State of Life: A Mystery Thriller Novel (Virgil Jones Book 12)

by Thomas Scott

  “I do,” Karen said. “I’ve already locked the place up. Let’s go, okay?”

  Don walked into the garage and made sure the interior door was locked. It was. He and Karen exchanged a quick glance.

  So did Sam and Danika.

  Once they were in the truck and on the way back to their house, Danika looked at Sam and said, “Those two are up to something.”

  “I know,” Sam said. “But listen, I can’t think about that right now. I just need to process what’s happening at the moment. I want you to think about it, though, and we’ll talk more when I get back.”

  Sam turned into their driveway and let Danika out. “I’m sorry baby, but I’ve got to go. I don’t want to be the last one to arrive at the funeral home. I get the feeling Karen is going to bulldoze over everyone—including Don—to get what she wants…whatever that might be.”

  “I get it,” Danika said. “Be careful. Stay calm.”

  “I will. Or at the very least, I’ll try.”

  Sam wasn’t the last to arrive at the funeral home…he was the first. He waited outside in the parking lot for his brother and sister, but when they didn’t show after fifteen minutes, he decided to go inside. The receptionist had a phone pressed to her ear, and when she saw him, she pointed at a chair and mouthed, ‘have a seat.’

  Sam sat down and waited for her to finish her call. When she was finally done, she gave him a sympathetic smile and said, “Are you related to Mr. Whittle?”

  Sam nodded and said, “Yes, I’m his eldest son, Sam. My sister and brother should be here any moment.”

  The receptionist nodded and said, “I’m having a little trouble getting ahold of the funeral director, this being a Saturday, and all. I think he might—”

  The outer door flew open and Karen and Don walked in. Karen looked at Sam and said, “What’s going on?”

  Sam tipped his head in confusion. “Nothing. They’re trying to get in touch with the funeral director. I’ve been here for twenty minutes. What took you guys so long?”

  “Never mind that,” Karen said. “At least we’re not here wearing grass-stained clothing. You should have changed before you came over.” Then she quickly added, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Don was upset, so we pulled over to talk for a few minutes.”

  Sam looked at his brother. He didn’t look all that upset to him.

  Don looked around the reception area, then said, “Okay what do we need to do here? I’d like to get this over with as soon as we possibly can. Is Monday too soon to do the funeral?”

  And Sam thought, What the hell?

  “I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” the receptionist said. “There’s simply too much to do.” She looked through her desk scheduler and said, “It looks like the earliest we could do the service would be Thursday.”

  Now Don really did look upset. “Thursday? What’s the hold-up? He’s already got a plot at the cemetery. He paid for it years ago when our mom died. Put him in the box, dig the hole and drop him in. It’s not that complicated.”

  The receptionist wasn’t offended by Don’s comments. She’d seen all sorts of unusual behavior over the years. “Well, it’s a bit more complex than that. Why don’t we set up an appointment with the funeral director first thing Monday morning? He’ll walk you through the process.”

  “Shouldn’t there be an autopsy?” Sam said.

  Don shook his head in disgust. “Sam, I told you Dad wasn’t well. There isn’t going to be an autopsy because he was sick, old, and died alone in his own home.”

  The receptionist politely cleared her throat, and they all got the message. With no other choice, they set the meeting for Monday morning at nine, then left the building. When they walked out to the parking lot, Sam noticed that Karen and Don had driven over together in Karen’s car. That meant Don’s van was still over at their father’s house. “Listen,” Sam said, “I didn’t get a chance to go inside the last time I saw Dad. Why don’t we all go over there and take one last walk through the place as a family?”

  Don started to say something, but Karen cut him off. “I think that’s a fine idea, Sam. Let’s do that right now. It might help you get some closure.”

  They got in their vehicles, and as Sam turned out of the parking lot, he glanced in his rearview mirror. It looked like Karen and Don were arguing about something.

