A Bullet to the Heart

by Kathy L Wheeler

  It caught her off guard and she flinched.

  Wallace was not one to let bygones be bygones. He stalked forward.

  In a move only fairytales could write, Wyn was there blocking the horrid man.

  “Sheriff,” Simon the elder barked.

  Wyn grabbed Wallace by the arm and dragged him across the room.

  Jo let out a long-held breath and hid her shaking fingers in the folds of her skirt.

  Eleanor’s feeble cry whispered throughout the room.

  “Hush now, Mama, everything will be fine,” Lydia assured their mother.

  Jo tuned Eleanor out and made for the window, desperate for air. It was difficult to discern the line between sky and sea. Only the rough surf’s foamy waves beating against the rocks differentiated the two.

  The snick latch startled Jo and redirected her attention.

  “Well, let’s get this over with,” Lydia said.

  Simon, Sr. wasted no time. “The Claremont property on Nantucket Island, along with all currency, and assets have been incorporated into the Montgomery Legacy Trust—”

  Jackson was on his feet. “What do you mean?”

  Sr. clarified. “Upon the death of your mother, Mary Claremont Montgomery, Victor incorporated the full Claremont Estate into the Montgomery Legacy Trust.”

  Simon indicated Jackson return to his seat.

  Jackson plopped back down like a tantruming toddler. The more she was around Jackson the more she wondered how he’d frightened her for so long. Her memories seemed jumbled and out of sorts.

  Senior made eye contact with each of Victor’s four heirs before going back to the documents laid out before him. “All assets of the Montgomery Legacy Trust, including, but not limited to, Montgomery Enterprises, the New York City penthouse, Montgomery Island, Catskills properties, as well as Claremont Estate, are hereby transferred to the ownership of my three nieces, Josephine Ophelia Weatherford, Lydia Eleanor Weatherford, Victoria Tevis Weatherford, and my son, Jackson Montgomery, equally.” He looked up again. “There are, however, conditions attached to this inheritance.”

  An uneasy silence hovered over the room.

  Simon resumed reading. “From the date of the reading of this will, each of the existing heirs shall make The Manor House at Montgomery Island their primary dwelling and shall be married within one year from the date of this reading. Failure to meet either of these conditions will render this will null and void.”

  “This is bullshit,” Jackson ranted.

  Jo was inclined to agree. She laid her cheek against the cold pane unable to digest what Simon had read. Her rage was so deeply buried it choked her from the inside out.

  “My father was a lunatic, as this will clearly shows.”

  “Mr. Montgomery, please,” Simon chastised.

  It took Jo a moment to realize old Simon was addressing Jackson and not Uncle Victor as Mr. Montgomery, sending a shock of emotion crashing through her. Victor was truly gone.

  “All assets of Montgomery Enterprises, including, but not limited to, the New York City penthouse, Montgomery Island, Catskills properties, as well as Claremont Estate, shall be liquified and funds distributed to the town of Stone, the county of Clover, the state of Connecticut with the exception of the bequeathals to staff as previously defined, if the conditions are not met by all remaining heirs.”

  As the words penetrated, Jo turned and grasped the window’s frame to keep her balance. “Four of us?” She enunciated his words back, certain she hadn’t heard correctly.

  Lydia’s astonishment mirrored her own.

  “I’m afraid so, Josephine. You, your sisters, and Mr. Montgomery.” His words were not uttered unkindly.

  Jo couldn’t stand the thought of his pity.

  The elder Guthrie angled his head, spearing each of them as if they were unruly children. “To clarify, this means the estate as a whole. If any one of the four of you violate any terms of the will, then the will, in its entirety, is void. The staff shall receive their inheritance, of course, as was stated.”

  God, would this day never end?

  Apparently, not. “Guthrie & Guthrie Attorneys at Law will continue to serve as co-trustee of the Montgomery Legacy Trust along with Josephine Ophelia Weatherford, Lydia Eleanor Weatherford, Victoria Tevis Weatherford, and Jackson Montgomery, until such time the conditions of the will—which I have enumerated—have been met.” He cleared his throat. “Victoria Tevis Weatherford will manage the day to day operations of Montgomery Enterprises as Chief Executive Officer.”

