his copy out and laid it on top of the insurance policy, and continued through the files. Just as she was about to close the drawer, a plain manila file folder stuck in the very back of the cabinet caught her eye. The hand-written label simply said, “Will.” She frowned and leaned in to get a closer look. The blue manuscript jacket indicated that it had been drawn up by an attorney in Bangor by the name of Benson Harrington III.

She scanned the document, shocked to discover he specifically excluded her from his estate. Explicitly. He left everything to his trust, and named the attorney as Trustee. She flipped to the last page. The signature was dated only three weeks before.

Why would he do that to her? Had he hated her that much? He was such a perfectionist, so concerned about image. He had told her on more than one occasion that he would never, ever, get a divorce because he did not fail. What changed his mind?

Then a horrible thought entered her mind.

What if divorce wasn't his plan?

Her heart thudded in her chest, and the blood rushed in her ears. She stared at his stylized signature, thoughts swirling in her head. Regardless of his plans, she had to deal with reality. How could she survive with nothing? Chad had never let her work. She had no savings, no money of her own. After all she'd been through, he left her high and dry.

The musical chime of the doorbell broke Andi's reverie. She leaned back in the chair and peered out the bay window. Dana’s Impala sat in the driveway. Andi bit her lip, folded the new Will up and stuck it in the back of the right hand drawer, tucked beneath Chad’s dental stationery.

She hurried to the front door and let Dana in, who immediately enveloped Andi in a hug. "How are you? Really?"

Andi's words froze in her throat. Years of saying what others expected to hear kicked in, and she said, "I'm fine. Or, I will be."

Doing what's expected is a tough habit to break.

The other woman tilted her head a bit and nodded. The concern in her emerald green eyes was genuine. “I can only imagine how difficult this is for you.”

Andi didn't want to be pitied, and she didn't feel like small talk and gossip. “I’ve been going through Chad’s office. Would you have time to give me some guidance, maybe point me in the right direction?”

“Of course!” Dana's features relaxed as she dropped her Tory Burch purse on the hall table and followed Andi to the kitchen. Andi made Earl Grey tea and sweetened hers with honey while Dana dunked an English Teatime bag into her cup, then helped herself to a lemon wedge from the plastic container in the refrigerator door.

Dana squeezed the lemon then dropped it into her tea and took a sip. "You're still slicing lemons for Chad?"

Andi stopped cold. She laughed, a short, harsh sound. "Guess I don't need to do that anymore."

She led her friend to the den and gestured towards the leather armchair. Dana took her seat and Andi dropped into Chad's chair behind the desk. She explained briefly what the stacks contained, but stopped short of telling her friend about the new Will. She wasn’t sure she should tell anyone about that. 

Maybe it’d be better to just shred it and pretend it never existed. Could she do that?

Dana sat her cup down on the corner of the desk, and scanned the insurance policy. A couple of times, her eyebrows arched and she made a little sound of surprise or understanding. Andi sipped her tea, watching her friend's facial expressions. Dana put the thick sheaf of papers down, then picked up the copy of the Will, perusing it in the same way. Finally, she laid the document on the desk and picked up her tea, still sitting on the edge of her seat. Andi chewed on lower lip and waited for her friend to break the silence first.

“You understand, I’m not an attorney, so I can’t give you legal advice.”

“I know, but I thought maybe you could tell me what I should do next, maybe tell me whether or not I need a lawyer.” Andi's forehead furrowed.

“OK,” Dana leaned back in the chair, the leather creaking slightly with her movement. “You need to file the Will with the court. My firm can do that for you. We’ll open an estate and help you through the process.”
              “Probate, right?” Andi pursed her lips, worried at the thought of the courts being involved. How much trouble would she be in if she hid the new Will?

“Yes, but there probably won’t be much to it. I assume you owned everything jointly?”

Andi thought of the more recent Will and the refinancing of the Grand Cherokee and wondered if that was indeed the case, but nodded.

“That’s the next thing you need to do – put together a list of your assets and how they’re titled.” Dana motioned towards the file cabinet and the stacks of papers beside it, “Looks like you’ve already started to go through the paperwork. Look for deeds, titles, that sort of thing.”

“I have copies of the titles to the cars.” Andi pulled them out of the shorter stack on the edge of the desk and slid them across the desk. Both copies had a notation on the bottom that the originals were in the safe deposit box. But did the refi affect that?

