by Alice Sabo
She peeked up shyly. “I have a spreadsheet for you.”
Asher immediately got that hot, ill feeling that he did when faced with lawyers, taxes and accountants other than Fred. Jo opened her notebook to show him a tidy spreadsheet. The numbers swam before his eyes. She beamed at him, obviously very pleased with herself and waiting for praise, but he didn’t have a clue as to what he was looking at.
“I’m very bad with numbers,” he mumbled.
“I can explain it,” she said eagerly. She pulled a ruler out of somewhere and launched into a spiel with the enthusiasm of an evangelist bringing him closer to God.
Asher listened carefully. Little by little the numbers started to make sense. The columns and the rows sorted themselves out before his eyes. “Wow, I think I actually get it.”
Jo’s broad smile went for a record. “See, it isn’t that bad.”
“Fred will love you for this,” Asher said. “You’ve done a really good job with this, Jo.”
She blushed again.
“Who’s Fred?” Jeff asked over his shoulder from the stove.
“My accountant. And friend. He stuck with me through the bad times. That makes him a very good friend.”
“Yeah. I don’t think I have any of those.” Jeff’s comment cast a sudden pall over the kitchen. Jo sat back, hugging her notebook again.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Asher said. He took a sip of coffee, trying to figure out how to lighten the mood. “What about Aunt Sue?”
Jo gave him a small smile. “Aunt Sue is always there, good or bad.”
“And sometimes you can’t tell which it is,” Jeff added with the air of an oft-repeated phrase. Both kids laughed. Asher assumed it was an in-joke.
“I’m not sure where to go now,” Jeff said.
“For what?”
“To find out about Dad and the will.”
“Um, I. . .” Asher wasn’t sure that he wanted to be the one to tell him. But somebody would, and at least he could be gentle about it. Jo sat up and turned all her attention on him. “I, um, asked Mrs. Wheatly.”
“She’s gossip central. I should have thought of that,” Jeff admitted.
“She said a horse kicked your dad in the head.”
“Diablo!”
Asher blinked at him. “The devil?” George had warned him that they were going to the Bible Belt and that people would be a lot more religious than he was used to. For a moment, he worried that Jeff was blaming the devil.
“No, Diablo was a bad-tempered Paint. He kicked his stall out. Twice. I hated that horse. I bet he killed Dad.”
“He was super mean,” Jo added. “He hurt Ma.” She turned to Jeff. “Remember?”
“Right.” Jeff set full plates on the table. “He slammed her into the stall. Broke some ribs. The owners were so worried Dad would sue that they paid all Ma’s bills.” He sat next to Jo. Both kids dug in with zeal.
Asher halted his laden fork to ask, “Owners?”
“Dad boarded horses for the Tinsdale Girls Academy,” Jeff mumbled through a mouthful of eggs. “It’s down the back side of the ridge.”
The way Jeff was shoveling food, Asher wondered if he’d gotten any dinner. Their substantial lunch, and the cake with Oscar and Bunny, had held Asher over till bedtime. He’d had a light meal of cheese and crackers about an hour before turning in. Jo was eating more slowly, but just as determinedly. It made him question the solidity of their home life again. The Cahills were making money from Asher and Bunny and maybe a few others. Wasn’t that enough to cover groceries? He’d have to make sure that they got fed.
“We didn’t have any horses of our own,” Jo added. “But we could still ride them when the girls weren’t around.”
“Snobs,” Jeff grumbled.
Jo hitched a thin shoulder in a shrug. “They were mean, too.”
“If they paid for your mom’s injuries, what did they do when your dad died?” Asher was sorry he’d asked the question as soon as it left his lips. Once again, he’d spoken without thinking. Jeff scowled at him, but Jo’s eyes filled up with tears.
“I told you we weren’t here, remember?” Jeff said sullenly.
“Right. Sorry.”
There was another silence that Asher filled by wolfing down his breakfast. He got up to help himself to another cup of coffee. “I’ll do the dishes,” he said into the painfully quiet room.
