“I’m Shirley. Have a seat, hon.” She touched Molly’s arm with reassurance. “Would you like a beverage? We have Cokes of all kinds, plus filtered, spring, and sparkling water.”
Molly barely mumbled, “Filtered water would be fine—”
“I’ll be right back. Mr. Williams will be out in a moment.” Shirley motioned at the door. “Ignore what you might hear out there.” She disappeared down a hall behind her desk.
Molly couldn’t sit. Too much energy from the encounter still surged in her veins. She paced, breathing deeply, brushing her curls out of her face. Who were those women? And why were they here? In her mind, she paged through her aunt’s most recent letters, searching for a mention of either Lyric or Kitty Filbyhouse.
The outer office of Russell Williams & Associates allowed for a long pace. Soft dark-green carpet padded her steps around the cherrywood receptionist center. The desk matched the walls, with their beveled panels and subtle, impressionistic artwork. The Queen Anne chairs for waiting clients looked comfortable in their sophistication. A faint scent hung in the air, masculine but clean, like linen dried outdoors.
Molly stopped, remembering. Several months ago, her aunt had mentioned someone moving in with her, to take care of daily tasks. Was that Lyric? But why would they think …?
Shirley returned, and Molly accepted the offered goblet of ice water gratefully. “What was that?” She motioned toward the door.
“We’ve had a few … visitors this week.”
“My relatives?”
“Kitty and Lyric have been the most persistent.”
“They said they’d been with Aunt Liz at the end.”
Shirley paused. “Did they? Well … Mr. Williams will have to explain all that. But if I were you, I wouldn’t believe anything any of your relatives say in regards to your aunt.”
Molly smiled down at her. “Friendly advice?”
“Survival skill.”
Molly laughed, but her nerves made the sound quiver, and she ran one hand through her hair yet again, her fingers tangling in the dark curls.
A look of concern crossed Shirley’s face. “Would you like a brush, dear?”
Molly jerked her hand free. “It wouldn’t do any good.”
“It might help calm you down.”
A roar sounded outside the door. “Molly McClelland! You’re a thief! You belong in jail!”
“Dear heavens,” Shirley muttered.
Molly scowled at the door. “It never stops. The greed. It hasn’t stopped in three generations. Destroyed my family, everything I cared about.”
The ruckus changed as two deeper, muted voices joined the fray. Molly took another step back away from the doors. Shirley touched her back. “Security guards, dear. No worries. They’re familiar with the situation.”
“Molly?” The bass voice behind her sounded smooth, dark, and soft, and it overpowered the commotion outside the door.
She turned … and tried to hide her surprise. Her imagined picture of a Southern lawyer ran between Ben Matlock and Atticus Finch, but the tall man in front of her was nothing like either. More like a retired NBA point guard, was her first thought.
Close-cropped white hair emphasized the deep brown of his skin and eyes. He stood a straight and lean six-foot-five at least, and his three-piece, pinstriped suit looked as if it cost more than a new car, seeming to flow over and caress him instead of just “fitting well.” The elegance of his image extended to his cuff links, tiepin, and the silk handkerchief tucked in the pocket. Even the fine lines in his broad face seemed to have been placed there by an artist instead of age.
His face twitched a bit as an odd thump hit one of the doors, but a smile lit his eyes as he extended an arm toward Molly. “Russell Williams.”
She shook his hand. “Molly McClelland.” But she couldn’t ignore the sounds from the hallway. Molly pointed a trembling hand at the door. “They killed her, didn’t they? Tweedledum and Tweedledee out there. My whole family would gladly kill for more stuff. One of them killed her.”
2
Russell froze for a moment, then glanced at Shirley, whose lips pursed with concern. He cleared his throat and pushed his shoulders back. “There’s no evidence that Elizabeth Morrow’s death was anything but an accident. I know you don’t want to be here, and Liz explained to me that you were estranged from your family.”
