Where There’s a Will

by Beth Pattillo

  She knocked boldly, partly to give herself courage and partly because she knew she wasn’t expected this time. Again, there was a long silence before she finally heard footfalls from within the house.

  Carol Coats didn’t look quite so well groomed when she opened the door. She wore no makeup, and her hair had seen only a passing acquaintance with a comb. “Oh, it’s you.”

  Those words were enough to confirm Kate’s suspicions that Oliver’s presence at the antique mall had been neither a coincidence nor an accident.

  “I’d like to speak to your husband if I may.”

  “Haven’t you given him enough trouble?” Carol asked, her forehead furrowed with worry. Or was it fear? Kate wondered if the poor woman could even tell the two emotions apart anymore.

  “I won’t take but a moment of his time.” Kate decided it was better to avoid answering Carol’s question, since she intended to cause Oliver even more trouble before it was all over.

  Carol pursed her lips as if she was determined to deny Kate entry, but then she seemed to change her mind and stepped aside. “Follow me” was all she said.

  Kate’s heart hammered in her chest as she walked behind Carol down the lengthy hallway. This time, though, Carol didn’t offer her a comfortable seat in the sunroom or a glass of iced tea. She paused at the doorway to the study where Lela Harrington’s painting hung. “That woman is here to see you,” she said before slipping away down the hall.

  Kate sent up a quick prayer and entered the room. Oliver Coats sat behind a large mahogany desk. He didn’t stand when he saw Kate, an indication of the depth of his displeasure.

  “I hardly think we have anything to say to one another, Kate,” he said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. “You and my cousin are in cahoots to perpetrate a fraud. But you won’t succeed. I can personally guarantee that.”

  “Fraud?” Kate was surprised, and then she felt a spark of anger ignite in her chest. “I can assure you, Oliver,” she said, “that I am not participating in any form of fraud. I’m far more interested in seeing justice served.”

  “Ellen is acting out of spite. She feels cheated out of her birthright, but that was her grandfather’s decision, not mine.” He reached for a pile of folders on the desk, selected one, and then flipped it open in front of him. “The will is quite clear.” He took the top piece of paper from the folder and held it out toward Kate. She crossed the room and took it gingerly from his hand.

  Spidery, old-fashioned handwriting sprawled across the onionskin paper. Kate quickly scanned the document, noting the date and the signature at the bottom. The text was short and to the point. Ellen’s grandfather had left his entire estate, including his interest in the property on High Hoot Ridge, to Carol Harrington Coats on the grounds that his wife benefit from the property for the duration of her lifetime. There were no other bequests. Only the notable omission of the man’s sole direct descendant—his granddaughter.

  “Yes, you’re right. It’s quite clear.” Kate handed the paper back to Oliver. “But it may not be the very last will and testament of Alexander Harrington.”

  “You think those paintings are really pieces of a puzzle?” Oliver snorted. “I suspect that hardening of the arteries may have addled the old lady’s mind toward the end. Of course, she wanted to believe there was another will. Although her husband left her a lifetime interest in the property, he made no provision for Ellen. No doubt Lela Harrington hated to see her own grandchild left with nothing.”

  “I know that Ellen believes her grandmother’s story.” Kate paused to pray silently for an organized and shrewd mind. She needed Oliver’s help, but it wasn’t going to be easy to obtain. She had to present her case in just the right way.

  “If, as you say, the paintings are a wild-goose chase, then wouldn’t it be better to prove it?” Kate reasoned. “Then there would be no doubt about the ownership of the ridge.”

  “I have no doubt about it now.”

  “But Ellen does. And she might need to speak to someone at the paper company about what she knows.”

  Oliver’s expression darkened like a thundercloud. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Goodness, no. As a minister’s wife, I do try to stick to the straight and narrow.” Well, she did try, Kate thought with a chuckle to herself, even if she wavered a little sometimes. “I’m only saying that—”

  “You can call off your stupid search.” Oliver looked as if he might start snarling at any moment.