“No, I can.” Jo grabbed his plate, stacking it on top of hers. She scooped up the silverware.
Asher sat back down. Jeff handed his plate off to Jo.
“So now we know how he died, but where does that get us?” Jeff asked.
“What do you want to find out?” Asher asked.
“Why Uncle Erwin got everything.”
“Then you need to find his will. Who was his lawyer?”
Jeff turned to Jo, who shook her head. “We were kids. They didn’t tell us any of that.”
“Somebody must know. Erwin would know,” Asher said.
“We can’t ask him!” Jeff snapped. “Not if we’re checking up on him.”
“Right.” Asher knew he was doing exactly what Bunny had told him not to do. He was getting involved in a local matter. Ellie had said the same thing last night. If he helped them out now, and they started depending on him, when he left in a couple months, it might make things worse for them. He checked the big clock over the table. “We need to leave.”
“Okay if Jo comes along?”
Asher couldn’t see how that might be a problem. “Sure.”
They headed out the door only to meet the sheriff on the porch.
Chapter 24
“Sheriff Danson,” Asher greeted him politely. It wasn’t Danson’s fault that Asher was wary of law enforcement officers. In fact, the sheriff hadn’t made any accusations or tried to arrest him once which put him ahead of all the others Asher had encountered. “Were you coming to see me?”
“Yes, I was, Mr. Blaine.”
Asher didn’t offer him first-name basis. He knew that law enforcement preferred to remain formal. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you own a gun?”
“Absolutely not,” Asher said, a little more firmly than he meant to. The suspicion in Danson’s eyes made him elaborate. “I don’t like weapons. I’ve got kids, and I would never have guns in my house where they might get their hands on them.”
“Would you allow me to look around your cottage?”
Asher pushed the door open. “Please. Whatever you need.” It was then that he remembered that Bunny had a gun. He beckoned Jo over. “Go see if Bunny is home and tell him that—”
Jo pointed over his shoulder. Asher turned to see Bunny approaching. “He’s searching for guns,” Asher whispered.
“And we had a lovely conversation about mine,” Bunny said archly.
“Oh.”
“I got the scoop. That body you saw wasn’t Brent. They found him in the car that was in the kudzu. Neck broken. He must have run off the road and rolled down the embankment.” Bunny turned a serious face on Jeff and Jo. “He was texting.”
“So why are they asking about guns?” Asher asked in a stage whisper.
“The body you found had been shot before being hacked up.” Bunny closed his eyes, grimacing. “Absolutely loathsome.” He opened his eyes and shook himself like a wet dog. “They’ve sent it somewhere for a full autopsy. John Doe for the moment. He was shot with a .38. Mine’s a .45.”
“You have a gun?” Jo asked, wide-eyed.
“I work odd hours in even odder places,” Bunny said with a polite smile. “I feel safer with it.” He turned his smile on Asher. “And I have the proper licenses.” Bunny gave him a self-righteous nod and marched back to his cottage.
Danson came out with his customary scowl creasing his forehead and pinching his mouth. “Seems like a couple people had breakfast. Why are you kids here?” He turned an intense glare on Asher.
Immediately, Asher felt that panic of having done something that he did
n’t know was wrong, and a thread of anger to find himself here again. He had Denny in his head yelling about not being careful enough and underage girls. No matter his good intentions, he always managed to get himself in peculiar situations.
“We had a breakfast meeting,” Jeff said smartly. “I’m Mr. Blaine’s assistant, and my sister is doing some bookkeeping for him.”
Jeff came to his rescue. And it was the truth. Asher felt the weight lift miraculously. “He’s right. Jo was showing me a spreadsheet of expenses.” It sounded wonderfully adult and businesslike.
The scowl lightened by a hair. “I see.”
Then Asher had a brilliant thought. “Sheriff, do you happen to know who was Jeff’s dad’s lawyer?”
