Fatal Trust

by Diana Miller

  # # #

  Lexie hadn’t been in Lakeview since her first day in Minnesota, when she’d been so focused on finding Ben’s garage that she’d barely noticed the rest of Main Street. If you ignored Lake Superior—which was hard to do since it filled the horizon—the place resembled Mayberry from the old Andy GriffithShows she’d watched on cable with their housekeeper, until her mother had found out and informed her Barringtons didn’t watch that sort of thing. Cars in vintages spanning the last forty years were angle-parked along both sides of wide Main Street. The stores and cafes didn’t appear to have been remodeled since the sixties; two barbershops had red, white, and blue spinning poles; and the movie theater had only one screen. The five bars were all grouped together on the block before the railroad tracks that marked the end of the business district, away from the more family-oriented merchants. There wasn’t a coffee bar, fast food restaurant, or bagel place in sight; the only things that would have confounded Aunt Bea were the cell phone dealer and the sign in the window of the hardware store advertising computer repair.

  As Lexie stepped into Ben’s garage, it was déjà vu all over again, complete with the scent of eau de oil, the blaring country music, and Ben’s legs protruding from beneath a vehicle. This time she didn’t waste time trying to speak loud enough for him to notice her. Instead she switched off the music, and then pounded on the Camry’s hood. “We need to talk, Ben.”

  He slowly slid out from under the car and sat up. “Can’t it wait? I’m a bit busy.”

  “No, it can’t wait.” Finding Max’s murderer was taking long enough without Ben delaying things. “If you’d ditched whatever woman you were with at a more reasonable hour last night, we could have talked when you got home. Since you didn’t—”

  “If you’re here to tell me about Aunt Muriel’s séance and supposed conversation with Grandfather, Cecilia already filled me in.”

  “I’m not.” And she wasn’t moving until he talked to her. She planted her hands on her hips.

  Ben got the message. He stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I guess I can afford a short break. Let’s go to my office.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Ben hadn’t turned on the air conditioner today, but since the outside temperature was in the low seventies, the office was only a little stuffy. Lexie opened the mini-fridge and checked inside. “You’re out of bottled water,” she said, and then sat down on one of the folding chairs.

  “Sorry, but I wasn’t expecting you. Trudy made coffee.”

  “I’ll pass.” She’d smelled Trudy’s coffee when she’d come in. The stuff was so overheated she was surprised it didn’t trigger the smoke alarms. Lexie pulled a notepad out of her purse and opened it to today’s To Do list.

  Ben shut the door. “What’s so damned important?”

  “For one thing, I had an interesting conversation with Dylan’s loan shark.” That wasn’t on her list, but it seemed a good place to start.

  “When?”

  “When I came out of the house this morning. He wanted to warn Dylan not to screw up and lose his share of the trust.”

  Ben’s jaw dropped, and he plopped down on the other folding chair. “I thought you meant you talked to him on the phone. He showed up at Nevermore?”

  She nodded. “He’s from Thunder Bay and bought Dylan’s loan. The good news is that he isn’t Mafia, although he’d like to be. J.P. complained that the American and Canadian Mafia families won’t let him affiliate, even though he’s probably whacked more people than they have.”

  Ben’s jaw dropped a couple more notches. “He what?”

  “Killed people, but only in self-defense, he claims. And he’s quit now.”

  Ben rested a hand on her arm. “Did he hurt you? Or threaten you?”

  “Not a bit,” Lexie said. “He was actually quite pleasant.”

  “Thank God,” Ben said, removing his hand. “Did this J.P. talk to Dylan?”

  Lexie shook her head. “I told him I’d relay his message, so he left. I also wanted to tell you that Trey figured out who I really am.”

  “How?”

  “I have my aunt’s eyes.”

  “What’s your aunt got to do with anything?”

  “She was Jessica Stuart.”

  Ben looked even more shocked than when she’d told him about Dylan’s loan shark. “Your aunt was the famous romance writer?”

  “And the love of your grandfather’s life. Besides your grandmother, of course.”

