[Lady Justice 37] - Lady Justice and the Living Trust

by Robert Thornhill

  “So what are we gonna do?” Angelo asked, wringing his hands. “This just isn’t right.”

  “Maybe it is,” Lucia replied. “We all knew what we had to do going in, and we screwed it up.”

  “This whole thing is a bunch of crap,” Mario said, bitterly. “We’re Cosmo’s only living heirs. That money belongs to us.”

  “Well,” Angelo replied, “according to Williams, we’ve got until the house sells to figure something out.”

  “Then maybe our first order of business,” Mario said, “is to make sure the house doesn’t sell right away. In the meantime, we’ll think of something.”

  CHAPTER 16

  After the whole house inspection, Maggie’s crew completed all the necessary repairs, and Maria cleaned the house one last time. The grass was cut and the shrubs trimmed.

  She listed the property for $189,900 and started making preparations for her first open house.

  Unlike her other listings, everyone in our building wanted to get involved with Cosmo’s property. Since Cosmo was a personal friend of Dad and Bernice, and with my involvement as trustee, they all wanted to lend a hand.

  When it comes to real estate, Maggie doesn’t do anything halfway. She printed flyers which Jerry volunteered to pass out to the surrounding neighbors. She sent an invitation to the realtors in the MLS inviting them to bring their clients to the open house, and she ran an ad in the Kansas City Star.

  Bernice heard that the aroma of fresh-baked cookies enhances a home’s appeal, so she whipped up dough for her snickerdoodles which she would bake in Cosmo’s kitchen. Dad was to bring a thermos of coffee to offer the guests along with a warm cookie.

  Since the home was being advertised as a historical property, the Professor researched the history surrounding the skeleton found in the basement and prepared a handout for any interested visitors.

  The open house was to begin at one o’clock, so we arrived at the house at noon to begin preparations.

  Maggie opened the door, and the moment we stepped inside, we knew something was wrong.

  “Jeeez!” Dad said. “What’s that smell?”

  I knew right away what it was. A skunk. Willie and I had an unfortunate encounter with one while wandering through the woods on a dark night. Once hit, it’s an odor one never forgets.

  We crept through the hallway and when we entered the living room, we came face to face with Pepe Le Pew.

  I’m not sure who was more shocked --- the skunk or us.

  For the longest time, we just stood there staring at each other.

  “What should we do?” Maggie whispered.

  “Just stand quietly,” I replied. “As long as he’s facing us, we’re okay.”

  I would have characterized it as a Mexican standoff, but Pepe Le Pew was probably French.

  Finally, Bernice had had enough. She raised her skirt and pulled her little .32 from its ankle holster. “Stand back! I’ll plug the smelly varmint!”

  “No!” I shouted, but it was too late.

  Sensing a threat, Pepe did an about face and raised his tail.

  “Run!” I shouted again.

  Everyone sprinted for the door, but it was too late. Pepe launched his load and we all staggered out of the house coughing and gagging, with tears streaming down our faces.

  “Holy crap!” Dad muttered, wiping the tears from his eyes.

  Maggie was obviously distraught. “All that work and my open house is ruined. Walt! Do something.”

  The only thing I could think of at the moment was to call Animal Control. I Googled the number and the operator said someone would be there shortly.

  Shortly turned out to be forty-five minutes.

  In the meantime, we sat on the front steps trying hard not to breathe through our noses.

  The Professor took the time to enlighten us about our attacker. “The skunk, or Mephitidae, is from a family of mammals comprising skunks and stink badgers. They are noted for the great development of their scent glands which they use to deter predators, or in this case, us. The stink of skunk spray is caused by thiols which are made from sulfur. If not treated immediately, the scent can last fourteen to twenty-one days.”

  “Great! Just great!” Dad muttered.

  Jerry, on the other hand, seized the moment to share some skunk jokes from the formidable library in his head.

  “Hey, this is Sunday. Do you know what the religious skunk said? Let us spray.”