  Again, Kate could only pity his poor beleaguered wife.

  “Lela Harrington’s only remaining canvases were destroyed in a fire several years ago,” Oliver said with a glint in his eye.

  “A fire?” It was the first Kate had heard of it. “What fire?”

  “At a storage building on Sweetwater Street. I had rented it to keep some excess household goods. The fool owner didn’t even have smoke alarms installed.”

  Kate couldn’t help but think that this piece of information seemed more than a little convenient. “Why didn’t you tell me that the last time I was here?”

  “The last time you were here, I thought you were a student, not Tennessee’s answer to Nancy Drew. You wanted to see the work of my wife’s great-aunt, and I showed it to you.”

  Whatever Oliver was trying to sell, Kate wasn’t buying it. “How many paintings were lost in the fire?”

  “Half a dozen or so. None of them were of any value but the sentimental kind.”

  Kate hesitated. How was she to proceed now? If Oliver was telling the truth, then the last puzzle piece had been irretrievably lost. And if he wasn’t...The story would be easy enough to verify. Most likely, any storage-building fire had made the Copper Mill Chronicle.

  “So you’re telling me that no more of her paintings exist?”

  Oliver shrugged his shoulders. “They were all divided up between the four cousins. There were no others that I know of.”

  If Kate hadn’t seen Oliver at the antique mall in Chattanooga, she might have let it go at that. But he had obviously been worried about Ellen’s search for the fourth painting. That had to count for something.

  “Even without the second will,” Kate said, deciding to gamble a bit, “wouldn’t it be the fair thing to do to include Ellen in the inheritance? Surely she has as much claim to the property as any of the others.”

  “You want me to just give away hundreds of thousands of dollars?” Oliver looked at her as if she’d just sprouted a second head. “I understand that you’re a do-gooder, but I didn’t think you were an idiot.”

  Kate bit her tongue before she could deliver a stinging retort of her own. No one was ever victorious in a war of words.

  “Perhaps it would be best if I leave now,” Kate said instead. “Thank you for your time.”

  She could see that her polite reply frustrated him more than any retort ever could have done. Kate tried not to be too pleased at having gotten the best of him through manners rather than temper, but she had to enjoy it just a little.

  “Tell my cousin there’s no point in pursuing this inane theory of hers. She should accept that the past is the past and move on.”

  Kate didn’t reply. Instead, she turned and retraced her steps toward the front door as quickly as she could, glad to escape from Oliver’s presence. She had almost made her escape when she heard a soft “Psst” from the room on her right. Carol stood just inside the room, half hidden behind the door.

  “Kate?” Carol stepped toward the doorway and darted a nervous look down the corridor. “I couldn’t help overhearing...”

  “Yes?” Kate asked softly.

  “It’s just that...” The other woman wrung her hands. “That is, I wanted to tell you that—”

  Carol immediately went silent when Oliver appeared at the other end of the hallway.

  “I was just seeing her out,” Carol said far too loudly to sound believable.

  Kate played along, nodding and saying good-bye. She moved quickly to the front door. Car
ol followed her, but there was no further opportunity for conversation. Kate could feel Oliver’s glare drilling a hole in the back of her head.

  Before she could turn back to the other woman, the front door shut behind her, and Kate was left standing alone on the porch. Whatever Carol Coats had been about to say was now sealed behind the solid oak door of the painstakingly restored Victorian.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kate asked Ellen to meet her at the Copper Mill Public Library the next day, since Ellen didn’t have a class on Wednesday morning. Kate would have to confess her unauthorized visit to Carol and Oliver’s house and break the news to Ellen about the fire. Something about Oliver’s account of the loss of the last painting hadn’t rung true to Kate. She wanted to know more about this supposed fire and what had actually been destroyed.

  Livvy greeted Kate warmly at the library circulation desk. “How goes the sleuthing?”

  “It’s about to be on the upswing, I hope, with a little help from you.”

