Last Puzzle & Testament (5 page)

“Trial!” Beasley bellowed. He turned on Arthur Kincaid. “You said I wouldn’t go to jail!”

“Oh, Your Honor—” Becky Baldwin protested.

“Not my doing,” Judge Hobbs cut in. “Talk to your client. When you do, Ms. Baldwin, you might point out he’ll probably serve more than three days just waiting for the case to come to trial. Defendant is remanded to custody.”

“Without bail, Your Honor?”

“Bail is set at five hundred dollars.”

“Arthur, you’ll help me on this?” Becky said. At the lawyer’s nod, she turned to the judge. “We can make that, Your Honor.”

“Very well,” Judge Hobbs said. “I’ll recess for fifteen minutes to allow you to pay bail. Then we’re back here with—let me see—the theft of a hubcap and a domestic disturbance.” He banged the gavel. “Court is in recess.”

As the court officer moved in again to escort Jeff Beasley away, Aaron Grant approached Arthur Kincaid. “Excuse me, Arthur. With regard to the Hurley inheritance. I’m wondering if you could give me an interview.”

The elderly lawyer smiled. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Yes, but there’s a story in that,” Aaron replied. “Usually, a lawyer would know all the facts.”

“Well, thank you very much.”

“You know what I mean. I’m a column short for tomorrow. Whaddaya say?”

“At the moment I have to help Becky arrange bail.” Arthur Kincaid nodded in the direction of a teenage boy sitting in the second row. “I’m also the attorney for the alleged perpetrator in the theft of the hubcap. After that, I have a meeting with a client and I’ll be lucky if I’m not late. I’m not sure I could give you an interview anyway, but I’ll tell you what, Aaron. I’m having drinks tonight at t thtonighthe Country Kitchen with some of the Hurley heirs. If you were to show up, I don’t know what I could do about it …”

“Around when?”

“I would imagine around seven.”

“Interesting,” Aaron said. “I just might stop by.”

Cora Felton, who had crept forward when court broke up, was close enough to hear Aaron Grant say that.

And to see that Becky Baldwin had heard him say it too.

Sherry Carter, sitting sideways in the passenger seat, leaned her arm out the window and watched Cora Felton pilot the red Toyota around the curves in the winding country road. “Tell me again.”

“Tell you what?”

“Why we’re going out to dinner.”

“You need to get out more. You never get out.”

“I was just out to lunch.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Why not?”

“It just isn’t.”

The wind was blowing her hair in her eyes. Sherry pushed it off her forehead, said, “Then why the Country Kitchen? You play bridge there. You drink there. You’re there all the time. What’s so special about that?”

“You don’t go there.”

“That’s right. I don’t. That’s your life. I don’t interfere. If you’ll recall, you’re very
particular
that I don’t interfere.”

“Sherry. It’s just dinner.”

“Uh huh. So, where’d you go this afternoon?”

“Out.”

“I
assumed
you went out. You go out, you don’t say where, you come back, you’re all hot to go to dinner.”

“You should have been a detective.”

“Oh? What am I detecting?”

“You know, Sherry. You should have your own car.”

“What?”

“I go out, you’re stuck in the house. It’s not like New York City. There’s no public transportation here. Without a car, you can’t get around.#x2201D;

“It’s not a problem.”

“Well, it should be. Young girl like you. You wanna be stuck in the house with your crosswords and computers? By the way, could you work something into the column about a trial?”

“A trial? Why?”

“Chief Harper wanted to know why I was at the county courthouse. I told him I was doing research for my column.”

Sherry’s eyes widened. “You went to the courthouse?”

“I dropped by.”

“You went to spy on Becky Baldwin?”

“
Spy.
What a nasty word.” Cora Felton spun the wheel, swerved into the parking lot.

“It’s from the Greek
slceptesthai
,” Sherry said automatically. “
To watch.
Is that what we’re doing at the Country Kitchen?”

“We’re here to have dinner.” Cora stopped the car, rolled up the windows, and got out.

“Aunt Cora—”

But Cora Felton was already padding across the parking lot. Sherry sighed, then headed after her.

Inside, a waitress with an armful of menus stood at the door to the dining room. “Two for dinner?” she asked.

“We’ll be having a drink at the bar first,” Cora answered, guiding Sherry firmly in that direction.

It was late enough that most people had moved on into dinner, and the bar was not that full. Half the stools were empty and most of the booths. Cora Felton headed for a stool in the middle of the bar.

“Wouldn’t you prefer a booth?” Sherry asked.

“What, and wait for service? Hey, the bartender’s right here.” Cora beamed at him. “I’ll have a martini on the rocks with a twist, young man. And go easy on the vermouth. Just kind of wave the bottle over it once while you stir it around. You don’t even have to take off the cap.”

The bartender grinned. “And you, young lady?”

“I’ll have a Diet Coke.”

Cora Felton shuddered. “Sherry. Honey. You’re out on the town. Live a little.”

“Okay,” Sherry said. “Make it a regular Coke.”

The bartender moved off down the bar to make their drinks.

Cora Felton rolled her eyes. “You’re an impossible date. It’s a good thing you’re good-looking, or men wouldn’t bother with you at C wieyesall.”

“Uh huh,” Sherry said. “Now, you wanna tell me what you were doing at the courthouse today?”

“I will if you’ll keep your voice down,” Cora Felton said. “You see the man sitting down the bar? Tall, white hair, three-piece suit?”

“Yeah. So?”

“That’s the local lawyer. Only game in town till what’s-her-name showed up.”

“Becky Baldwin. So what?”