  Bernice giggled, and that egged him on. “A duck, a skunk, and a deer went out to dinner one night. When it came time to pay, the skunk didn’t have a scent and the deer didn’t have a buck, so they put it on the duck’s bill.”

  Thankfully, at that moment, the Animal Control van pulled up and the guy ambled up the sidewalk.

  “I hear you’ve got a critter problem.”

  “Skunk,” I said, pointing to the house.

  “No kidding,” he said, waving his hand in front of his nose.

  Everyone’s a comedian.

  “So what are you going to do?” Maggie asked.

  “I’ll tranquilize the little guy, put him in a cage, and take him to a wooded area before he wakes up.”

  “You shoulda let me plug him!” Bernice huffed as the guy walked off to get his gear.

  He cautiously entered the house, and fifteen minutes later he returned, our stinky guest sound asleep in the cage.

  “Pretty ripe in there,” he said.

  “Any idea how to get rid of the odor?” Maggie asked.

  “First thing I’d do is open all the windows and turn on the ceiling fans. Then scrub everything with a mixture containing four cups of hydrogen peroxide, a fourth of cup of baking soda, and a tablespoon of dish soap.”

  “What about us?” Jerry asked. “How do we get the smell off of us? I’ve got a gig at the Comedy Club tomorrow night. I can’t go onstage like this.”

  “Run a tub of hot water and mix in four cups of baking soda. Suds up with something like Dawn dishwashing liquid, and soak for at least fifteen minutes. Good luck!”

  As soon as the Animal Control van pulled away, a stream of cars pulled up in front of the house. Maggie’s advertising had worked like a charm.

  The Professor was the least aromatic in our little group, so he was dispatched to inform the guests that due to unforeseen circumstances, the open house had been postponed for a week.

  While we were waiting for the Animal Control officer to arrive, I tried to imagine how a skunk had found his way into the house. In thirty years in real estate, I had never experienced anything like it.

  Then I thought about Angelo’s parting question, “So nothin’ happens until the house is sold?” Suddenly, it occurred to me that maybe the little skunk hadn’t wandered into Maggie’s listing on his own. He had some help.

  I went back into the house and checked the back door. Sure enough, it had been jimmied. Now, there was no doubt in my mind that the grandkids had sabotaged our open house, but there was little chance I could prove it.

  I figured the three of them would not go away quietly, and this incident certainly confirmed my suspicion. I would have to be on guard.

  On the way home, I stopped at the supermarket and bought every box of baking soda they had in stock.

  CHAPTER 17

  For the next three days, it was all hands on deck.

  Everyone, including Maria, pitched in, scrubbing the scent of Pepe Le Pew from the floors and walls. When the scrubbing was done, we sprayed can after can of floral-scented Glade. Finally, the place smelled good enough to show to prospective buyers.

  Maggie ramped up her advertising campaign, hoping to recapture the clients we had turned away the day of the skunk attack.

  I halfway expected the grandkids to try another stunt to delay the sale of the house, but they were nowhere to be seen. I even took a cot to the house and asked Willie to spend a couple of nights in case they attempted more skullduggery.

  When we arrived at the house at noon on Sunday morning, the first th
ing I noticed was Maggie’s For Sale sign and the Open House, 1 to 5 sign were gone. I had no doubt they had been carted off by one of the grandkids.

  I helped unload, and while Bernice was busy baking snickerdoodles and the Professor was setting up his historical presentation, I headed back home to pick up more signs.

  Thankfully, there were no more stumbling blocks, and at one o’clock, cars began pulling up to the curb.

  Everyone enjoyed Bernice’s cookies and thought the house was lovely, but only one couple was ready to make a commitment.

  While Maggie and I were busy showing other customers through the house, the couple had wandered through on their own.

  As soon as Maggie was free, they approached.

  “Hi,” the man said. “We’re Philip and Bethany Cosgrove. We love the house and we’d like to see about buying it.”