  “Don’t bother being tactful,” Ben said. “I barely remember my grandmother, and I know for a fact that Grandfather loved Jessica much more. He admitted that he cheated all the time on Grandmother, but never once on Jessica. His greatest regret was that Jessica never married him.”

  “She wasn’t a fan of marriage, which is a little ironic for a romance writer whose books always ended with marriage and happily ever after,” Lexie said. “She was my mother’s only sister.”

  “Is that how you met Grandfather? Through your aunt?”

  “Indirectly,” Lexie said. “I never met him while Aunt Jessica was alive, probably because she knew my mother didn’t approve of their romance and might use that as an excuse to keep me from visiting her. But Aunt Jessica had told Max about me and that I was a lawyer in Philadelphia. After she died, I think Max wanted to keep a connection with her family, so he came to me. I was only a third-year associate when I brought in not only Max Windsor’s estate-planning business but most of his other business. The partners immediately stopped treating me like toilet paper stuck to the sole of a shoe, and my work life improved immensely. I owe Max big time for that.”

  “Is that why you pretended to be a writer? Because of your aunt?”

  Lexie shrugged. “For a while I was a writer. Aunt Jessica encouraged me, and I had three romances published. My mother didn’t approve, even though I used a pen name. I’m not sure whether it was more because I wrote something she considered lowbrow or because she disapproved of the sex. She was already scandalized by what her sister wrote.”

  “I met Jessica a few times when I was a kid,” Ben said. “Why didn’t you tell me she was your aunt?”

  “It never came up.” To be honest, she’d also feared he’d use that information to guilt her into staying and investigating. “Trey knew Jessica’s niece was Max’s lawyer, and he also knew my name. He checked out my photo on my law firm website to confirm his suspicions. I doubt anyone else would recognize me simply because of my eyes.”

  “You’re probably right. Especially considering how different your aunt was from you.”

  “Aunt Jessica definitely didn’t have a stick up her ass.” Lexie smiled faintly. “Max got that phrase from her. She always used it to describe my mother.” Her smile faded. “Trey also gave me information about possible motives.” She related what Trey had told her. “Did you learn anything else?”

  “Cecilia confirmed that she could use the money, but claims she’s got enough to get by for a while,” Ben said. “She hasn’t gotten back to me with specifics about Dylan’s debt, and I haven’t had time to call Olivia about Jeremy. So I guess everyone is still a suspect.”

  Lexie tapped her pen against her To Do list. “Although the more I get to know everyone, the harder it is to believe any one of them would have murdered Max. Maybe no one was trying to kill him at all. Maybe all of this was Max creating his last fictional work.”

  “The poisoning and shooting weren’t accidents.”

  “Maybe Max staged both incidents, then wrote the letters to us so that when he eventually died, we’d suspect it had been murder. If he’d lived longer, he might have staged even more incidents.”

  “I can’t imagine Grandfather doing that.” Ben was drumming his fingers on the paper-strewn desktop.

  “Why not? Max earned a fortune setting scenes and manipulating people into suspending disbelief.”

  Ben’s fingers halted. “What are you saying?”

  This hadn’t been on today’s To Do list, eith
er, but talking to Ben had made it clear it should be. “I’m saying that I never thought I was qualified to solve this in the first place, but I owed it to Max to give it a shot. Well, I have, and I’m no closer to figuring out who did it than when I arrived. I’m not even sure there was a murder. I also can’t keep charging the trust for my fees when I’m not accomplishing anything. I think it’s time to call in a professional.”

  “I won’t hire a private investigator. Grandfather didn’t want that.”

  “It isn’t your decision, Ben,” Lexie said. “It’s the trustee’s obligation to make sure Max’s murderer, if there is one, doesn’t get anything from the trust. I’m sure someone at my firm can recommend a discreet P.I.”

  Ben stared at the ceiling for a moment. “Look, you like lists,” he finally said, meeting her eyes. “How about we make a list of everything we know about every beneficiary, even things that seem irrelevant, then see where we are. We also haven’t looked into where everyone was when Grandfather died. Or when the window was shot out.”