  I don’t need closure, Sam thought. I need to know what the hell is going on.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Sam turned into his father’s driveway, he was once again hit with an overwhelming sense of sadness…not necessarily because of his father’s actual death, but over the loss of what could have been. His father had never liked or respected him, but deep down, Sam thought there must have been some sort of love for him, even if it didn’t measure up to his own standards.

  He walked to the front door and found it was locked. When he went to the back door, he discovered the same thing. The garage had a keypad to open the overhead door, and Sam knew the code. He was going to punch it in and raise the door but decided not to. He wasn’t sure if Karen and Don were aware of the fact that he knew the code. So he simply leaned against the fender of his truck and waited for his brother and sister. He felt like an outsider…an interloper who didn’t really belong, even though he did.

  A few minutes later, Don and Karen arrived. Don put his back to Sam, punched in the code to open the overhead door, then Karen unlocked the interior door, and they all stepped inside. The house was almost tidy, and it smelled mostly of cigarettes, coffee, and microwaved dinners. The three of them walked through the entire house, looking everything over…the fine leather furniture, the eighty-inch flatscreen TV, the expensive end tables, and walnut cabinets. Dick Whittle had never been afraid to spend money, that was for sure.

  In the master suite, they all stood and looked at their father’s bed for a moment, then Karen moved to smooth out the pillows like she was making the bed for a guest. When she ran her hand under one of the pillows, she pulled out a pistol—an old .22. She said, “Whoa.”

  Don quickly moved her way and said, “I’ll take that.” He grabbed the gun, opened the cylinder, and let the shells fall into his hand. He put the shells in one pocket and the gun in the other like it already belonged to him. Sam didn’t care. Don was the gun nut. He could have the damned thing. They all entered the master closet, and there it was.

  The safe.

  Sam let out a nervous laugh and said, “I hope someone knows the combination because I sure don’t.”

  “I don’t either,” Don said. “Karen?”

  Karen shook her head.

  Sam sighed and said, “Well, how in the hell are we going to get it open?”

  Karen bared her teeth at him. “Is that all you care about? The money?”

  Sam shook his head, “That’s not what I meant, Karen. Calm down, for Christ’s sake. I was simply asking a question.”

  “Yeah, great time for questions like that, asshole.”

  Don got between them—ever the pleaser, the one who could make everything right—and said, “Hey, c’mon now. We’ll get a locksmith or safe guy, or whatever they’re called to open the thing up. Let’s get the heck out of here. This isn’t doing anyone any good at all. C’mon, guys. What do you say?”

  They all walked back to the garage and spent a moment looking at the chair where Dick Whittle had taken his final breath. Then Karen locked the interior door, looked at Sam, and dropped the keys in her purse.

  “Is that the only set of keys?” Sam asked.

  “Yes. And as the executor, I’ll be keeping them.” Then before Sam could say anything, she turned to Don and said, “I’ve talked to Dad’s lawyer, and since there won’t be any probate, we should be able to get things wrapped up pretty quick.”

  “I’d like to see the will,” Sam said.

  Karen tossed her hands in the air. “Again, with the money.”

  But Sam wasn’t backing down. “Karen, it’s not about
the money. I’ve got more money than I can spend. They just optioned my last book for a major motion picture. But if Dad wanted me to have something, I’m not going to turn it down.”

  “Okay Mr. Moneybags, here’s what’s in the will: I’m in the will, and so is Don. Because you treated Dad like shit, he wrote you out. Everything gets sold and divided up between me and Don. The house, the cars, the furnishings, the contents of the safe, all of it.”

  Sam wasn’t surprised his father had taken him out of the will, but he was surprised by his sister’s reaction. He held up his hands, palms out. “Okay, okay, Jesus, take a breath, will you? I’m just asking to see it…the will.”

  Karen ignored him and said, “Don, get the overhead door.” Then she got in her car and drove away.

  Once she was gone, Sam looked at Don, and said, “Have you seen it? The will?”