Dana glanced at them, then set them aside. “Good. They’re titled in both names, and/or, so they’re both yours immediately.”

The two discussed assets for a couple more minutes. Andi wanted to know about the insurance policy, but was afraid to ask. Dana suggested she go to the Recorder of Deeds office to get a copy of the house deed, since it hadn’t been in the file cabinet. Andi's stomach churned at that thought. Had he done anything about the house? When Dana nodded towards the insurance policy, Andi's fingertips whitened as she gripped her teacup tighter.

“The funeral home will get death certificates for you. You’ll probably get them in the mail in a few days.”

Andi nodded, “The guy at the funeral home said he ordered ten.”

“That’ll be plenty. Call the insurance company and find out what forms they need you to fill out in order to collect. Let me know if you need help filling it out.” She pointed to the policy, “Have you read the policy?”

Andi shrugged. "Skimmed it, but don't really know what I'm looking at."

Dana scanned the policy and smiled, “It’s a double indemnity.”

“Which means?”

“It means that because Chad died in an accident, you'll be able to collect double.”

Andi nodded, and bit her lip. Inside, she was cheering. Half a million dollars was like winning the lottery. But it also sounded like motive.

At least, it would to Detective Johnson.

“That means you will probably need to get a copy of the accident report. I know it happened out by the Clifftop. I assume the Highway Patrol was on the scene, so you’ll want to contact them and get a copy.”

The idea of asking about an accident report made Andi's stomach turn. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her husband topple over that guardrail.

She imagined his body crashing into the rocks below.

No one deserved to die like that. 

“I’m sorry.” Dana leaned forward and touched Andi's arm. “We don’t have to do all this now. Why don’t I call the insurance company and the highway patrol for you?”

Andi sucked in a deep breath and words tumbled out, “A police detective is asking questions. He was at the funeral. He followed me when I took Mama to the airport.”

Dana's green eyes widened. “Is he harassing you?"

“No, not exactly,” Andi tipped her head forward and hid behind her long dark hair. “But he left a message on my answering machine earlier today, something about having questions for me.”

A frown furrowed her friend's brow as she straightened the papers in front of her. She hesitated, then said, without looking up, “Did he say what kind of questions?”

Andi looked up through the fringe of hair and watched her friend closely, then shook her head. She tucked her hair behind her ears and sucked in a deep breath.

Dana looked up, then her chin dipped once, “The police probably just want to make sure they’ve got the accident report filled out completely. Everything is going to be fine. You know I'll help with anything you need, but we've talked about this enough for now." Dana avoided Andi's gaze, as she stood and glanced at her watch, “I’ve got about half an hour before I need to go meet Derek for dinner.”

Andi stood and stretched. Dana grasped her arm and steered her out the door, then whispered conspiratorially, “Let’s go sit in the living room for a bit and catch up on gossip. Have you talked to Jennie lately, besides dental office stuff? I heard that the pro wrestler she used to be married to is in town and Jeff has moved out . . . “

A
fter a sleepless night, Andi pulled Detective Johnson’s card from her purse and called him. He said he was close and would stop by shortly, so she walked next door to Mrs. Harrison’s house to pick up her mail. The old woman was the type of neighbor you always waved to, and occasionally talked to when you both happened to be doing yard work, but you always remembered that you had something in the oven you needed to check when she offered to show you her bunions.

The old woman shook her head and clucked her tongue. "Did you hear about Tobias Peabody?"

Andi shook her head.

"He slipped in his bathtub and snapped his neck."  She snapped her fingers. "Lucky bastard."

She stopped cold when an unmarked police car swung into Andi's driveway. “Oh, my! Is something else wrong, dear?” Her bony hand fluttered at her chest like a bird.

“Just routine police business,” Andi assured her, and cut across the yards to meet the cop in the driveway. He stood at the front of his car, hands at his side, chin up. His weathered skin hinted at years of being exposed to the harsh Maine weather.

“That was quick,” She said, brushing past him on her way to the door.

He grunted. “I was in the neighborhood.”

He paused to wipe his shoes on the doormat, then followed her into the house. She suggested they go to the kitchen, then started a pot of coffee while he settled in at the table. He produced a small spiral notebook and a cheap Bic pen from his pocket, and jotted a few notes before he spoke. She pulled out the chair across from him and sat, folded her hands in front of her, and waited.