The scowl was replaced with wariness. Danson shot a glance at the kids. “Why do you want to know that?”
Jeff took a step closer. “Because I don’t know.”
Danson stared at him, his face professionally blank. “It was Samuel Beckwith, but he passed two years ago. I think most of his files went on to Whitsell, Flemish and Barker.” Danson glanced at Jo and back to Jeff. “How old are you now, Jeff?”
“Eighteen. . .soon. . .in December,” Jeff stammered, his confidence eroding under Danson’s scrutiny.
“Oh.” The Sheriff cocked his head and shuffled a step back. “Huh. That is an interesting fact.” He glanced at Asher. “And what’s your part in all this?”
“Nothing,” Asher said quickly, but that obviously didn’t satisfy Danson. “Helping Jeff get some closure.”
Danson stared down the driveway for a long moment in thought. No one spoke. Asher glanced at Jeff, but the kid was watching Danson. Something important was brewing. Danson took a breath and twitched a shoulder in a half-shrug. His eyes stayed on the driveway as he spoke in a low, urgent tone. “He needs to see someone at Whitsell, Flemish and Barker soon.”
Asher got the feeling that the sheriff had done something out of character and perhaps outside of his purview. “I will ensure that he does,” Asher said in a matching tone.
Danson gave him a slow nod, then turned to the kids. “Jeff, you seen your Aunt Sue lately?”
“Nope.”
“Well, you see her, let her know I need to talk to her.” Danson gave them each a curt nod, surprising Jo with a touch of his hat. “Miss Cahill.”
Asher watched him walk down the driveway to where the cruiser was parked. There was an undercurrent to the sheriff’s tone that worried Asher. Something was going on with Jeff’s lack of inheritance.
“Come on!” Jeff barked. “You’re gonna be late.”
Chapter 25
Asher came out of the physical therapy session in a very bad mood. He had been sure that he was almost done, but the therapist had ratcheted up his exercises. He ached in places that hadn’t hurt before, and an explanation of how muscles and bones connected did not help. Jeff wasn’t in the waiting room. Asher limped out to the parking lot. The car was there, but the kids weren’t. The therapist’s office was in a sort of strip mall, but all the shops were actually offices, except for the one on the far end which was a dry cleaners.
“Asher, Asher!” Jeff appeared out of nowhere waving a piece of paper. “I found him.”
“Who?”
“The lawyer.”
“Where is he?”
“Not far. Can we go?”
Asher took measure of Jeff and Jo, faces bright with expectations. He worried that they were going to get some very unpleasant information. Right now, it might feel like a treasure hunt, but at the end of it, they might find out a truth that would feel like a betrayal. There was probably a very good reason for everything going to Erwin. Maybe a reason that would hurt when it came to light. “Sure. But don’t get your hopes up.”
Jeff drove them over to an old Victorian on Main Street in Left Fork. The building had been converted to offices, but it was nicely painted and landscaped. A sign out front listed an accountant, an insurance broker and the law firm of Whitsell, Flemish and Barker.
Asher followed the kids in. The foyer was dark with polished wood. A thick carpet swallowed sound and slowed their footsteps. The fanlight over the door had stained glass with a sinuous Art Nouveau pattern of lilies. Along the hallway, oil paintings in heavy gold frames adorned the wall. By the time they’d gotten to the lawyer’s office, the kids were silent, awed by the luxurious surrounding. Asher was glad he was there. Luxury was something he was very comfortable around. It was also something that he’d seen often enough, in real life and on sets, to be a keen judge of quality. The paintings may be real, but he was pretty sure they were imitations of famous artists. The carpet was thick, but he’d seen some wear near the door. This luxury was the bluster and bluff kind, thrown up to impress those of lesser means. He knew exactly how to handle that. He pulled his hair back into a tight tail, glad that he’d found the packet of elastics unharmed in his sodden luggage. Lately, he’d tried to keep a couple in his pockets since he was always losing them.