  Naturally, Maggie was ecstatic. “I’d be happy to help you,” she replied, handing them a clipboard. “If you’ll just fill out this buyer’s information sheet, we can get started.”

  When they returned the clipboard, Maggie looked it over. “So Philip, you’ve been with Sprint for ten years, and Bethany, you’re a surgical nurse at St. Luke’s Hospital?”

  They both nodded. “How long will this take?” Philip asked. “We’re anxious to get moved in.”

  “That depends on the type of financing you will use,” Maggie replied. “Have you spoken with a lender?”

  They looked at each other and shrugged. “Were we supposed to?”

  “That’s usually a good place to start. A lender can examine your income and expenses and tell you what kind of loan you qualify for. I’d be happy to recommend several reputable lenders.”

  “Uhhh, I guess that would be all right,” Philip replied. “Can we write a contract now?”

  “Of course,” Maggie replied, opening her laptop. “The property is listed for $189,900.”

  “That sounds about right. How soon did you say we could move in?”

  I had been listening to the conversation and something just didn’t smell right. I had worked with hundreds of buyers over the years and I could tell something was off.

  I signaled to Maggie. “Can I see you for a moment?”

  “Excuse me,” she said to the couple. “I’ll be right back.”

  The minute she was out of earshot, she said, “Somethings not right here.” Maggie had sensed it too.

  “I agree. Make up some excuse to stall. That will give us time to check them out.”

  She nodded and returned to the buyers. “Okay let’s get started. Oh, darn! It looks like my computer has crashed again. Walt! How many times have I told you that I need a new laptop?”

  That’s right, blame the old man.

  “I’m so sorry. Tell you what. I’ll get this thing fixed first thing in the morning, prepare the contract, and give you a call. I see I have your cell phone numbers. Will that be okay?”

  They shrugged. “I guess it will have to be.”

  They shook Maggie’s hand and left.

  “So what now?” Maggie asked.

  “Let’s start here,” I said, picking up the clipboard. I dialed Philip’s cell and got a recording that said it was not a working number. Same thing with Bethany’s number.

  “I’d be willing to bet the address they gave us is bogus and they don’t work where they say they do.”

  “But why?” Then it dawned on Maggie. “They were shills, weren’t they?”

  I nodded. “Yep, dollars to donuts they were friends with one of Cosmo’s grandkids. They thought they could tie up the house with a bogus contract. Lucky for us, their buyers were a couple of dumbasses.”

  Tired and disappointed, we headed home.

  Two days later, Maggie received a call.

  “Maggie Williams? We’re sitting in front of a house on Benton Boulevard. We’d really like to see it.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Luckily, I was home. Maggie never shows a vacant house to strangers by herself. Several years ago, she and several other female agents had been abducted. Since that time, we had made it a hard and fast rule. No sale was worth the risk.

  When we pulled up, a young couple was checking out the yard.

  “Hi, we’re Martin and Marcy Donnegan. I hope the inside of the house is as lovely as the outside.”

  “I’m Maggie Williams and this is my husband, Walt. Let’s go inside. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

  The moment we walked in the door, Marcy moaned, “Oh, Martin! This is just what we’ve been looking for.”

  Maggie and I exchanged glances. A comment like that was always a good sign.

  As Maggie led the couple through the house, I asked a few qualifying questions. “Are you folks from around here?”

  “No,” Martin replied. “We’re both born and raised in Kentucky. I just received a promotion from my company, but it required a transfer to Kansas City, so we’re newbies.”

  “How long have you been with your company?”

  “Ten years. I was recruited right out of college.”

  So far, so good.

  When we finished the tour, Marcy tugged Martin’s arm. “I love it!”

  Martin turned to Maggie. “Looks like we’re going to make an offer. I understand it’s listed for $189,900. We’d like to offer $185,000.”

  “Have you spoken to a lender?” Maggie asked.

  “We have,” Martin replied, handing Maggie a document. “We’ve been working with Mike Baxter at Allied Mortgage. Here’s our pre-approval letter.”

