by Julie Ramson
Where's a Will.........There's Murder is a work of fiction. The names and characters have been wholly created by the imagination of the author. Any resemblance of any character to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. The events and locations, other than landmarks, are also fictional or used as a fiction to further the story and again, any resemblance to any real event or location is purely coincidental.
Copyright @2010 by Julie A. Ramson. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, excerpted, reprinted, electronically transmitted or stored in any form without the express authorization and permission of the author.
First Edition
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my entire family for putting up with me while writing this book. I truly appreciate each and every one of them for their support and patience. Special thanks to my sister, Sheila Mahoney for her suggestions as well as support, and also to her husband, Tom Mahoney. Great thanks to my niece, Meghan Yarbrough, who read my drafts so patiently then gave me wonderful ideas and to her husband for his technical advice, usually in response to my frantic pleas.
This book would not be without my nephew, Tom Mahoney. He prodded me to publish electronically, supported me and helped me with how to do it. Thanks as well to his wife, Francesca, for her encouragement. A lifetime thank you to three great women in my life, Jane Femal, Sherry Healy and Sara Cook. They are not only my cousins, but also my best friends. Thanks as well to my brother John, his wife Sue, my nephews, Jack Ramson for his service to all of us as a United States Marine and to Joe Ramson for his service to all of us in the United States Navy and to my niece, Nicole Fry. My additional thanks to Michele and Dale Johnson and Maria Alfaro for reading and listening to my writing process.
I'd also like to thank Dan Cook who provided me with links and help for e publishing and for taking the time to help me during a very busy time in his life as a city volunteer working with teenagers. I appreciate all he did for me very much - as well as all that he is doing for others.
A very important and heartfelt thank you must be given to Katherine Femal, an all around terrific woman who gave so generously of her time and talent in helping me publish electronically. She is smart, funny and so capable – I am in her debt.
But most of all, I thank you – the reader who took a chance on me as an unknown author. I hope you like Maggie and her family and that my story entertains you.
CHAPTER ONE
SATURDAY, JANUARY 19
“I have to kill you. It’s really nothing personal.” The words were said without expression.
I looked down the barrel of the gun then back up to the eyes above it. They were flat, empty. The eyes of a shark. Or a psychopath.
I believed the words. Every one of them.
12 DAYS EARLIER
MONDAY, JANUARY 7
It was sleeting. Typical early January in Chicago. About this time every year I think of moving to Florida, California, Bora Bora. Anywhere without snow. That would be hard this year since I have no money – or very little of it. Hard to buy airline tickets.
My name is Mary Margaret Flaherty and I am 28 years old. I have dark red hair, which curls only the way it wants to, greenish blue eyes and stand 5'10" in my stocking feet. I tend toward the gangly and, although my mother promised I would outgrow the All-Elbows- And- Knees thing, that hasn’t happened yet. I’m thinking she fibbed.
I am also in a solo law practice, a very recent solo law practice. Okay, I got fired and this is the best I can do.
I had a job once - a very good job. I am an attorney. Sort of. Currently I am seeing either Amway or dog walking in my future. A year ago I worked at a big law firm with a big salary and a big office. I had a phone and a secretary, a computer and a printer and an expense account. I had a fiancée. Okay, scratch that. He's no loss.
The job, the secretary and the expense account all came to an abrupt end last fall when I told the managing partner of my very stuffy law firm that he was a big chauvinistic jerk. Forget that I was right. A mere peon associate telling Mr. Important that he was a creep? Not good. And since he had the power to fire me, he did. So I am now a solo practitioner. Emphasis on solo.
But I digress. I needed clients and had to make a plan. I sipped my coffee and contemplated the rest of the coffee cake I had brought in. I had already eaten three pieces and was planning to save the rest for tomorrow. Oh well. Tomorrow may never come. I ate the next piece.
I was stunned when the office door opened and a female voice said, “Is anyone here?”
I jumped up and banged my knee against the desk. Ow! But I rushed out, limping slightly.
“Yes, can I help you?” I was looking at a slim, waif like woman, probably in her early 30's. She wore a big tan down filled coat and rubber boots. Her short dark hair was cut in a feathered cluster around her face and her dark eyes were huge and fringed with incredibly long lashes. Her skin was a perfectly pale ivory with a light dusting of freckles across her nose. She wore no makeup and was covered with droplets of sleet. She probably stood about 5' 4" but looked smaller. She had a large, dark brown purse draped across her shoulder and all in all, looked like a like a woebegone sprite.
“I am looking for a lawyer to help me with a problem,” she began in a soft voice. “The sign said this was an attorney’s office.”
“Oh, it is!” I all but ran up to her. “I am the attorney, Mary Margaret Flaherty. Maggie. What can I do for you?” Damn. I was dressed casually today, wearing jeans and a dark teal sweater. My hair was a mass of curls because of the sleet and I had no makeup on. Geez, who would have expected clients to come out in this weather?