“He’s handling the Hurley estate. That’s old Mrs. Hurley, croaked last week. Very wealthy eccentric recluse. Lived alone, died alone, left a ton of money. Mansion boarded up since her death. Heirs in town tomorrow for the reading of the will. A will even her lawyer hasn’t seen.”

“So?”

“Interesting story, don’t you think?”

“What’s it got to do with us?”

“Don’t you find it interesting?”

“No, I don’t, Cora. It’s none of my business. Or yours. It doesn’t interest me at all.”

“Maybe not, but it might interest other people. It’s a story. People love a story. And—” Cora Felton broke off and her eyes widened.

Sherry saw this, turned and looked.

Aaron Grant and Becky Baldwin had just come through the door.

“Sherry, you don’t understand.”

“Oh?” Sherry said. “What is it I don’t understand?”

Aaron Grant jerked his thumb in the direction of Becky Baldwin, Arthur Kincaid, and Cora Felton. He had piloted Sherry away from them after perfunctory introductions. “I’m here to interview Arthur Kincaid for the newspaper.”

“You must have a low opinion of my intelligence. I understand that perfectly well.”

“I’m sure that you do. The point is, I didn’t come here with Becky Baldwin.”

“Yes. I saw you not come here with her. You did it well. In fact, I just saw the two of you, not coming in the door.”

“I didn’t come here with her. She met me in the parking lot.”

“Is that where you meet most of your women?”

“ F wieyhere ;I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

“I can’t either. If I’d stayed home, as usual, it never would have happened. You can blame Cora. She insisted I go out.”

“You’re here for dinner?”

“Yes. Would you and Becky care to join us?”

Aaron grimaced. “This is unbelievable. Suddenly, I’m back in high school.”

“Yes. That is where you know her from, isn’t it?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. Shouldn’t you be conducting an interview?”

Aaron Grant glanced down the length of the bar and smiled. “I believe the man has his hands full at the moment.”

He certainly did, in the form of Jeff Beasley, showered and shaved, and sporting a fresh change of clothes. As Aaron and Sherry watched, the little housebreaker stuck his finger in Arthur Kincaid’s face and demanded, “Buy me a drink. Least you could do, after cutting me loose. It’s a fine thing, hang a man out to dry, say, Sorry, I’m not your attorney anymore.”

“There’s a conflict of interest,” Becky Baldwin explained.

Jeff Beasley looked at her as if she were some barfly butting in on the conversation. “Conflict of interest? A lot you know. Hell, there ain’t no conflict of interest. It’s in everyone’s interest to get me off on that charge.”

“I’m working on it,” Becky Baldwin said.

“Working on it? Did you hear that, Arthur?” Beasley demanded, his voice dripping with irony. “The little lady’s working on it. And I bet she just finished law school. Well, I guess my worries are over.”

“Now, now.” Arthur Kincaid stepped between them. “Becky, Jeff doesn’t mean it, he just likes to complain, you have to get used to him. Jeff, stop your grousing and I’ll buy you a drink. Then you go home and get to bed before you do something else we have to bail you out for.”

Jeff Beasley snorted contemptuously, but allowed Arthur Kincaid to summon the bartender.

From her perch on a barstool, Cora Felton watched with great interest. As she did, the loudest sports jacket she had ever seen came in the door. It was worn by a man with dazzling white teeth and jet black hair. The teeth were way too bright for a man his age, just as the hair was way too dark and full. The teeth and hair adorned a round, jowled face, which somehow still managed to appear angular. The man looked as if he were about to sell someone aluminum siding against their will.

He strode up to the lawyer and said, “Arthur Kincaid?”

“Yes?& Kp to#x201D;

“Philip Hurley. We spoke on the phone. We’ve met before, though it’s been years. And this is my wife, Ethel,” Philip said, thrusting forward a diminutive blonde with a face-lift, much in the manner of one presenting a bargaining chip in a deal one was conducting.

Ethel, clearly uncomfortable in a red sheath dress that was way too young for her, glared back at her husband before taking the lawyer’s hand. “Pleased to meet you,” she said. Her nasal whine could have cut glass. “We’re here for the reading of the will.”

Philip Hurley rolled his eyes. “He knows that,
honey
,” he said, managing to convey with the one-word endearment what a lesser man could not have accomplished with the phrase
stupid, pusillanimous ignoramus.
“He
knows
we’re the heirs. He’s the one who called us.”

Jeff Beasley had been studying the new arrivals. The burglar’s face brightened. “You’re the heirs? Then you owe me a drink.” He thrust out his glass. “I’m drinking bourbon.”

Philip Hurley’s lip curled. “And you would be?”

“Jeff Beasley. Pleased to meetcha.”

“The pleasure is yours,” Philip Hurley informed him. “And what earthly reason do you have for thinking I owe you a drink?”

“Jeff Beasley was my client,” Arthur Kincaid explained. “I had to let him go due to a conflict of interest over your aunt’s estate. He feels you cost him a lawyer, so you owe him a drink.”

“Is he nuts?” Philip Hurley sputtered. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“Spoilsport,” Beasley grunted. “Come on, just one drink.”

“I just bought you a drink,” Arthur Kincaid pointed out.

“And I drank it.” Jeff Beasley held up the empty glass. “And now I need another.” He thrust his chin out at Philip Hurley. “You putting up or not?”

“He’s not,” Arthur Kincaid said firmly. “Jeff, I can’t have you harassing the heirs. I’ll buy you one more drink, but then you’re on your own.” He signaled to the bartender, pointed to Beasley’s glass. “One more on my tab.”

“Now see here,” Philip said. “That better not come out of the estate.” He jerked his thumb at his chest. “Because that money is coming to me.”

“That’s right.” Ethel Hurley’s piercing whine cut through the squabble. “What about the inheritance? How much is it?”