Molly stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “‘Estranged’? Is that what she called it?”
Another thud hit the door, and Molly jumped, stepping away from it.
Russell continued. “But I am an officer of the court. You might want to be cautious with such accusations.”
“You’ve had to hire guards.”
“Yours is not the first family who didn’t like the way a will turned out.”
“Bet it’s the first to turn hoarding into an art form.”
A short bark of a laugh escaped from Shirley, and she coughed to cover it up.
Russell’s mouth jerked in amusement, and his arms opened in welcome. “Please. Come this way.”
Russell escorted her down the hall behind Shirley’s desk, past two comfortable offices where younger people appeared hard at work. At the end of the hall, he held open a door for her, and Molly entered, feeling drastically underdressed in her jeans and cotton shirt. Everything in the room seemed to be made of cherry wood—the paneled walls, the expansive desk and matching credenza, the conference table for six sitting to the right of the desk, and the coffee table to the left, which stood between a leather couch and two chairs. Large Impressionist landscapes hung at each end of the office. A wall of bookcases behind his desk held a plethora of the expected law books, but also artifacts from Africa, photos of Russell with various state and national leaders from the 1960s and 70s, and two framed diplomas—a bachelor’s degree from Fisk University and a law degree from Howard.
Molly didn’t hide her awe. “This is bigger than my first apartment.” She touched the edge of his desk with caution, as if it might cut her. “And infinitely better furnished.”
Russell chuckled. “Business is good.” He motioned for her to sit in one of the wingback chairs in front of his desk as he returned to the chair behind it.
“I’m glad.” Molly swallowed hard, still trying to regain her composure. Her resolve to walk away from the inheritance had been reinforced by the encounter in the parking lot. She just wanted it over and done with. “At least we can be comfortable while we deal with this nasty business.” Her words sounded harsh, even to her. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.” She paused, then gripped the arms of her chair as she settled. “It’s just that … I don’t want any of this. I told Aunt Liz that. I can’t understand why she did this.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re in a tough position.” He nodded toward the front of the office suite. “And, as you can see, I’m well aware of the predilections of your family. They have visited often since her death.”
“Was it really an accident? Or did someone in my family make it happen?”
Russell sat stone-still a moment. Finally he leaned back in his chair. “As I said, there’s no indication that it was anything but accidental.”
“She suffocated under a pile of crap.”
“She was a hoarder. Her house was—”
“I know what her house must have been like. She also—apparently—had a live-in caregiver. Lyric, if what those two women said is true.”
He gave a bare nod. “Lyric lived there, yes, but she wasn’t around twenty-four seven. Liz … Ms. Morrow …” His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat. “The coroner ruled it an accident.”
Molly hesitated, recognizing the roadblock, then relented. Now was not the time. As she calmed down from the confrontation, the exhaustion from the last few days threatened to overwhelm her. Her shoulders slumped, and her voice sounded more weary and bitter than she meant it to, but she was too exhausted to be polite. “Is there anything I can do to make this go away? I don’t want the estat
e. She knew that. We even talked about it. I told her not to leave me anything. Not a morsel. Not a shred. Not. A. Button.”
“But she did. You can’t make it ‘go away,’ but we can try to get through it as quickly as we can. There are a number of things you’ll need to—”
Molly shifted in the chair. “Why can’t Mickey inherit? I’d be glad to sign it all over to him.”
Russell hesitated. “Mickey?”
“My brother. My mother’s other child. Aunt Liz’s nephew. If Aunt Liz didn’t want to leave it to one of the other many little nephews and nieces, she could have left it to Mickey. I’m sure he’s around somewhere. At least Liz never mentioned that he’d died. He’d be wiser about getting rid of everything than I would be.”
“Your brother. Molly, how long has it been since you’ve talked to Mi—your brother?”
“Twenty years. Same as most of the family. I left when I was eighteen and never looked back. Aunt Liz was the only one I had any contact with.”
