Across town, silence filled what had once been Homer Carter’s living room. Ted sat on the worn recliner, a glass of brandy in his right hand. He stared blankly across the room, lost in thought. Lucy lounged on the nearby sofa, her stockinged feet propped on a throw pillow with her shoes abandoned under the sofa. Before sitting down, Ted had poured her a glass of chardonnay.
Lucy cupped her glass between her hands and stared down into what remained of the wine. “I wish I were on that flight.”
Ted looked up at his sister. They had planned to fly back this evening so they could be home for Easter. But after their sister’s murder, they had cancelled their flights. “The police didn’t say we needed to stick around, so I don’t know why we can’t get out of here as soon as we have the house listed. I need to talk to the attorney on Monday and find out what we need to do, if we need to do anything, now that Cam’s dead.”
“Do you think he’ll know if she has a will?” Lucy asked.
“I have no idea. But I doubt she does. Back when Uncle Homer set up the trust, I said something to Cam about how I was glad he’d created a trust, and that I intended to do the same for my family. She said she didn’t want to spend money making a will, since she didn’t have kids.”
“Uncle Homer didn’t have kids,” Lucy reminded him.
“Cam once said the only reason Homer set up the revokable trust was to make sure someone took care of him when he got too old to take care of himself.” Ted took a sip of his brandy.
Lucy absently ran a fingertip along the edge of the wineglass and looked up at her brother. “Who did Cam think would take care of her when she got old?”
“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?”
“If she doesn’t have a will, then who inherits her estate?”
“Us.” Ted lifted his glass in mock salute and took another sip of brandy.
“Are you sure?” Lucy asked.
“In the state of Oregon, when you die without a will, your estate goes to your next of kin. You and I are her next of kin.”
“When settling her estate, does it go by Oregon law, where she died, or where she lived?”
“From Cam’s perspective, she had moved back to Oregon,” Ted reminded her.
“But is she legally considered a resident of Oregon? There is no way she got an Oregon driver’s license already. I don’t know when she would have done it.”
“I doubt it matters. I’m pretty sure the state she lived in has similar inheritance laws to Oregon, but I’ll ask Homer’s attorney when we see him next week.”
Lucy glanced toward Flora’s bedroom. The caretaker had been in her room for most of the evening. “What are we going to do about her?”
“I told her she could stay until the house sells, providing she cooperates with the Realtor and keeps the place neat.”
“What did she say?” Lucy asked.
“She didn’t really say anything. But I’m going to talk to the lawyer about that too. We need to make sure there’s not a problem getting her out before the house closes escrow. And we don’t need her sabotaging the sale.”
Lucy let out a deep sigh, finished the last of her wine, and set the glass on the nearby coffee table. She looked at her brother. “Are we doing the right thing by not having a funeral?”
“What’s the point? Who would go? She hadn’t lived here for ten years. Seems a needless waste of money.”
Lucy leaned back on the sofa, stretched out her legs, and crossed her ankles. “I imagine Cam would agree with you. About the money thing, at least.”
“Excuse me.” Flora’s voice intruded on the conversation. Both Ted and Lucy looked at Flora. They hadn’t heard her enter the room.
“Did you need something?” Ted asked.
“Umm… we need to talk. I have been putting this off,” Flora explained.
Lucy sat up on the sofa, putting her feet on the floor. “What about?”
Flora walked over to the empty rocking chair and sat down. It was then Ted and Lucy noticed the folded sheets of paper in Flora’s hand. “We’ve already discussed the promises Camilla made when she hired me to care for your uncle.”
“Yes. And Cam said it was a misunderstanding, and you admitted she put nothing in writing,” Ted reminded her.
Flora smiled at Ted. “That’s true. Sort of.”
“Sort of?” Lucy frowned.
“I made an appointment with an attorney for next week. Camilla had given me something. You might consider it collateral on her promise. I didn’t remind Camilla of this because I wasn’t sure it would help me.”
“What did she give you?” Lucy asked.
Flora stood up. “I made two copies. One for each of you. I have the original someplace safe. I’ll be taking that to the attorney next week.” Flora walked to Lucy, handed her a copy of the document, and then walked over to Ted and handed him the same.
Picking up his reading glasses from the end table, Ted slipped on his glasses when Lucy, who stared at the paper Flora had handed her, blurted, “Is this a will?”
Flora sat back down on the rocking chair. “Yes.”
Ted looked at the document Flora had handed him. “I, Camilla Henderson, leave my share of Homer Carter’s estate to Flora Bennett.”
Both Ted and Lucy looked at Flora. “Camilla wouldn’t do this,” Lucy said.