He cleared his throat and began, “Appreciate you taking the time to talk with me.”

Her heart thudded in her chest. “Of course.” She fought the urge to hang her head and hide behind her hair, and instead looked him in the eye.

His voice was like gravel. “Take me through the events of the night of May 15.”

She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. "Again?"

He grinned. There was a gap between his two front teeth, yellowed with nicotine. "Humor an old Mainer."

She took a deep breath and explained that they'd been to a dinner party with some of Chad’s business acquaintances up at the Clifftop. She closed her eyes as she related the events of the evening. As she described the flat tire, it was almost as though she were there again. She saw the jagged lightning bolts, heard the booming of the thunder, and felt the goose bumps pimpling her skin as she remembered the cold rain, the blowing wind. She saw Chad throw his head back, heard the mocking cruelty of his laugh.

A chill ran up her spine and she huffed out a breath. She opened her eyes and the officer stared at her, pen poised above the paper. He made a rolling motion with his hand.

“He was laughing.” She squeezed her hands together to keep them from shaking. “And he was off-balance, I guess. He bumped against the guardrail and tipped over. It all happened so quickly.”

"Wait." He held up his hand, palm out. “He was laughing?”

She nodded.

His bushy eyebrows pushed together. “During a thunderstorm. On a cliff with a storm raging. Changing a flat tire in the dark. And he was laughing?”

“Yes, sir.” She chewed on her lower lip. She honestly couldn't remember what Chad had said. Something mean, she was certain, that he thought was funny.

He settled back in his chair. “Why?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then shrugged. “I-I don’t remember.”

He leaned forward and wrote on his pad. “Who changed the tire?”

“He did.” She leaned forward, mirroring his actions.

He put his arm around the spiral notebook, like a kid in grade school keeping others from copying. “Where were you while he was changing it?”

“Standing beside him, holding the flashlight.” Her knuckles had been white. She remembered that clearly.

His cheap pen scratched across the paper. “Anyone see you that night?”

She thought for a moment, then straightened, “Yes! A car passed by. I remember because it splashed water on us.”

He scribbled, “Make? Model? Color?”

“It was dark. Four door, maybe.”

He ran a hand over his nearly-bald pate. “License number?”

"No." She shook her head, then raised her index finger, “Wait! There was a dent in the door. Passenger side.”

He asked a few more questions, where the vehicle was, which direction it was going, what she was wearing that night, had they been drinking.

The chair squeaked as he pushed away from the table. "Need to see the vehicle, ma’am.”

She led him outside. "Someone drove it home for me that night. They parked it beside the garage."

She watched while he examined the SUV from bumper to bumper, inside and out. The blown tire still laid in the back, on her sequined jacket. 

The detective fingered the wrap. "This yours?"

She nodded. He looked at her with narrowed eyes, but didn't comment. After about ten minutes of watching his methodical search, she left him to it and returned to the house.

When he finished, he walked into the kitchen and watched as she sliced cookie dough from a refrigerated log. She placed each one on the cookie sheet exactly 1 ½” apart, precisely 1 ½” from the edge of the pan. Convincing Chad that cookies cut from a log were acceptable had been quite the accomplishment on her part, and she suspected the consistent appearance of the cookies had been the thing that tipped the scales in her favor.

“Neat,” the detective said.

She paused with a cookie hovering over the pan, and looked at him with wide eyes. "I'm sorry?"

He nodded towards the round bits of dough. "Precise."

She shrugged. “Habit, I guess.”

“May have more questions for you later.” He hooked his thumbs in his waistband and tugged his dark blue pants up.

“You know where to find me.”

He held up a small brown paper bag. “Took samples out of the car for analysis. That okay with you?”

She nodded and slid the cookie sheet into the oven, wondering what the samples were of. “Is this routine?”

“Yep. Anytime there’s a suspicious death.”

She let the oven door slam shut and turned to face the gruff cop. “Suspicious?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He spoke slowly and watched her face as he said, “Dr. Adams had a gambling problem. Did that affect your marriage?”

He was baiting her, and she felt herself tense. "Gambling problem? What are you talking about?”

"Had a bad run of luck in A.C. Turned it around though." He pulled the little notebook from his pocket and flipped the cover back. “'Bout the time he started seeing his mistress. Out of his league, if you ask me. Probably helped him out of that jam. Or would have, after she got her inheritance.”