  Maggie was all smiles. “I know Mike very well. I’ll get my laptop and start preparing the paperwork.”

  While Maggie was working on the contract, Martin picked up one of the historical brochures the Professor had created.

  “Wow!” he said. “You really found a skeleton in the basement?”

  I nodded. “It was from a very long time ago.”

  I watched as he continued to read the Professor’s treatise. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. “I don’t believe it! That’s impossible!”

  “Martin! What’s wrong?” Marcy asked, obviously concerned.

  All of a sudden, it clicked. “Martin Donnegan! The police identified the body in the basement as Leroy Donnegan. Is he ---?”

  “Yes!” Martin replied. “Leroy Donnegan was my great-grandfather. As I said earlier, my family is from Kentucky. During the prohibition years, Leroy ran stills back in the woods where he made moonshine which he transported to Kansas City. He left one day in 1925 and never returned. The family never knew what happened to him. It looks like he’s been in the basement of this house for the last ninety-four years.”

  Maggie had stopped typing. “Shall I continue or does this change everything?”

  “Definitely continue,” he said, grinning. “This has to be karma of some kind. What are the chances of us finding and loving the house where my great-grandfather has been all these years? I can’t wait to call my family! By the way, where is Leroy’s skeleton?”

  “I’m sure it’s still at the morgue. If no one claims a body after a certain amount of time, it’s cremated. It should still be there. I used to be a cop. I’d be happy to help you find him.”

  “Thank you. Once the house is ours, we’ll give his old bones a decent burial in the back yard under that big willow tree. I think he’d like that.”

  Maggie and I had a combined sixty-five years in the real estate business, but this was definitely a first for us both.

  Two days later, Mario drove by the house on Benton Boulevard and spotted the ‘Under Contract’ sign that had been attached to the top of the real estate sign.

  “Damn!” he muttered, slamming his fist against the steering wheel. He pulled out his cell and called his brother and sister. “We need to meet.”

  An hour later, the three were huddled in Lucia’s condo.

  “The house is under contract,” Mario said. “When it closes, it won’t take long for Williams to wrap things up. Once t
hat money is distributed to the charities, it’s all over. If we’re going to do something, we better do it fast.”

  “You got any ideas?” Angelo asked.

  “I can only think of one thing,” Mario replied. “It’s that damn trust. There are two people who are responsible for seeing that the terms of the trust are carried out, Lou Gallo, the attorney, and Walt Williams, the trustee. If both of them are out of the picture, we might be able to get an attorney to contest the trust.

  “I’ve done some research on this. We would have to file a lawsuit in probate court. Every state in the country requires that the trust grantor be mentally competent and not be subject to undue influence at the time of creating the trust document. So, two common grounds for contesting the terms of a living trust include claims that the grantor was suffering from a mental illness, or was subject to pressures by individuals capable of exerting influence over the grantor’s decisions.

  “You know Granddad was ninety and living in a nursing home. All we would have to do is prove that he wasn’t mentally stable when he drafted that ridiculous trust, and the two people that could refute that, wouldn’t be around.”

  “I like it!” Angelo said.

  “Hold on a minute,” Lucia said. “When you said Gallo and Williams would be out of the picture, surely you didn’t mean ---?”

  “Yes, Sis. That’s exactly what I meant. If we want that money, that’s what we have to do. Are you in or out?”

  She thought for a moment. “I’m in.”

  “Me too,” Angelo said.

  Mario smiled. “Good! Then let’s figure how we’re going to do it.”

  CHAPTER 18

  At the ripe old age of eighty-five, Lou Gallo limited his legal practice to drafting wills and trusts, and an occasional divorce if it was an amicable one.

  He spent most all of every day in his office. There just wasn’t any good reason to be home alone in his small apartment. When the work day had finally come to a close, he would amble down to The Chesterfield, a bar on Main Street a few blocks from his office. Sitting at a table all alone, he would sip a few cocktails before heading to his lonely apartment.