Russell’s voice remained steady, quite lawyer-like. “Your brother is not in a position to inherit.”
Molly hesitated. She’d never quarreled with her brother. They had both just left Carterton, never looking back. Not even for each other. But she hadn’t considered that he might be … “So. He’s dead.”
“No. Just take my word for it.”
“Okay. For now. If not Mickey, then why not Kitty and Lyric? If they want it so badly, why didn’t Aunt Liz just give it to them?”
Russell reached for a thick accordion-style folder on one corner of his desk. “We can go over all that in a few moments.” He pulled a white business envelope from the folder. “Before we start, Liz—Ms. Morrow—requested I give you this.” He slid it toward her. Molly picked it up and fingered the sealed envelope with only her name on the front.
“I have no idea what’s in it,” Russell continued. “And she requested that you be allowed to read it in private. So I’m going to step out. I’ll be right outside when you finish.” He rose and left the office, pulling the door shut behind him.
Molly stared at the letter, feeling sure that it would be a plea to follow her wishes in the will. I can’t, Aunt Liz. I just can’t deal with these people again. You knew that! She stared at the envelope a few more minutes, then pushed her thumb under the flap and broke the seal. As she unfolded the sheets, she noticed the quivery handwriting. It was dated only a few days before her aunt’s death.
March 10th
My dear Mollybelle—
Molly closed her eyes, an unexpected ache of grief washing over her. Only Liz called her that anymore, a nickname of affection, sincerity, and comfort. She sniffed, straightened, and opened her eyes to continue reading.
Please forgive me. I know you do not want this. And, to be honest, I never intended for you to have it. Until a few months ago, my will was completely different. But some things have happened here that make this necessary. So I hope you will spare me a few minutes to explain.
I fully suspect that even if you drove straight to Russell’s office, you will have by now met Kitty and Lyric. Recently I overhead them making plans about where in their home my big-screen television would look best. And the antique secretary from the hall. And the living room sofa. And the … perhaps you get my drift here. The list sounded quite endless, and it sounded as if they planned to act soon. At least to this old woman’s ears.
They are determined women. Avoid them if you can. Do not believe them. I overheard Kitty refer to Lyric as my caregiver. As if. Sitting around watching TV and occasionally scooting out to McDonald’s does not a caregiver make. Lyric takes me to the doctor, but only so that her mother can have access to the house. Obviously, there was a method to their madness. Inheritance. I’ve noticed some things missing, but nothing major. They won’t find what they’re really looking for, not until I’m dead, maybe not even then.
And I’m quite concerned about what they may be adding to the piles that fill these rooms. Don’t be surprised by anything you discover when you inventory the house. I’m frightened. I only trust Russell at this point, and I can’t leave it to him.
This is why I’m turning to you.
It will be the same with Bird and his scions, as you well know. He’ll be into it with Kitty before my body is cold. He is a grandfather now, and you will not be surprised to know that none of those apples fell far from that rotting tree. RuthAnn and Tommie Jane are here in town, and their children have studied at the feet of the master, Bird the Avaricious.
In fact, none of the greedy grappling will surprise you. But what I’m about to say may.
The very reason that I’ve decided to leave it to you is precisely because you don’t want it. You have no desire to clutch it to your chest like a starving chipmunk and scamper away into hiding with it. While I know, in fact, that you will have a desire just to burn it and walk away, I beg you to consider this:
Not all of your relatives are clutchers and plotters. Some are, in fact, quite deserving. Some could use help from the estate. Kitty’s niece has a special-needs child, and they are struggling. Although Kitty’s brother inherited the family’s propensity for greed, his daughter did not. Probably because of her mother, who divorced that evil creature as soon as she could and whisked her children out of his sphere. The niece, darling girl, is as far from being like Lyric as you are. She even has trouble asking for what she needs, much less what she wants. Another cousin is a reservist who lost his job when he was deployed. Others would respect the stories behind some of the pieces and cherish them for their history, not just their monetary value. Some of the items in the house hold great memories for a lot of people. Some of the items … well, you’ll see when you go through them. Remember: family takes care of its own. That’s what we do.
