Florence stiffened. “Who is Sharon Smith?”
Hoyt ducked his head. “I agree. Who the hell is she?”
Chuck closed the case file. “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you—except that I don’t even have an address for her. Supposedly, she’s going to contact us upon learning of Lawrence’s death, and she has not done so to date. Other than that, the residual property, meaning anything that’s left after the specific bequests, goes to Florence.”
“Fucking great,” Hoyt snapped. “I can’t believe this. He’s been my dad for nearly forty years and your fiancé for what…less than a week? When did he redo this will, anyway? I saw the old one, which had been in place for two decades. I find this very suspicious.”
Chuck slid two envelopes across the table, both clearly labeled as one for Florence and the other for Hoyt. “These are for you.”
Florence’s hand shook as she pulled the envelope toward her to place in her purse. “I want to know who this Sharon is and right now.”
“Me too,” Hoyt growled.
Chuck placed his hands on the folder. “We’re under instructions from the testator to keep that information confidential. There might be an explanation in the letters I’ve handed to you, but I have not read them, so I do not know.”
Hoyt smacked the envelope against his hand. “I’m an heir under the will and demand to know who she is.”
“Sorry,” Chuck said.
Hoyt glared. “I’ll get a lawyer and sue you for that information.”
Chuck nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Let’s go.” I assisted Florence to stand, wanting to get out of the building before Hoyt and figuring he’d want to stay and argue with Chuck for some time.
Florence stood unsteadily and then gathered herself, turning for the doorway. She looked old and frail in front of me, and a swell of protectiveness hurried my steps. She had to be about five feet tall, even in the galoshes, and she’d been hit with a surprise. The bounty might be anicesurprise, but I figured she’d much rather have Lawrence than the money. We silently donned our coats and rode the elevator down to the first floor.
“Would you like to grab lunch?” I asked gently.
She looked up at me, her eyes wide in her powdery face. “No, but thank you. I need some time to digest all of this.”
I reached for my gloves from my pocket. “Florence? Did Bernie know he’d be inheriting the shotguns?” I didn’t know a value as of yet, but some shotguns could be quite valuable, and Bernie didn’t need one more motive against him.
“I don’t know.” She looked befuddled.
I glanced at the envelope sticking out of her bag. “Will you let me know if there’s any information in that letter that I need to know as your attorney?”
“Yes.” She walked outside into the bright snowy day, scouting the almost vacant parking lot. “Your man isn’t here.”
That’s because I hadn’t texted him yet. “Do you mind dropping me off on your way home?” I noticed a bright green Buick parked two slots down that had to belong to her.
“Not at all.” She patted my hand. “One thing I’ve learned in my long life of dating different men is that you have to make them work for it.” She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. “If he’s being bossy, you can’t just roll over, dear. No matter how badly you might want to do so.”
I tucked my arm through hers, taking some of her weight. “Amen, sister.”
Chapter 10
Alongstanding staple in Timber City, Smiley’s Diner was hopping after lunch on a Saturday afternoon. Most of the booths were full of people and brightly wrapped Christmas presents, and Mariah Carey croonedSilent Nightthrough invisible speakers. I meandered past the counter with its bright stools, beyond many of the comfortable leather booths to the last one at the end, which was vacant. Sighing happily, I slid onto the far bench, dropping my heavy purse to the side.
My sister delivered two baskets of fries to a table and then bustled my way, looking harried but still beautiful in her holiday green apron over her jeans and plain white T-shirt. “Hey. I’m on break in ten. How about I join you for lunch?” Tessa asked. She was the middle sister and favored the Irish side of our family with her strawberry blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, and skin that burned at midnight.
I smiled, instantly relaxing and not feeling guilty that I had taken an entire booth. “I’d love it.”
“I’ll order the usual.” She turned on her tennis shoes and moved gracefully, in a way I’d never be able to emulate.
I pulled out a notebook from my bag and started taking notes for Bernie’s case, trying to figure out who had a motive to kill Lawrence. Had Bernie known about the guns? Florence had left the list with me, so I could track down the value of each weapon. Hoyt had mentioned reading a will, one where he most likely inherited everything.
Had he killed his father, knowing Lawrence would change the will to include Florence once they were married?
