“Yes. Your grandfather sold it to your mother before he died. For around $200, if I remember.”
Molly couldn’t believe it. “She owned it free and clear. She didn’t have to give in to Bird. She could have just had him arrested for grand larceny.”
He nodded. “And torn the family apart.”
“That happened anyway.”
“But it wasn’t her doing.”
Exhaustion swamped Molly. She pulled a chair away from the table and dropped into it. “I honestly didn’t know I could despise him more than I did.”
Russell sat as well. “Molly, I really thought you knew, or I would have said something. That’s one of the reasons Liz wanted to sign her house over to you. So maybe this time you’d stand up to him. But as to the farmhouse, it’s done. You can’t change it. You have no standing.”
Molly threw up her hands. “He can’t win every single time!”
Russell responded with the same high emotion. “It’s not about winning, Molly! This is not a competition! It’s about caring about people and not taking advantage of them. That’s what Liz wanted you to fix. To have some compassion. To hold Bird and his kin at arm’s length to do what she couldn’t. Not to defeat him, but to complete what she wanted to do. To bring healing to the family. Not more anger and separation.”
“I’m not Liz!”
Russell’s voice dropped back into his professional mode. “That is more than apparent to everyone who’s met you. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? You can do what she couldn’t. But not because you can ‘beat’ Bird. Because you’re not like him either.”
She stared at him. And the impact of it hit her as it never had before. She scrubbed her face with her hands, then ran them through her hair. “Wow!” she said. “And my guess is you never had to yank her up short like that either.”
“Not even close. But what this tells me is that you want to do this even more than you realize. But you need to focus on the real goal here and not on what Bird did to your family more than twenty years ago. It’s not about the past. It’s about the future.”
She stared at him, letting his words sink in. It’s not about winning. Finally, she reached for her inventory list and passed it to him. “Okay then. How does this look? I think I’ve covered everything of value I found in the house, even the stuff upstairs that we haven’t touched yet. I still can’t get into the basement, but that seems to be mostly stuff that needs to be tossed. I’ve compared it with the journals, and I can’t find anything Aunt Liz catalogued that’s not on the list. She was pretty thorough.”
“That was the teacher in her.”
“Will this do for the probate hearing?”
He pulled out his reading glasses and slipped them on. “It should. What else you got?”
She slid more papers toward him. “Her specific bequests, plus some mentioned in her diary. A lot of good, deserving folks, according to her.”
He looked over the list. “I’d have to agree.” Molly scowled, and Russell peered at her over his glasses. “What is it?”
“I can’t help thinking that dumping all this furniture and stuff on other people, deserving or not, is not exactly going to be compassionate or fair.”
He took off his glasses. “Why not?”
She pointed at the estate papers and journals. “She wanted to pass on to them the ‘family legacy’ and things that are worth money to help them. To lift them up. But I can’t see that happening if we follow her plan. A highboy isn’t cash. They could get taken advantage of. How would they know how to turn an antique highboy into cash? Are they going to prefer a family heirloom to food on the table?”
“Shouldn’t that be their choice?”
She tapped one of the journals. “Maybe.”
He tucked the glasses away. “Molly, let’s focus on the primary goal for a moment.”
“Yeah, that’s what Greg keeps saying.”
“Then he’s right. Let’s get through tomorrow, settle the estate, then see what’s next.”
Molly nodded. “Maybe after tomorrow, people will stop trying to kill me.”
18
Wednesday arrived with a fierce thunderstorm, which slowly settled into a driving rain. Molly and Russell went to his office to gather their materials and wrap in plastic anything that wouldn’t fit in his briefcase before heading to the courthouse. In the passenger seat of his car, Molly watched the clouds, twisting to see in as many directions as she could. Her sky. She missed it.
Russell couldn’t hide his amusement. “Looking for something?”
“Patterns.” Her voice softened. “I miss work, Russell. I want to get back to my photography.”
“I understand. It’s why I haven’t retired. I love the law.”
She spotted a second, then a third break in the clouds. “I think the roughest part of this storm has passed over us.”
“At least the one in the sky.”
Molly let out a long sigh. “Thank you, by the way. For grounding me yesterday. For making me see I was fighting the battle from two decades ago more than the one in front of me.”
“And this one is hard enough.”
Russell let her out at the door, then parked. She waited for him just inside, and helped him pull the plastic off and dump the wrappings in a trashcan. After passing through security, they found a long bench near the courtroom and claimed a spot big enough for them and all their baggage. Bird arrived a few minutes later, followed by Kitty, both dressed in their Sunday best and uncharacteristically subdued to the point that Molly had the urge to ask what was wrong with them. She resisted.
Four other relatives arrived, standing in a cluster down the hall, two women, a young man about LJ’s age, and a young girl about twelve, who seemed to be along for the ride. She kept her face buried in her phone.
Molly nodded at them. “Who are they?”
Russell peered at them, then looked away. “That would be your cousins, RuthAnn Travers and Tommie Jane Spruill. The boy is Eddie, RuthAnn’s son. The girl is Tommie Jane’s youngest.”
“Why are they here?”