She looked up at me rather shyly. “I'm Emily Hastings. I – I have a problem.” She put out her hand and I shook it gently. “My aunt died last month and I am supposed to inherit the house and the contents but the will is missing.” She started to get tears in her eyes.
I led her in the direction of my office. “I am sure I can help you,” I answered.
Problem: I know almost nothing about wills. Rationalization: She wasn't asking me to write one. I only had to find one. Besides, I’d studied wills in law school - several hours on them at least. Well, yes, that was several years ago and I hadn't thought about them since. But I couldn’t let a small thing like ignorance come between me and a potential client. Besides, how hard could it be to find a will?
I gestured toward one of the two chairs in front of my desk. “Please, have a seat and we can talk.” I took her coat and she sank into the chair. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt under the coat. I walked around my desk to sit down.
She glanced around my office. It is actually two small rooms on the ground floor of an office building on the west side of Chicago. It is one of three offices on that floor, directly to the right after you enter the building.
The building itself is two stories. There are two doors into the building. The first is open but the second is locked. Supposedly you have to press the button with my firm’s name and be buzzed through the second door, but that is more illusion than reality. A child with a credit card could get in.
When you first enter my office, there is a small reception area but no receptionist. The area is painted a soft, cheerful yellow. Yellow inspires confidence, right? Who else but a very secure person would paint their walls yellow? Plus, that color of paint had been on sale at Ace. The chairs were garage sale oak with arms and a muted multicolored woven fabric. The desk matched the chairs, sort of. It held a desk calendar and a phone. I kept some papers on it, slightly in disarray so that it would look like someone actually worked at it. No one had yet, but my accountant, Samantha Napelli, might. Sa
m was also my best friend from the sandbox days and since math in any form eludes my brain, I have accepted her offer to keep my books. I don’t have any clients yet so I don’t have any books to keep but I’m hopeful. She might sit at that desk someday.
I have a slightly larger office behind reception, a very pale blue. God bless on sale paint. It has a desk that doesn’t match anything and two chairs that sort of match the reception ones. I have a used computer on the desk and a copier in the corner that I have to hit when I want copies. I do have a phone but the working part of it was going to be a dim memory if I did not get a client soon. A paying client. With a retainer.
My prospective client sat in one of the chairs in front of my desk. I leaned forward. “Please, tell me how I can help you,” I said.
“My aunt, Lily Hastings, was murdered last month, the weekend after Thanksgiving. I found her in the kitchen. She had been shot.” The woman swallowed hard and tears welled in her eyes.
She looked fragile and very sad. I spoke softly to her. “Take your time, please.” I said.
She blinked hard. “You might remember this because it was in all the papers.”
Oh yes, I remembered it. It was in our neighborhood and been big news here. Because of the location, my brother, Sean, was the homicide detective assigned to the case. He had told me about it. Gunshot to the head. No suspects. The victim was a widow in her 70's without any known enemies. The house had been ransacked. No prints, no clues. He and Jimmy, his partner, were totally frustrated by this case.
The murder was in a typical Chicago three flat with each flat on top of the other, located on California Avenue not far from where I lived. It wasn’t the best neighborhood, but not the worst either. Certainly not one where you would expect an elderly woman to be murdered. A kitchen window next to the back door had been broken and was presumably the mode of entrance. There was one set of a man’s footprints outside in the snow but they proved to be made from common running shoes, size 12. Hardly helpful.
This woman must be the niece Sean had told me about. Because she had found the body she was questioned several times about the murder but was ruled out as a suspect. She had no motive. There weren’t any clues except for the footprints and the case had gone cold. I couldn’t believe the niece was sitting in my office.
“I do remember and I am so sorry,” I started but the woman simply sat there, trying not to cry. “This has to have been a terrible time for you. Let me get you some coffee,” I offered, “and some coffee cake and then we’ll see what I can do to help you.”
The woman nodded. She seemed to have exhausted her conversational inclinations.
I grabbed a cup, creamer, sugar, sweetener and a paper plate for the coffee cake, while visions of a retainer danced in my head. I handed her the coffee and watched in awe as she added sugar and creamer. Have a dash of coffee with your sugar, I thought.
“I am Aunt Lily’s only niece, really her only living relative. I took care of her. I have a studio apartment about six blocks away and stopped in most days to check on her or bring some soup or other food. She was my only family since my parents are dead and I was an only child.” The woman looked out the one small window I had but didn’t seem to be seeing anything. Just as well since the window faced the brick wall of another two story building. A pawn shop with an apartment over it.
“Finding Aunt Lily was ......it was so ugly. I had stopped by and she didn’t answer the door. I used my key and found her on the kitchen floor. It was awful! The house was completely trashed and everything was broken, all over the floor.” I saw the tears were dangerously close to falling. I am not good with crying people, whether adults, children or babies, so I started talking, hoping to stem the flood.
“First, let’s do some preliminaries. I need your full name, for starters.” I spoke rather briskly and sat with my pen poised above a Client Information form. I was trying to look professional and competent, sympathetic and businesslike all at once.