  “Yeah,” Don lied. He hadn’t actually seen the will, but Karen had told him what was in it, and it was nothing like the little speech she’d just given before driving away. “Sorry he wrote you out, man. I don’t know what to tell you.”

  Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, Don. As I said, I don’t need the money. I wouldn’t turn it down if I had something coming, but other than that, I’m not going to lose any sleep over it.”

  Don let out a nervous little laugh. “So you’re not going to sue us, or contest the will?”

  Sam shook his head. “No. Why would I? I’d rather have my brother and sister more than the stuff, or the money. Besides, if that’s what Dad wanted, the way to honor him is to abide by his wishes.”

  Don smiled at his brother and thought, What an idiot.

  When Sam returned home, Danika was waiting for him, a yellow legal pad in her hands. When he walked up to his wife and gave her a kiss, he glanced at the notepad and saw it was full of bullet points, written in Danika’s hand. “What do you have there?”

  “In a minute,” Danika said. “Let’s go sit out back and you can tell me how it went. I think we might have some things to talk about, but I need to hear what happened with you guys first.”

  Sam was still sort of in shock, so he simply shrugged and followed his wife to the back patio. After they were seated, he looked at nothing for a few minutes, then told Danika about his siblings’ late arrival at the funeral home, his brother’s insistence that the funeral be held as soon as possible, and his sister’s odd and mercurial behavior while they were at their father’s house.

  Danika listened without interruption, and when she was sure Sam was finished, she said, “Do you believe Karen…about the will?”

  Sam turned his palms up. “If I’m being honest with you, I don’t know what to believe. On one hand, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Dad wrote me out of the will, but on the other hand…knowing what I know about my father, it’d be more likely if he did one of two things: Leave me an equal share of everything as sort of a last-ditch, fuck-you kind of guilt-trip, or he’d leave me something that was a joke…a dirty ashtray or something stupid like that.”

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that she actually told you there wouldn’t be a probate process? I mean, I get it, she’s the executor, but she isn’t the one who decides if probate happens or not…it’s the laws of the state. And Indiana law says estates worth more than fifty thousand have to go through that process.”

  “Been doing some quick research?”

  “I have,” Danika said. “And some of the things your sister says don’t add up.”

  “Like what, exactly?”

  Danika flipped through her notes. “Okay, first of all, we already talked about the fifty thousand threshold law. I don’t know how much money your dad had, but let’s face it, we know it was more than that. He made a boatload of money when he sold the farm, and the house he has now? He’s lived there for years. According to Zillow, its value is close to half a million, give or take. And what’s in that safe? You said at one point he had a bunch of gold coins and bearer bonds…?”

  Sam nodded. “Yeah, that’s what he said, but that was years ago…when we were still speaking with each other. And he was drunk at the time he told me, so who knows?”

  “Did you ask Karen if you could see a copy of the will?”

  “Yeah, but she ignored me.”

  “I’m not surprised. According to what I found, technically, under Indiana law, you only have the legal right to see the will once something called the Grant of Probate is issued, and it becomes a public document. That means if you ask to see the will before then, she could simply say no, which I guess is sort of what she did.”

  “I guess,” Sam said. “I don’t know how much it matters anyway. Don told me he’s seen it, and Dad wrote me out.”

  “That could be, but you know your brother. He’s a habitual liar. And your sister? It’s never enough for her, is it? She could win the lottery and it wouldn’t be enough.”

  Sam nodded. “I know, I know. But listen, we’re not going to figure any of this out today. Let’s sit on it, at least until after the funeral. I don’t want to make any waves right now. They’re my siblings and no matter their idiosyncrasies, I love them. And besides, we don’t need one single dime from my dad, you know that.”

  Danika reached out and took her husband’s hand. “I know, baby. Maybe we should forget the whole thing.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. If my siblings are trying to do an end-run on me…on us, no matter the nature of the relationship I had with my dad, someone has to stand up and honor his wishes. If he didn’t leave me anything, so be it. If he did, we’ll donate it to charity. But I’m not going to be lied to, or manipulated because I didn’t want to have a pretend relationship with my dad the way Karen and Don did. All I want is the truth. Let’s just get through the next few days and see what happens.”