  Ellen arrived a few minutes later, and Kate introduced her to Livvy. Then she had to break the difficult news to Ellen.

  “I didn’t mean to do anything untoward, but I wanted to go to Oliver’s house yesterday before I lost my nerve. He claims that at one time he did have another painting of your grandmother’s. I suspect it’s the last painting of High Hoot Ridge, the one we’re looking for.” She paused.

  Ellen looked at Kate, a spark of hope in her eyes. Kate wished she didn’t have to be the one to dampen that spark.

  “Oliver also said it was destroyed in a fire at a storage building a few years ago,” Kate said.

  Ellen’s shoulders sank, as did her expression. “Well, that’s it, then. There’s no hope of finding the will now.”

  “Maybe. But I know you don’t trust Oliver Coats, and neither do I. That’s why we’re here.”

  Ellen’s puzzled look told Kate she wasn’t explaining herself very well. “I want to know more about this supposed fire. It seems awfully convenient. And your cousin Carol tried to tell me something as I was leaving, but Oliver appeared down the hallway, and then she wouldn’t say anything more. If he truly thought we were on a wild-goose chase,” Kate said, “why would he be looking for one of the paintings at the antique mall in Chattanooga?”

  “A good question,” Livvy said before Ellen could respond. “Why don’t we get to work and find out?”

  “Absolutely,” Ellen said. “If Oliver’s story about the fire is true, I want to know so I can quit hoping to find that final painting.”

  They headed for the microfiche section of the library and the Copper Mill Chronicle archives.

  “It would be easier if the back issues of the newspaper were online,” Livvy said, “but our small-town paper has never been what you might call an early adapter when it comes to technology.”

  “So we have quite a search ahead of us,” Kate warned Ellen. “Are you up for it?”

  “Of course.”

  “When did Oliver say this fire happened?” Livvy asked. “It would help if we had a date.”

  “All he said was that it took place several years ago,” Kate replied. “Do you remember hearing anything about it?”

  Livvy shook her head. “Let’s get cracking.”

  Such painstaking research, Kate decided an hour later, took more patience than she normally had. Ellen, on the other hand, being of an academic bent, took to their search like a duck to water. She zipped through microfiche with an almost scary efficiency.

  “I think I found something,” Ellen said at length.

  Kate sighed with relief and pushed away from the large machine she’d been using.

  “What is it?”

  Kate and Livvy flanked Ellen and peered at the screen. The headline was small, and the story contained only a minimum of information. A storage building on Sweetwater Street had burned as a result of undetermined causes. Arson hadn’t been suspected according to the Chronicle. No one had been harmed, and the firefighters had extinguished the blaze quickly.

  “That’s it?” Kate said. “Well, now we know he was telling a partial truth, at least.”

  “I was really hoping he wasn’t,” Ellen said, then looked at Kate. “What do we do now?”

  Kate shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I have an idea,” Livvy said. The other two women turned toward her eagerly. “How about a cup of tea in the break room to help us figure it out?”

  Kate laughed, and the tension in Ellen’s face dissipated. “Sounds like a good plan to me,” Kate said.

  They followed Livvy to the break room and helped her prepare the tea. Once it was ready, they settled in at one of the small tables.

  “I remember going up to High Hoot Ridge when I was a child,” Livvy said to Ellen. “It’s beautiful up there. And the old abandoned town is very romantic in a way. I always made up stories about the people who lived there.”

  Ellen nodded. “My grandmother used to love to invite people up for picnics. She’d tell them all about the history of the ironworks and the company and show them around the town.”

  Livvy’s face brightened. “Of course! I remember her now. She must have invited my family to visit.”

  Ellen turned her mug in her hands. “I used to think it was maudlin, the way she couldn’t let go of the past. Now...well, now I think I understand its appeal to her. Sometimes the present isn’t very inviting, and those long-ago days seem simpler, more manageable.”

  “Tell that to the women who washed clothes in the creek and tried to get their husbands clean after a day at the blast furnace,” Livvy said with a laugh.