  “What does that mean?” Lydia asked.

  Jo managed a nonchalant air. “I wasn’t trained to handle that kind of responsibility. Nor do I care.” She desperately needed out of this room.

  Tevi snorted. “I spent my whole life being trained for that kind of responsibility.”

  Simon, Sr. ignored their commentary. “I am granting override authority of Montgomery Enterprises’ Chief Executive Officer to Josephine Weatherford, Lydia Weatherford, and Jackson Montgomery, collectively.”

  Tevi lurched forward, slammed her hands on the desk across from old Simon. “What the hell?”

  The old man let out a resigned sigh. “Miss Weatherford, please.”

  Jo’s sisters huffed out their frustration while her own heart pounded, blood rushed her ears, and black dots teased the edge of her vision. Leave it to Victor and his unmitigated attempts to rule over them from the grave. Only she and Jackson were unified in their horror. He looked as if he could commit murder while she felt as if she could.

  Tevi dropped back into her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “I’m afraid so, Victoria.” Only Simon, Sr. referred to Tevi as such. “As I said, all of you must comply to the conditions of these wills.” He sorted through the documents, stacking them in an order beyond Jo’s capability to comprehend. “I can appreciate that Victor’s conditions to your inheritance is unorthodox. However, please understand that my responsibility is only to ensure the conditions have been met as described.” He looked up at them. “Now, the only thing left are the required signatures.”

  9

  M

  iss Weatherford?” Simon the elder jarred her to her surroundings. “Your signature?”

  Jo quickly blinked back sudden tears and glanced around. She was the only one left in the room. Her sisters must have signed already. She cleared her throat. “Of course, Mr. Guthrie.”

  After signing the necessary paperwork, she escorted the Guthries’ to the formal parlor, just another massive, rarely used expanse at the manor. Old Simon stopped to visit with Theo Vance, the pharmacist, and with Dr. Max. Simon the son cornered the doctor’s nurse, Della.

  A sideboard hosted a variety of foods from fruits to fresh seafood and home-baked breads, available to all and sundry. Hence, half the township of Stone had turned up. Jo did her best to appear as if she was casually strolling rather than rushing over to the hearth to get away from the younger Simon.

  She took in the scene around her. It was quite the farewell celebration for their mother’s brother, Uncle Victor. Jo still couldn’t quite resolve her resentments of Eleanor and Victor and their lying to her about Bobby being her real father. It was like a flesh-eating bacteria that gnawed at her.

  Lydia meandered over, holding two loaded plates, and handed the second one to Jo. “You need to eat something. I don’t think I’ve seen you eat a single thing the whole time we’ve been back on the island.”

  Jo took the plate. The smell of the shrimp wafted up, nauseating her. One of the kids Esther had hired for the event wandered by with a tray. Jo set her plate on it before she keeled over, shooting Lydia an apologetic smile.

  Tevi showed up with two glasses of champagne, one of which Jo gladly accepted. “You need to eat more, JoJo.”

  “So I’ve been told.” She lifted her glass. “Here’s to Uncle Victor’s continued success in the afterlife.”

  Tevi raised her glass an
d clinked it against hers. “Hear! Hear!” She sipped, blinking rapidly. “Hey, did you hear boy-Simon might be moving back to the island?”

  “Hope the good folks of Stone keep an eye on their little girls,” Jo muttered. She took another, healthier, sip. It hit her stomach hard, and her head even harder. “I’ve been thinking…” She glanced around then leaned in. The other girls followed suit. She lowered her voice. “I’ve been thinking about who could have shot Victor. It occurred to me that Wallace Hayes had a good reason to kill him.”

  “Why would he do that?” Lydia asked. “Mother didn’t receive anything from the will.

  “He didn’t know that,” Jo shot back. “None of us knew the details before today.”

  “That’s true,” Tevi said. She drummed her fingers against her glass. She looked at Jo. “I think you may be onto something. I can certainly picture Wallace shooting Victor. Hell, I felt a shock of rage myself in that room. It’s clear someone murdered him.”