I probably looked ridiculous.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” She leaned forward across the desk. Good thing she was short since my desk is small and if she had been any taller we would have had noses touching. “My name is Emily Ann Hastings.” She bit her lip. “I can pay you. I just need some help with finding her will because she told me she was going to leave the house and everything in it to me – and I need it right now. I want to get into the house and look for the will but it is still taped off as a crime scene. I think Aunt Lily probably hid her will there. I also need to clean it up before I can move in.” She was talking very fast. “Whoever....killed her destroyed it. Everything was torn or broken. The police were very nice and let me take several boxes out of the house right after the murder.” She wiped her eyes.
“What kinds of things did you remove?” I gave her a box of kleenex.
“I couldn’t carry much but I did take Aunt Lily’s jewelry, some papers and other personal things. I think the police were afraid that the house would be robbed because it would be empty.” She spoke in a rush and fresh tears glistened in her eyes.
I had focused in on the “I can pay” part. I thought fast. What do you charge for finding a will? Flat rate or contingency? Both?
“I know this is hard and I would really like to help you,” I began. My fees are..........$200 an hour plus expenses.” I thought that sounded good. “$2000 in advance.” That would cover my month’s rent and expenses, plus an anchovy and pepperoni pizza to celebrate. I held my breath.
“Sure, okay,” she sniffled and reached for her purse. Bless her. She brought out a checkbook and started writing. “I’ll want your address, a phone number and some information on you and your aunt. Where do you work?”
Emily looked up. “I work for the Chicago schools as a student counselor. Right now I am on leave because of my aunt’s death.”
“I see. Did you aunt work?” I was taking notes. “Did she have any enemies? Tell me about her.” She handed me her check and I clipped it to the side of the form.
“No, everyone loved Aunt Lily. She was always smiling and had such a wonderful outlook on life! She was a widow and had retired from a chocolate factory about ten years ago.”
“What about her family?” I asked.
Emily paused. “My uncle Herbert, her husband, died I in a car
accident in 1990. I don’t know what my uncle did for a living. I was
about 16 when he died. He was always very nice to me. I don’t
really remember much about him.” She stopped for a moment, then
went on. “He was soft spoken and he and Aunt Lily were devoted to
each other since they didn’t have any children. She didn't even have
brothers or sisters.”
“Did she have anyone else besides you? Any close friends?
Anyone?”
The woman shook her head. “Not that I know of.” She stopped as if she wanted to say something else. “A friend's son but no relatives.”
I smiled at her. “I know you told me that your aunt had said she would leave the house and everything to you, but do you know if she ever saw an attorney to draw up a formal will?”
“I think Aunt Lily saw an attorney to do that but I don’t know who it was. I never asked her – I couldn't stand to think of her -” she gulped. “I don’t know what to do!” She twisted her hands in front of her.
“If your aunt hired a lawyer to write her will and he knows she has passed away, he will file her will with the probate court. I’ll check that for you. But in the meantime, we need to see if we can get into the house and look around. Maybe she kept a copy. I’ll check with the police and see if they will let us in.” I saw a call to my brother, Sean in my future. He owed me.
I glanced again at the client sheet. I thought I had everything I needed. I gave her my card with my cell phone number on it. “I will be in touch with you as soon as I have spoken to the police and found out when we can enter the house,” I assured her. “That should be in a day or so.
By the way, where are the boxes of things you took from the house?”
“I have them at my apartment. I’ve gone through them though and if there is a will, it isn’t there. Maybe it's in her house,” she said sighing.
“We’ll find it.” I hoped. “I’ll be in touch.”
Emily smiled for the first time. “Thank you so much. Should I just call the receptionist if I have questions or need to talk to you?”
“No, just call my cell phone. That would be the easiest way.” No need to mention I don’t have a receptionist. I was the receptionist, the typist, the phone answerer and the attorney. Details like that aren’t necessary for clients.
I got her coat and helped her into it. We walked to the door. ‘Don’t worry, I'm sure we can take care of this. First, I'll check and see if anything has been probated for her.”
As we were walking out of the office, she stopped and looked at a picture of my family. It was of all of us, which is a bit of a crowd, standing together at a family picnic last summer. “That’s your family?” she asked rather wistfully. I nodded. She gave it one last glance then looked back at me. “Thank you. I'll wait to hear from you.”
“Good. I'll start some inquiries right away.” I smiled. I would start - just as soon as I took her check to the bank and found out if it was good. She buttoned up the down coat, zipped it, wrapped the red scarf around her neck and with one last smile, she left.
I walked back to my small office, closed the door and pumped my fist in the air! Did the happy dance around the client chair and kissed the check. Now I just had to figure out how in the heck I was going to find a missing will. Oh, well, I would worry about that later. I bundled into my leather jacket, gloves and scarf and prepared to brace the sleet, the retainer check in the bank. I closed the office door and locked it.