“Your sister didn’t plan on dying,” Flora said. “When she asked me to trust her to do the right thing when your uncle died, because she said she couldn’t write a contract giving away part of his estate until after he was gone, I told her while I might trust her, I didn’t know either of you. And if something was to happen to her, like dying in a car accident, then I’d be screwed. So she wrote that up and said if something happened to her, this would protect me. It even has a witness signature.”
Ted read the name of the witness out loud, “Agatha Pine.” He frowned at Flora. “Was this a friend of my sister’s?”
Flora shook her head. “No. She was just someone from your uncle’s church. Agatha wasn’t a friend of mine, nor of your sister’s. Since your sister didn’t want to take the time to notarize the document, I wanted to have an impartial witness sign it.”
“And Agatha will verify this?” Ted asked.
“I’m sure she would if she were still alive. Unfortunately, Agatha died about four years ago. But you can verify the signature.”
* * *
The sun had set hours earlier. Camilla sat in a cherry tree across the street from Marlow House. She hadn’t climbed a tree since she was twelve. Nor had she climbed one tonight. She had basically floated up onto the tree’s branch, an interesting trick that she wasn’t sure how she had accomplished. From this location, she could see into Marlow House’s living room window. Lights were on inside.
She found the guest list interesting. Never would she have imagined Brian running in the same social circles as Adam Nichols. Of course, she couldn’t imagine Brian—her Brian—dating someone who not only looked young enough to be his daughter, but looked like someone he would be more likely to arrest as opposed to date.
Camilla wondered if Eva and Marie were still inside Marlow House. She thought about what Marie had said, about being with Heather until she went to work at eleven. If true, Heather could not be her killer. If not Heather, then who?
People in Marlow House’s living room started moving around. Camilla considered going closer to see what was going on, but she didn’t want to be seen. Marie and Eva had told her something interesting that evening before Heather barged into the parlor. Apparently, several mediums lived on Beach Drive. Heather, it seemed, was a medium, which was why she could see Camilla the morning after her murder. But Heather was not the only one. Marie told her Walt and Danielle Marlow, along with Chris Johnson, who worked with Heather, were also mediums.
The front door to Marlow House opened, and Camilla watched as the people began to leave. Apparently, the party was over. The party, in Camilla’s opinion, was in poor taste. Marie had called it a celebration of Heather’s release from jail. Even if Heather hadn’t been responsible for her death, having any sort of celebration because of something that only happened because of her murder didn’t seem right.
The last couple to leave the party were Brian and Heather. She watched as Brian draped an arm around Heather’s shoulders as the two walked down the street toward Heather’s house. Camilla frowned at the sight. None of it made sense. What did her Brian see in that woman?
* * *
Across town, over at Uncle Homer’s house, after Flora had dropped her bombshell, she returned to her bedroom and shut her door. Ted and Lucy decided to go somewhere and talk. They each changed their clothes and, less than an hour later, sat in a quiet booth in the bar section of Pearl Cove.
“I can’t believe Camilla left that woman her portion of Uncle Homer’s estate,” Lucy said before tasting her wine.
“I can. And remember what Flora said, Cam didn’t expect to die,” Ted reminded her.
About to take another sip of her drink, Lucy paused and looked across the table to Ted. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I can see Cam giving her something like that to convince Flora she’d take care of her after Uncle Homer died, while knowing full well all she had to do was write a new will. And one thing about Flora’s will, there is nothing in the document suggesting the will is a show of good faith should Cam die before Homer. Nothing. I doubt Flora could use that as evidence to prove Cam made a verbal promise. All Cam had to say was that she wasn’t sure whom she wanted to leave her share of Uncle Homer’s estate to, so she left it to Flora and then changed her mind. People change their minds about wills all the time. Nothing wrong with that.”
Lucy sat in the booth, her hands on the tabletop, wrapped around her beverage glass. “Do you think Cam made a new will? I sure hope so. When I heard Uncle Homer had died, I assumed his estate would be so easy to settle, and now this. I can’t afford to contest Flora’s will, and I could really use half of Cam’s share. And I don’t want to share it with someone we don’t even know.”
Ted reached across the table and patted Lucy’s hands. “Don’t worry, little sister. Flora won’t be getting any of Uncle Homer’s estate.”
Lucy frowned. “Why? Do you think Cam wrote another will?”
Ted shrugged. “Even if she did, that doesn’t mean she left her estate to us. Actually, it might be better if Flora’s will is the only one out there. Remember, when you murder someone, you can’t benefit from their death.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I need to think about this. Tomorrow is Easter. But on Monday, it might be a good idea to take this little document to the police. We could be handing them a much better motive for murder than what Heather Donovan had for killing our sister. And we both know Donovan never touched Cam.”