The kids froze at the threshold. They looked totally out of their element in their faded clothes and flip flops. Asher stepped past them, opened the door and ushered them into the office. It occurred to him that Jeff probably didn’t realize that he would need an appointment to see the lawyer, which could lead to Jeff making a fuss. The kid was in desperate need of answers, and any delay would be seen as an unreasonable obstacle.
The office was done in neutral earth tones. A leather loveseat and two matching armchairs were arranged around a glass-topped coffee table. Across from that was a curved reception desk with a partition that nearly hid the woman seated there. Both kids dragged their feet ending up behind Asher by the time they reached the receptionist. He regretted his choice of sweatshirt and jeans, but he knew how to work the situation. The woman was too young to know his movies, but not so young he couldn’t flirt without seeming like a lecher.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully using his most ingratiating smile. “I am here with Jolene and Jeffrey Cahill. I’m sorry to bother you, but unfortunately we are at a bit of a disadvantage?” He left the sentence hanging in the air as a question.
She looked up from her computer, giving him the attention he’d expected.
“They had been dealing with Mr. Beckwith?” Asher nodded as if they both knew what that meant. As he hoped, the receptionist nodded back.
“Oh, yes, very sad. He made quite a muddle of things.”
Asher leaned on the counter. He had a lead and prepared to run with it. “It’s a mess isn’t it? I don’t envy whoever ends up sorting that out.” He located the name plaque. “Barbara.”
“I didn’t even want to touch the files. Between the mold and mouse crap. . .” Barbara hunched her shoulders, her mouth twisting with disgust.
“Totally unacceptable. No one should have to put up with that,” Asher said in a confiding manner. “Health hazard.” He cranked up the heat on his smile. “Say, Barbara, can you tell me who we need to speak to about their father’s will?”
She smiled back at him. “What was the name?”
“Cahill.”
She checked her computer. “Thomas?”
Asher glanced back at Jeff, who looked stunned by his performance. “Um, no, Robert.”
She rechecked the computer. “That would be Mr. Barker.”
“Excellent,” Asher said grabbing Jeff’s elbow to restrain him. The kid was ready to start demanding answers. “We’d like to make an appointment to see him. I don’t suppose he has anything this week?”
Jeff tried to wiggle free. He smothered a yelp as Asher stepped on his foot.
Barbara smiled up from her computer, oblivious to the jockeying on the other side of the partition. “He has a short appointment that’s opened up for tomorrow. . .”
“That would be fabulous,” Asher said. He gave her his grateful, puppy-dog eyes. “We just need to touch base and see where things stand.” He took the appointment card from her and dragged the kids out the door.
“B
ut, but, but. . .” Jeff sputtered as Asher pulled him down the hall and out to the street.
“You need to establish a business relationship with this man,” Asher said firmly, holding up the appointment card. “Screaming at the receptionist or bursting into his office will make him think you are crazy.”
Jeff examined his dusty toes in their worn flip flops. “How did you know. . .”
“Been there, done that,” Asher said. “Believe me, I am the expert on bad behavior.”
“I think you did an excellent job,” Jo said softly. “Thank you.”
Asher gave her a genuine smile. “Now we need to go see Darby. Then we can go get some lunch, my treat.”
That seemed to perk up both of them.
Chapter 26
Since they were already in Left Fork, Asher asked Jeff to take them over to the electronic repair place. He couldn’t remember the name, but Jeff knew where it was. He was delighted to find out that his phone and tablet had survived. The laptop, however, was toast. The young man, Aaron, had laid out the disemboweled corpse on the counter with the wires and doohickies and thingies all exposed.
“Do you sell stuff?” Asher asked.
Aaron gave him an apprehensive look. “Like what?”
Asher gestured at the dead laptop. “I need another one of these.”
“You can do almost everything on the tablet,” Aaron said.
“No, I need another one of these.”
Aaron’s eyes lit up. “One of these? I can order you one.”