“Probably moral support for Bird. Their father. Also, RuthAnn is one of the nosiest women I’ve ever encountered. And she’ll spread the news. Whatever happens today will make it back to Carterton before we do.”
Molly snarled. “The downside of small-town life.”
“The good comes with the bad.”
As a bailiff opened the doors to the room, they moved slowly toward the entrance. “Boy, we’re a lively group,” she muttered to Russell, who smothered a grin with one hand.
“And this is why we’re meeting in the courtroom instead of the judge’s chambers. Petrie wants a bailiff present. And a large, official judge’s bench between him and the rest of this crowd.”
Molly jerked a look at him in surprise. “Seriously?
“You’re not the only one who was around twenty years ago.”
Molly and Russell took a place at the defendant’s table, while the bailiff ushered the rest into rows behind them. Judge Dean Petrie entered in a flurry of billowing black robe and scurrying, overloaded clerk. Molly and Russell stood, but the judge waved at them to sit. The judge banged his gavel once, and looked at his clerk, who stood and handed him a sheaf of papers. Petrie slipped on a pair of reading glasses, paged through them, then looked out over the room.
“We are here today to start the probate of the last will and testament of Ms. Elizabeth LouAnn Morrow, who was deceased as of March 14th of this year. The word ‘probate’ means ‘to prove,’ and the goal is to authenticate the last will and testament as being the only valid declaration of Ms. Morrow’s wishes as to the dispersal of her property after her death.”
Bird pushed to his feet. “Your honor, I have here—”
“Sit down, Mr. Morrow. You will have your chance to speak later.”
“Your honor—”
“Sit or leave, Mr. Morrow. Your choice.”
Bird scowled, then eased down, grumbling un
der his breath.
Judge Petrie did not waver. “We will proceed in an orderly manner, and I will direct these proceedings. Understood? Good.” He lifted a section of paper and pulled another set to the top. “Ms. McClelland?”
Molly stood up. “Yes, sir.”
He waved for her to sit. “No need to stand every time I address you, Ms. McClelland. You’ll throw your joints out.”
She sat. “Yes, sir.”
“You are listed in the paperwork as Ms. Morrow’s executrix.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I understand you showed some reluctance to act as such when you first heard about this. Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why is that?”
“Fighting over possessions destroyed my family twenty years ago. I left Carterton and I never wanted to come back. My aunt was my only contact here. With her death, I didn’t want anything to do with the family or what she left behind.”
Judge Petrie peered at her over his glasses. “Sound reasoning. What changed your mind?”
Molly glanced at Russell. “Mr. Williams, mainly. And letters and journals my aunt left that were addressed to me. She felt that because I didn’t want any of her estate, I would be the best one to direct its dispersal. She had specific bequests, and she mostly wanted it to help people who could use a hand up. That was something I could get behind.”
“Helping people.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned his attention to Russell. “Mr. Williams?”
Russell straightened. “Yes, your honor.”
“Good to see you in my courtroom again. Hate the reason why.”
“Thank you, your honor.”
“You have provided me with quite a bit of documentation. I appreciate that.” Judge Petrie paused and turned pages as he read. “A notarized affidavit from Ms. Morrow that this is her true and final will. A notarized statement from her physician that she was in sound mind and body when she signed it. The notarized letter addressed to Ms. McClelland outlining the reasoning for choosing her as executrix and a list of specific bequests.” He paused and pulled out a stack held together by a large binder clip. “And more affidavits than I want to read from potential heirs, signing off on Ms. McClelland as executrix. Is that it?”
“That’s it, judge. The only heirs who have not waived any objection to Ms. McClelland as executrix are sitting behind us.”
“So I see.” The judge took several minutes to scan through the pages again, then he grouped them, slipped a rubber band around them, and handed them back to his clerk. “Ms. McClelland, do you have an inventory of the estate, along with a list of recipients?”
“I do, your honor, although they are only potential recipients. They have not been contacted, since they were not direct heirs to my aunt.”
“Do you have any reason to suspect they would object to receiving a nice objet d’art from your beloved aunt?”
“Truthfully, your honor, if someone told me I’d inherited a six-foot by nine-foot wardrobe made from solid cherry that took up half a room, I’d tell them to call Goodwill.”
Petrie stared at her, obviously fighting a smile. “Point taken, Ms. McClelland. And there is such a creation in the inventory?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“Nice. Please bring the inventory list to the clerk.”
Molly did so and returned to her seat. Her hands were clammy and cold, and she twisted them together in her lap. Why am I so nervous?
The clerk passed the list to the judge, who went through the list slowly. Finally, he peered over his glasses again. “Would you be willing to swear that this list is complete and accurate as to the contents of the house to be considered part of the estate?”
Molly glanced at Russell, and he nodded. She faced Judge Petrie. “No, sir. I cannot.”
He put the list down. “Why not?”
“Sir, the house is currently a crime scene under investigation.”
“I am aware.”
“Aunt Liz was a hoarder. When I first arrived the house was impassable, except for a few rooms. While I’ve inventoried the main rooms of the house and most of the attic, I’ve not been able to get into the basement. While it appears to be primarily garbage that has been thrown down the stairs, I could not swear to the contents beyond that.”