  “Longing,” Kate said suddenly. “That’s what I felt in Harrington the day we went up there, Ellen. A real longing for the past, for what’s been lost.”

  Ellen nodded. “Me too, Kate.” Lines of sorrow appeared around her eyes.

  Kate understood at that moment that while her feeling of longing that day had been a general one, Ellen’s had been quite specific. Not only had she lost her claim to the property, she’d lost her family, in part because of Oliver’s machinations. Unfortunately, finding the last painting and solving the mystery wouldn’t mend that brokenness.

  “Wouldn’t it be something,” Ellen mused, “if we could bring the town back to life?”

  Her question hung in the air for a long moment. Kate felt a shiver dart down her spine.

  Livvy looked up from contemplating her tea. “What if we could?”

  Ellen looked from Livvy to Kate and then back again. “Oh my goodness” was all she could say for several moments.

  “It would be a great local attraction,” Livvy said, her enthusiasm growing. “And far less polluting than a mill or a mine. The beauty of the ridge alone is enough to entice people up there, but just think—”

  “If the buildings were restored,” Ellen said, picking up Livvy’s thought. “And the hotel. The big house could be a bed-and-breakfast.”

  “The old church would be a wonderful setting for weddings,” Kate added. She could see it in her mind’s eye fully restored with a fresh coat of white paint and flowers planted in front. “And maybe some of the local craftspeople could rent out space. You could even have historical interpreters. You know, those people dressed in costume—”

  “Wait.” Ellen held out a staying hand. “Before we get carried away. I know we’re just dreaming, but there’s one very real problem. The same problem that led to the downfall of the ironworks.”

  “The railroad line?” Kate asked.

  “Well, accessibility at any rate.” Ellen’s color started to fade. “You saw how long it took us to drive up that ridge, Kate. And the road...well, it’s not for the faint of heart.”

  “But on the high side of the ridge, where we walked to the top, it’s not that far from the interstate. Lots of traffic down there,” Kate said, trying to hang on to hope for their little fantasy.

  “Not far as the crow flies, maybe,” Livvy said, “but it’s a long way down.”

>   “It must be possible, though, to build a rail line up there if that’s what your great-grandfather and his brother fought about,” Kate said to Ellen. “If they could have done it back then, it must be possible today.”

  “It would be expensive, though.” Ellen set her mug aside. “I just don’t think it would work.”

  Kate sighed. “I guess not.” She patted Ellen’s arm. “But it was a lovely idea.”

  “I could do some more research,” Livvy offered. “Try to find out what a rail line would cost. Maybe something like the incline railway over in Chattanooga. That’s quite a tourist draw.”

  Ellen shook her head. “Without that last painting, there’s no point. If I can’t find the will, I can’t make any claim to the property. Oliver will sell it to that paper company, and that will be the end of that.”

  “Maybe I’ll see what I can find anyway,” Livvy said. “Just out of curiosity. If you don’t mind, that is.”

  Ellen smiled. “No, of course not. It’s nice to have people share your dreams, even if they don’t have any chance of coming true.”

  “Don’t give up hope,” Kate said. “I’m not done looking for that last painting. All we have is Oliver’s word that it was in that storage building, and somehow I just don’t buy it. I even wonder if he claimed the painting as an insurance loss and then turned around and sold it. He’s probably worried we’ll find it, and he’ll be exposed for the fraud he is.”

  “Well, if you ladies aren’t giving up,” Ellen said, “then I won’t either.”

  Kate lifted her mug. “A toast! To hope, even in the face of obstacles.”

  They clinked their mugs together and drank.

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Kate met Paul at the parsonage so they could ride together to visit Ida Mae and Clifton Beasley on the other side of town.

  “Let me grab that soup I made for them,” Kate said when she breezed into the house and found Paul waiting for her in the living room, tapping his foot impatiently.

  She grabbed the low-fat, low-sodium chicken soup from the refrigerator, slipped the container into a grocery bag, and hustled back to the living room.