  For reasons he couldn’t readily explain, the day after the funeral Sam went back to his dead father’s house. He wasn’t looking for anything, other than a connection…a way to make peace with himself and any part he played in the failure of his relationship with his dad. Once there, he punched in the code on the keypad for the overhead door, but when he did, nothing happened. He shook his head in frustration, thinking that either Karen or Don had changed the code to keep him out, but when he tried a second time, the door opened right up. Must have got it wrong the first time, he thought.

  Once the door was open, Sam couldn’t believe what he saw…or rather, what he didn’t see. The garage was virtually empty. All the tools on the workbench, the refrigerator and freezer in the corner, the high-end zero-turn riding mower, the portable generator, the Mercedes Benz, the two-seat electric golf cart, a small flatscreen TV, and all the other miscellaneous things that had been in the garage were gone. The only thing left was the chair his father had been sitting in when he died. Sam was instantly furious. Karen and Don had cleaned out the garage, taking every single thing of value. He wondered if they’d cleaned out the house as well. When he walked over to the interior door and tried the knob, he found it was still locked.

  Sam was so mad he was shaking. He thought about kicking the door in—and probably would have—but then a thought occurred to him: Maybe the old man had hidden a key somewhere inside the garage. It seemed likely, as Dick Whittle had never been one to acknowledge his shortcomings or admit his mistakes to others. If he’d somehow managed to lock himself out of his own house, he wouldn’t want to have to ask Karen or Don for help.

  Sam went through the garage practically inch by inch. He looked underneath the ledge of the workbench, under the doormat, and anywhere else a key might be hidden, but in the end, he didn’t find one. He spent a few more minutes looking at the chair where his father had been sitting when he died. The ashtray and a half-full cup of coffee still sat on the bench. The coffee mug had the words, ‘World’s Best Dad!’ written in big bold letters on the side.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, then for no real reason, he sat down in his father’s death chair and lit a cigarette from the old man’s
stash…the entire time wondering how everything had gone so wrong between him and his dad. The answers never came, and Sam suspected they probably never would. He crushed out his cigarette—the damn thing tasted like a dog turd—then wrapped his hands under the arms of the chair to pull himself up. That’s when he found the key. It was taped under one of the armrests.

  Sam peeled the key from the tape, unlocked the door, and when he stepped inside if he thought he was mad in the garage, he discovered he was absolutely livid once he was inside the house. It was empty. Everything of value was gone. The fine leather furniture, the giant flatscreen TV, the kitchen table and chairs, the bedroom furniture…all of it. Gone. He almost didn’t bother to walk into the closet. He knew the safe—even though the damned thing weighed over two hundred pounds—wouldn’t be there either.

  Except it was. The door was hanging open and the safe was completely empty, save four things.

  All of Sam’s novels stacked neatly on the top shelf.

  Sam grabbed his books, and moved toward the front of the house, mostly in a daze. Had his father kept his books in the safe because he considered them valuable? Or was it because he didn’t want anyone to know he had them? Clearly, Karen and Don didn’t put them there. In fact, they left them behind, because to his siblings, it appeared they had no value at all.

  As he moved through the kitchen, he discovered his mouth was so dry it felt like he’d been chewing on sandpaper. He opened the refrigerator and saw a half case of bottled water, still wrapped in plastic. He took two of the bottles and emptied the first with one long drink. He walked back out to the garage and set the empty bottle on the workbench. That’s when he saw the hairbrush Karen had been using on his father as he sat dead in his own chair. He thought, why not? He grabbed the brush—probably the only thing he’d ever get besides his own books—walked out to his truck, and set everything on the back seat. Then he walked back, locked the interior door, and closed the overhead. He was just about to climb into his truck when he heard the neighbor next door say his name.