The judge looked over the list again, then at Molly for a few moments. “But you would be willing to begin dispersal of the estate based on this list.”
“Yes, sir. With an addendum to the inventory filed when I could get into the basement.”
He handed the list back to his clerk. “Mr. Morrow, please come to the rail and explain what it is you want to present.”
Bird stood and stepped forward. “Your honor, my cousin, Kitty Filbyhouse—” he gestured at Kitty. “Ms. Filbyhouse has a second will from my sister, dated after the one you have there. She also has an inventory list that shows items that are in the house, which are not on Ms. McClelland’s list.”
The judge stared at Bird a moment. “How do you know what’s on Ms. McClelland’s list and that there are items on yours not listed by her?”
Molly twisted in her seat to stare at Bird. She definitely wanted to hear that answer.
Bird glanced at Kitty again, and the judge turned his attention to her. “Please stand, Ms. Filbyhouse, and explain this.”
Kitty stood slowly. “Sir. She … Ms. McClelland … she just got here. My daughter Lyric has been living with Ms. Morrow for some time. She was her primary caregiver and knew the house inside and out. Ms. McClelland came down here and just locked Lyric out of her home and took—”
“Stay on point, Ms. Filbyhouse.”
Kitty swallowed and looked at Bird for support. Bird continued. “Lyric knew what was in the house, including the basement. Ms. McClelland has admitted she doesn’t know what’s down there, so her list can’t be as complete as Lyric’s.”
Judge Petrie continued to stare at them. Finally, he motioned for his clerk to collect the papers from Bird. The clerk did, handing them off to the judge. He looked at the list first, then the will. He paused, then looked up at Bird. “This will is handwritten.”
“Yes, sir. My sister … Ms. Morrow didn’t have a computer. But you can see it’s a later date, and there are changes to the specific bequests.”
Judge Petrie peered at Bird over his glasses, glanced at Kitty, then back at Bird. “Are you aware, Mr. Morrow, that holographic wills aren’t accepted in the state of Alabama?”
Bird licked his lips. “Holo …”
“Holographic. It means handwritten. They aren’t legal in this state. So this will is worthless.”
Kitty couldn’t hold back. “But it’s what Lizzie wanted!”
Judge Petrie took off his glasses and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the bench. “Then Ms. Morrow should have contacted her good friend and attorney of record, Mr. Williams, and had him redraw the will. Her letter to Ms. McClelland, which is part of the estate package, is signed and dated and notarized after this will, which casts even more doubt on its authenticity. And do not speak out like that again in this courtroom or I will have you removed.”
Kitty dropped back into her chair and covered her face with her hands. Bird cleared his throat. “Your honor, what about the list?”
Judge Petrie paused, then looked from Bird to Russell to Molly. “Mr. Williams, do you have any thoughts to share?”
This time Russell stood. “Judge, first, Ms. Morrow did have a computer. She kept in touch with Ms. McClelland via email. She surrendered it to me when Ms. Lyric Filbyhouse moved into her residence.”
The judge cleared his throat. “Did she state a reason for this action?”
“She said it was a matter of trust.”
Kitty shot to her feet.
Judge Petrie put up a hand. “Don’t, Ms. Filbyhouse.”
Kitty’s mouth opened and closed twice, but no sound came out.
“Go on, Mr. Williams.”
“She did h
ave a cell phone. We talked at least twice a week. She never mentioned a new will or a desire to have one.”
“Thank you. Sit down, all of you.”
Russell, Bird, and Kitty dropped back into their chairs. Russell shot a single glance at Molly and nodded once.
Judge Petrie sniffed and handed all the paperwork to his clerk. “While the second will is not and will never be legitimate in this court, there is a significant discrepancy between the two lists, enough for a dispute to be considered. Ms. McClelland, please refrain from dispersing anything in the estate until the basement is emptied. You will submit a revised inventory at that time, and we’ll review the two lists again. This is not because I consider Mr. Morrow’s list more authentic but because you admit you have not completed the inventory because of circumstances beyond your control.”
He paused and took a deep breath. “The last will and testament as submitted by Mr. Williams, however, is proved authentic and true to Ms. Morrow’s final wishes. It is accepted by this court and the state of Alabama. Any further contests to the will must be filed with this court within thirty days from today’s date. After that time, the clerk will provide all parties a new date for those contests to be heard.”
He paused and pointed his gavel at Bird. “But, Mr. Morrow, I give you fair warning. Do not bring any paperwork this shoddy back into my courtroom. If you want to contest this will, hire a good attorney who can advise you on your standing.” He banged the gavel and stood. “We’re adjourned, people. Go home.” And he was gone with the same flurry of billowing robe and scurrying clerk.
19
“Ifeel as if I’ve been put through a wringer.”
“You have been.” The rain had stopped by the time they left the courthouse, and Russell tucked away his briefcase and their folders in the back seat as Molly got in the front. “Going before a judge is no picnic, even if you’ve done everything right and it’s all on your side.”
“It didn’t help that Kitty started screaming at me when it was all over with.”
Russell chuckled. “I thought the bailiff would have to intervene, the way she kept trying to get to you.”
Murder in the Family Page 22