And despite all your anger at what happened in the past, you have something Bird, et. al, will never have: compassion. You protest voraciously, but I know you as I always did. You care. It’s the very reason you’ve been so angry for so long, so shut off from your own family. You care deeply.
So why didn’t I make those arrangements myself? Two reasons. One is that I simply don’t have time. There is a lot of stuff and a lot of family. I’m not strong, and if God doesn’t take me quickly, one of the family probably will see to it I get to Him sooner than later.
The other is that Bird and Kitty will get in the way, and I simply do not have the strength to fight them. But I know you do. You have a good heart but a constitution of steel. And the temper to meet them head on.
So I don’t expect you to keep anything. But I beg of you to consider getting rid of it in a way that will be fair and equitable—and quite possibly heal some old wounds that have haunted this family for far too long. You aren’t the only one who was damaged by what happened in the past. There are more wounds out there than you can imagine.
You’ll find in the house (hidden well, but I know you’ll find it) a journal containing a list of names, and some of the possessions I’d like them to have. You will find notes on each piece that will explain why. There’s other information in the journal as well. There are boxes of journals under my bed, which you might also find intriguing.
You’ll also find in the paperwork with this letter and the will a quitclaim deed, giving you the house immediately. You’re my executrix, so you should be able to act on my behalf. Check with Russell on this. The legal paperwork will take some time, and I wanted to give you the power to handle things without waiting. It’s ammunition to use against Bird, Kitty, and the others if you want to … or permission to sell it right away if you don’t.
If you agree to do this, Russell will help you and help keep you safe. He’s done what he can for me. Also the local sheriff. Good man. He’s watched out for me as much as he can. You’ll like him.
This is important. You mentioned to me that because of your work, you have a gun. Keep it close. You may need it. Kitty and Lyric will be nuisances to you, but Bird is dangerous. Do not turn your back on any of the
m.
I love you, Mollybelle. And I love our family, despite the problems. There are still good people in it. More than you realize. You are the only one who can help them. I hope you find it in your heart to carry out my wishes. And forgive me.
Love,
Aunt Liz
Molly dropped the letter on the desk and stood, gripping her curls as she paced. A bizarre mix of emotions swirled in her: frustration, anger, and sadness the most prominent. She did not want this. She hated it. Her entire body tightened, and she dropped her arms to her sides, stopping in her tracks as it all closed in on her. She felt as if bands of steel had wrapped around her, smothering her. As if all of Aunt Liz’s possessions had fallen on and around her.
But she also could not rid herself of a haunting memory: the sight of her mother and Aunt Liz upon discovering that their own mother’s house had been stripped bare by Bird and his sons while the sisters had gone to arrange their mother’s funeral. It had broken both of them. Her mother had collapsed on the spot.
Molly clenched her eyes shut, trying to push it away. The words burst from her in a hoarse whisper. “Bird took everything from me! My family. My home. Everything! You can’t ask me to do this! How could you do this?”
Because you can stop it. This time you could stop it. This gives you the power to stop it.
The realization rocked her and Molly stilled. If she didn’t stop it, what happened twenty years ago would be repeated, all over again. Bird and his children—and now grandchildren—would pick the house clean like buzzards on the bones of a carcass. The rest of the family would be left with nothing. Could she really let it happen again if she had the power to prevent it? Who would be hurt this time if she let all Aunt Liz cared about be stripped away again by narcissistic relatives who cared only for themselves?
Molly had stopped next to the window overlooking the parking lot. Three floors below, Kitty and Lyric circled her Explorer, peering into the windows and testing the locks. Kitty banged on one of the door handles, as if trying to make the lock pop. A security guard came out of the building and shooed them away. But Molly knew they would never quit. It would never end.
Murder in the Family Page 2