  “As you pointed out, anyone could have hired a killer.”

  “We should at least find out. There are probably other things we’ve missed.”

  “A private investigator would find out the same things,” Lexie said. “Plus things we’re too inexperienced to realize are important.”

  “We also haven’t uncovered the family secrets Grandfather was afraid would come out. Your aunt would have wanted you to protect his family and his reputation. It’s possible some of those secrets concern her.”

  Her aunt was long dead and would probably have relished a scandal even if she were alive. But Lexie had been right to worry that Ben would try to use Aunt Jessica to guilt her into investigating, and it was working. She let out a resigned breath. “Okay. I’ll wait until we’ve at least discussed it before I advise the trustee to hire a P.I.”

  Ben got to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?”

  “To Lee’s Market. Apparently I’m out of bottled water.”

  “I can live without it,” Lexie said. “We still have one more thing to discuss.”

  “After we go to Lee’s. I need a couple of other things there anyway. Close the door behind you.” He took off.

  Lexie could either follow him or go back to Nevermore. She wasn’t about to leave town until she’d brought up one last issue. So she followed.

  While Ben made his purchases in Lee’s Market, Lexie checked out the store. It had a surprisingly good variety of merchandise, including many gourmet ingredients and what appeared to be high-quality meat and vegetables. It also had more flavors of Jell-O and versions of Hamburger, Chicken, and Tuna Helper than she’d dreamed existed.

  When she walked up to the counter where Ben was checking out, he draped an arm around her shoulders. “Your secret’s out. Ruth knows you aren’t a cocktail waitress.”

  A name tag identified Ruth as the clerk checking Ben out. So much for Lexie’s confidence that no one besides Trey would recognize her.

  “Amber told her, but Ruth said she should have guessed from the way you walk,” Ben added.

  “The way I walk?” People had a lot of stereotypes about attorneys in general and even more about female ones, but she’d never heard anything about a distinctive walk.

  “Yep. It’s obvious you’re really an exotic dancer. I told Ruth you preferred that to being called a stripper.”

  Lexie stared at him, speechless.

  “That isn’t a problem,” Ruth said before Lexie could manage a response. “Most people in town are broad-minded and realize that’s just another job. Assuming all you do is take off your clothes and dance.”

  “If she did more than that, she wouldn’t be with me,” Ben said.

  Ruth nodded, her gray bouffant so heavily lacquered the curls didn’t even quiver. “You always did have high morals, Ben. You’ve also got your pick of women, so she must be a good one.”

  “She is.” He squeezed Lexie’s shoulder. “And she does a hell of a pole dance.”

  Apparently Ruth didn’t know what a pole dance was or she considered it permissible, since she seemed to take it in stride. She handed Ben his change. “It’s been nice meeting you, Lexie.”

  “You, too,” Lexie got out. “People think I’m a stripper?” she asked the instant they stepped out of the store.

  “I’d think you’d be flattered. I told Ruth you were very talented and had even performed in Las Vegas, but moved back to Lexington to take care of your sick mother. You use most of your salary to pay for her medicine and medical expenses.”

  “And I do a hell of a pole dance.”

  “I was going to make it a lap dance, but I didn’t want Ruth to think I’d have a girlfriend who spent her time wiggling around on top of other men.” He grinned. “I don’t care who looks, but I’m the only one who gets to touch.”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “I have to admit having a stripper girlfriend will improve my standing with the guys at Walt’s.”

  Lexie rolled her eyes. “I’m so happy to be of service. Who did you say told Ruth?”

  “Amber Morris. My most recent ex-girlfriend.”

  “The one you broke up with the other night?”

  “Yep. Although I distinctly remember telling her you were a cocktail waitress. But don’t worry. Ruth will spread around that you’re also helping out your mother. So even if some people consider you a slut, they’ll know that at least you’re one with a heart of gold.”

  Lexie burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it—this whole thing was absurd. “Max would have loved this.”