  “It’s pretty difficult to pass off a gunshot to the chest as an accident.” Lydia huffed out a frustrated breath. “I can’t believe Victor is forcing us to live here. I cannot stay on this island. I have to get back to the Sentinel.”

  “You mean newsworthy stories don’t just fall into your lap?” Tevi jabbed.

  Lydia glared at Tevi in response.

  “Come on, Lyddie. She’s teasing you. Lighten up,” Jo said, though she, herself, was furious.

  “I can’t believe the two of you,” Lydia said through clenched teeth. “Your comments are so…so glib.”

  “Ever the arbitrator, eh, Lydia?” Tevi taunted her.

  “Frankly,” Jo bit out, her face on fire. “Victor has placed me in an untenable position. Forced to live in the same house as Jackson? Jackson, for God’s sake. Uncle Victor knew things. How dare he.” She clutched the flute between her fingers so tightly it was a wonder the stem didn’t snap. Rage-fueled adrenaline coursed through her body. Victor had no right.

  “Jo,” Lydia hissed, scanning the area. “Calm down.”

  “Don’t! Don’t tell me to calm down.” She tossed back the whole content of her glass, sending the bubbles almost through her nose, and leaving her in a coughing fit.

  “Sorry.” Lydia inhaled deeply. “It’s just—well, this isn’t the time and place to talk about this.”

  “Not the right—”

  Tevi sipped at her champagne, her gaze shifting between her and Lydia. “She’s right, JoJo. We do need to talk about it, but now is not the time. The whole town is here.”

  Jo surveyed the room. Clusters of people scattered about were enjoying Victor’s last parting. Some even edged closer to the sisters in a not-so-subtle attempt to eavesdrop. Fine, they were right. And it wasn’t like any of the four of them had any place else to go or even any choice in the matter. If any of them didn’t abide by the will’s terms and live in the house then they all lost their inheritance. Jackson’s well-being may mean nothing to Jo, but she didn’t quite feel the same antipathy for her sisters.

  Jackson sauntered over, one side of his mouth curled in a sneer, and one eye slightly blackened. “Well, what do you say, cousins? An interesting turn of events, huh?”

  Jo studied Jackson, really studied him, covertly, of course. He reminded her of a sullen child who clamored for attention. With his father’s death, that attention would never again be forthcoming. An odd realization trickled through Jo. It took her a moment to identify it: lack of fear. She didn’t fear Jackson. It was a stunning, freeing sensation. At least, in the moment, with the parlor full of people and all.

  Another pang hit just then. One of hunger.

  Outside Montgomery Manor, darkness had fallen, and noise from the assembled guests filtered to Wyn. He gazed up at the lighted windows. He hadn’t heard the final terms of the will. Nor did he care one whit about what Jo had or wouldn’t have. Leaving her back in that room when he’d dragged Hayes out made him feel as if he’d abandoned her.

  Wallace Hayes was a danger to her. He didn’t know why, he just knew it the same way he knew how deeply his feelings for her were rooted. Still, he feared the gap between he and Jo was widening into a chasm too broad to cross. She might even be engaged. The thought sickened him and pissed him off.

  What a wreck he was. The smart thing to do was to let go of his feelings and concentrate on his job, like learning who had killed Victor Montgomery, and finding out if Mary Montgomery had indeed been poisoned.

  Yeah. No. He went up the veranda steps and slipped inside where no one was guarding the door.

  Wyn followed the chatter to a large, well-lit room off the foyer and glanced in. Catherine was talking to Wilbur the postmaster, and to Melinda the owner of the Cobblestone Café on Main Street. Wyn noted that his mother had opted not to attend the celebration for Victor’s life. She and Wyn’s father had gone home after the graveside service. Not much of a surprise there, she wouldn’t attend if his father wouldn’t. They probably argued about it all the way back to town. Luckily, that was only a five-minute drive.

  Wyn spotted all four of Victor’s heirs near the hearth and stiffened. He started in that direction, but Jo broke away, so he changed course and followed her to the food. He came up behind her and breathed in the soft floral scent of her short blonde curls. “Hello.”

