Melody had been in the root cellar of the old farmhouse once before. That was back in May: the 28th to be precise, the day Jason Corby was reported missing. She had found the cellar a truly intriguing place, with its floor of hard-packed earth and walls of whitewashed stone, and a ceiling so low she had to bend at the waist. What had impressed Melody particularly about the root cellar was the coolness of the place, and the dampness, and the pungent odor of potatoes and carrots and turnips past their prime after a winter in storage. She was a city girl, and the cellar offered a sensory journey she’d never had before.
The pleasure of sorting out the smells, however, and the novelty of allowing the atmosphere to wash over her was short-lived. Melody was a cop and she was revisiting the cellar on business. That morning her sergeant had sent her to the Corby farm to take down the police department’s yellow tape. The inquest was over now, and although the verdict was inconclusive, the department had done all it could do in the case of Jason Corby’s death. All that remained now was to declare the case closed or move it to the cold files.
“Better do a walkthrough of the house while you’re out there,” the sergeant had added, “the barn and the outbuildings too. With nobody but us around the place for the past ... what, six, seven months? ... it’s probably a good idea to check for break-ins or whatever. If Corby’s two daughters ever settle the fight over his will ... You probably heard that one of them wants to move in and the other wants to sell? Anyway, let’s be sure there’s nothing more to add to the file.”
During the walkthrough Melody was relieved to discover the entire property intact. No sign of a break-in, no evidence of vandalism, just the sad loneliness of a home suddenly left empty. Jason had lived alone since his second wife died several years before. Although he had rented the land to a neighbor to keep the farm productive, Jason had chosen to stay in the house where he had been born and raised, where five generations of Corbys had grown and thrived. Unfortunately, unless the matter of his will, or rather, wills was resolved, he might be the last.
Six months before, on the May 28th date that Melody remembered well, one of Jason’s daughters had called the police to say she had not heard from her father in some time, that no one remembered seeing him and that she could not find him anywhere. Three days later, on June 1st, his body was found at the bottom of a steep ravine on a nearby farm. The precise time of death, and whether or not he had died accidentally, proved difficult to resolve. Because the body had lain undiscovered for some time, the best the medical examiner could offer was that Jason had been dead for a week or more before the body was discovered. Then at the inquest, the ME had told the jury that “a week” was his best, educated guess. The time of death, he said, although certainly not less than a week, could have been as much as nine or even ten days prior to the discovery of the body.
As for how he died, Jason’s fishing tackle was found at the top of the ravine and one of his favorite fishing holes was a short distance away, so it was possible his skull had been fractured in a fall, for the ravine was deep and craggy. But both his arms were broken between the wrist and elbow, something the ME suggested might be defensive wounds.
Although the matter of Jason Corby’s estate did not influence the inquest, his two daughters, his sole survivors, were now involved in a vicious tangle over what they claimed were separate, valid wills. One daughter was in possession of a will that was over twenty years old. It gave her possession of the farm. Her half-sister claimed to have found a far more recent will in her father’s papers, a will with much different terms. It was dated May 21, only ten days before Corby’s body was found. Both wills had been hand-written in a block letter form on which separate handwriting experts had already offered differing opinions, and neither will had been witnessed. Although the newer will was clearly suspicious — it was entirely possible that Jason Corby was already dead on May 21 — the older will was dated before the second daughter was born. It was a true lawyer’s battle.
Melody’s decision to leave the root cellar to the end of her walkthrough had been quite deliberate. As she’d got out of the patrol car that morning she realized that the emptiness of the old farmhouse would fill her with sadness and that her fascination with the root cellar might relieve it. She never did quite determine just what it was that made her lift a plastic bag off a hook in the ceiling and look inside. It was simply an impulse. Had the bag been hanging there during her first visit? She had no idea. Maybe, maybe not. It was off to the side and could easily have gone unnoticed.
Her intent had been to open it and sniff, to see if there was yet another smell in the root cellar that she could experience. There were tulip bulbs in the bag, several dozen of them, and they indeed offered a new odor, especially when Melody put her face right into the bag. That was when she saw the note: just the edge of it as it was covered by a layer of bulbs. Simple curiosity made her reach in and take it out, for there was no reason to believe it had anything to do with Jason Corby’s death, his will either. Except for the date. The note said — in clear block letters — “dug out & stored May 22 a.m.” Melody stared at the note, as if her concentration would make the writing disappear or correct itself or... she didn’t know what. She flicked the edge of the paper back and forth with one fingernail, blinked and then read the note again.
Very slowly and gently she set the note on the earthen floor and backed out of the cellar. Her next task was to go out to the patrol car for an evidence bag. This note was definitely going to stir up the fight over the wills.
Will Melody’s discovery support the veracity of the newer will or the older one?