  “He would have,” Ben agreed. “What else do we need to discuss?”

  Lexie’s smile faded. “Let’s wait until we get back to your office.”

  “What is it?” Ben asked when they were again seated in his office.

  Lexie hesitated. This was uncomfortable, but she had to bring it up. “Look, I don’t want you to think I’ve gone off the deep end. But do you think it’s possible Max is haunting Nevermore?”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

  “I didn’t think I did,” Lexie said. “But both Dylan and Muriel swear they saw him. And after Muriel mentioned murder—”

  Ben’s expression shifted, only for an instant, but long enough that Lexie caught it. “I knew it,” she said. “You’re wondering the same thing, right?”

  “No, but—” The phone interrupted him. “What is it, Trudy?”

  “For the record, I don’t think Nevermore is haunted by anyone,” he said after he hung up. “I have to take care of a customer. Anything else we need to discuss?”

  “That’s it. I just need a couple of minutes to finish my notes,” Lexie said. “What time will you be home tonight? So we can analyze possible suspects?”

  He got to his feet. “We’ll have to do it tomorrow. Tonight we’re going to a street dance.”

  “I’m not going to a street dance.”

  “Have you ever been to one?”

  “No, and I have no desire to. I saw the poster for this one. The band playing is called Miles and the Muleskinners, for God’s sake.”

  “They’re very good. I’m going, and it will look strange if you don’t come along.” Ben opened the office door. “Especially considering you dance for a living.”

  “As I told you before, I’m on vacation.”

  “Your loss.” Then he left, shutting the door behind him.

  Lexie spent a couple of minutes updating her notes and To Do list, then opened the office door to the day’s second bout of déjà vu. Just like the first day, Ben was talking to yet another stacked bimbo, this one a brunette dressed in a tight pink T-shirt and denim miniskirt. Okay, so Lexie didn’t know for a fact that she was a bimbo, although if life were fair, no one who looked like that would also be brain surgeon material.

  The woman was standing so close to Ben that one of her breasts was pressed against his arm. “I’m looking forward
to seeing you tonight,” she said. “I’ll save you a couple of dances.”

  Lexie strode toward her. “Sorry, but Ben’s dance card is full. I’m Lexie. Ben’s girlfriend.” She extended her hand.

  The woman ignored it. “You didn’t mention you’d be bringing anyone to the dance, Ben.”

  Lexie wrapped both hands around Ben’s forearm and pulled him away from the other woman. “He probably didn’t think it was necessary since the entire town knows I’m here.”

  “I thought you planned to skip the dance, Lexie,” Ben said.

  Lexie met the other woman’s eyes. “You misunderstood, Ben. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  The woman stared at Lexie for a moment. Then she turned and sauntered away.

  “What was that about?” Ben asked. “I thought you refused to go.”

  “What you do behind my back is your own business, but I don’t appreciate you acting like that in front of me,” Lexie said. “I’ll see you later.”

  Then she turned and strode out of the garage, frowning. Why the hell had she agreed to go to that dance, especially since she suspected Ben had manipulated her into it? But it was too late to get out of it. Rule Number 6—once an invitation has been accepted, it’s as binding as any written contract. She’d bested that woman, but now she was obligated to go to a street dance with Ben. Life just kept getting better and better.

  She also didn’t have a thing to wear. The four suits she’d brought were out, she was sick of her jeans and her khaki skirt, and the only tops that might be appropriate were dirty and had to be dry-cleaned. She was going to have to check out The Clothes Garden after all. God willing, they’d have something without ruffles and flowers. Her frown deepened. And something that was appropriate for an exotic dancer.

  At least they wouldn’t be surprised when she paid cash.

  # # #

  The entire Main Street had been cordoned off for the dance. Porta Potties were strategically placed all around the area. A six-member band with guitars, fiddles, and too much facial hair was twanging up-tempo tunes on a raised wooden stage as dancing couples swirled around them. A refreshment counter set up in front of Lee’s Market already had long lines at the four beer windows.