  She spun back, startled. “Good heavens, Wyn. What are you doing? You scared the life out of me.”

  He gave her an unrepentant grin. “Must be your nerves.”

  She spun back around, extended a long very slender arm, and picked up a plate. She hadn’t been eating enough.

  “Are you really engaged?”

  “No, I’m not engaged.”

  “Then why is Styles in town?”

  “He’s in town?” She frowned. “Oh, I didn’t know.” She filled her plate.

  Wyn stared at the three crackers, dab of brie cheese, and the two tiny pieces of fruit she gingerly set on her plate. He plopped a spoonful of some non-descript casserole in the vast empty space alongside the fruit. “Why would Kingsley say that then?”

  Her eyes fell to her suddenly weighted-down plate. “What are you—how should I know?” Her jaw tensed, but she sniffed her disdain. “I think it might be your nerves unraveling, not mine.”

  Wyn didn’t take the bait. He picked up another plate and started filling it for himself. “There’s something about that guy that bothers me.”

  “Again with the nerves,” Jo bit out. She stopped and her plate landed on the table with a thud, sending a couple of grapes rolling off onto the floor. “You’re talking about my father.”

  Setting down his own plate, he reached for her hands, but she quickly pulled them behind her. Pride straightened his spine into a steel pole. “So, you’re ashamed of me now?”

  “No!”

  “Then tell me what the problem is?”

  “There’s a lot going on, that’s all. Like—” she let out a frustrated sigh that he breathed in and held. “As it turns out, I will be moving back into the house.”

  He grabbed her plate up and handed it back to her, doing his best to quell the thrill that shot through him. “Then I guess we’ll be seeing each other around town,” he said softly. He picked up his own plate and went back to adding food to it.

  “Victor made a provision in his will that forces his heirs to make the manor their primary home.”

  So, she wasn’t coming to the island to stay by choice. Disappointing. He waited, foreboding swirling his insides.

  “Lydia, Tevi, Jackson, and me.”

  He froze. “I’m sorry. Did you say Jackson?” Wyn’s thoughts went back to the night they’d found Penelope Knox. He wasn’t entirely convinced Jackson hadn’t killed her. “That doesn’t sound necessarily safe,” he said slowly.

  “There’s no other option.”

  “Or what? I can’t see you staying in the same house with him.”

  “Or all four of us lose our inheritance.”


  He choked. “Lose—”

  “Yes. And not just one of us.”

  He rubbed his hand over his chest. “For how long? I hate to ask.”

  “Until each of us marry. Within a year.”

  “Marry…” Great. Just great. And he’d never asked her. How was he supposed to now? She would think it was her money he was after. Damn you, Victor Montgomery.

  10

  U

  p to now, Jo had managed to avoid Eleanor despite Lydia’s constant cajoling for the two to interact now that they were all ensconced in the same house with nowhere to run. She looked out at the drab gray skies. The frigid rain had stopped for the time being, but winter was fast on their heels, making it too dangerous to walk the path along the cliffs. Still, she couldn’t bear being cooped up much longer.

  The day after the reading of Victor’s will, Carver, Victor’s in town chauffeur, had driven Jo and Lydia to the city to pack some of their clothes and other belongings for the move to the manor house. Waiting for Jo had been a very convenient note from the museum. Along with their sincere condolences were her walking papers, a notice of termination. So now she was officially unemployed.

  She was going crazy in this mausoleum. Frizzle nuzzled her hand, and she rubbed his neck. He needed a break, too.

  Jo stalked to the closet, the hound right on practically tripping her. She took out her heaviest wool coat.

  “Josephine? Where are you going? I thought we could talk?” Eleanor stood at the top of the staircase where even her feeble voice carried in the large hall.

  Jo fanned her coat out behind her and slipped her arms in before turning to face her mother. “I’m going for a walk. The house is stifling.”

  “Can’t it wait? It’s dangerous—”

  “No. It can’t wait. I don’t want to talk now. Where is Lydia? She should be the one you talk to. Or Tevi. You probably have lots to tell Tevi.” Jo didn’t wait for an answer, instead stealing out the front door with Frizzle, taking exquisite care not to slam it behind her.