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8:55 a.m. Saturday, August 29th, 1992
SAM lay pressed against the carpet underneath the monumental sofa Barbara Keener and her daughter sat on as they sipped coffee and waited for everyone to arrive so the reading of the will could commence. Having napped in the small space between the sofa and the wall, Sam had squeezed into the even smaller gap beneath the sofa when she’d heard someone coming. It was quite uncomfortable, but she would be able to hear everything and even see a good part of the room. There were slits in the skirting on the bottom of the couch, through one of which she had a sufficient sliver to spy without exposing herself. A mouse’s point of view.
When the first two women had entered, though, they’d chosen to sit on that very sofa, so Sam wasn’t able to observe them. And they didn’t have much to say until the lawyer had arrived. The brown blur of Mr. Dobson had greeted them shortly and then settled himself at a writing desk at the end of the room to one side of the French windows. He set his briefcase down on the desk and glared at a point in space with a distant demeanor. His quiet reserve seemed designed to discourage anyone talking to him.
Barbara and Stephanie chatted perfunctorily as they nursed their coffees. The next to enter the parlor were Elaine and Stanley. Elaine Keener dragged a large, plush chair into the middle of the room and placed it facing the lawyer, then pushed her son into it. She dragged a second chair beside it and claimed that for herself. The woman was a lot stronger than she appeared, but as Brandt had not been strangled, that hardly seemed relevant.
She glared at Barbara as if daring the woman to comment. Stanley sulked in his chair, staring at the ceiling and humming to himself.
Soon after them, Mr. Oak came in chewing on a croissant as he walked up to Mr. Dobson. “So, who gets the bulk of Brandt’s money? Elaine the widow, or Stanley the scion?”
The lawyer coughed in a chilly manner. “I can’t reveal the contents of Mr. Keener’s will until all who are affected are present. Surely you appreciate that, Mr. Oak.”
The money manager waved what was left of his pastry in the air. “There’s no need for all this hoopla, is there? As one professional to another, I propose we cut to the chase. Because Elaine and Stanley are sitting right here, and they have a right to know, don’t they? You’ve kept them waiting long enough. Three weeks!” He sounded more curious about the contents than anyone yet.
The lawyer’s hard, flat voice was firmly insistent in its reply. “No, Mr. Oak, there will be no cutting to the chase. And the three week waiting period was a provision of Mr. Keener’s will, not a decision I made on my own initiative.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to ask you to do anything improper, or to ignore Brandt’s wishes.” Oak’s surly tone belied his words.
Sam saw him trundle across the room and plop his large body onto the sofa sitting against the opposite wall from the one she was under. He continued chewing on his croissant and almost choked on the thing when Mr. Quill strode into the room. He was closely followed by Turner.
Quill cast a contemptuous glance at Oak before sitting in a straight-backed chair behind Elaine and her son, seeming to align himself with the best prospects for benefiting under Brandt’s will. Especially as one or both were likely to end up holding the majority block of stock in Keener’s company.
Turner, on the other hand, continued past them to the far side of the room, where he had a short and whispered conversation with the lawyer, then took a chair on the other side of the French windows so he could face the family. Sam had not seen her former colleague since they’d left the future—she could not really see him very well now. At least it was good to know he was alive.
It would be impossible to guess how long he had been separated from the rest of them from his point of view. To Sam it felt like a very long time, but she didn’t think it actually had been. From her perspective anyway. She had an awful lot to ask him about, and many of those questions had nothing to do with Brandt Keener’s murder. But she didn’t know when she’d have the chance to put them to him privately.
A few minutes later the last contingent entered. The three staff members shuffled into the parlor together, but the butler and cook stayed at the back of the room, Mrs. Trimble taking a large, soft armchair near the door and Padget standing at attention next to her. The maid Talia, though, sauntered in and sat down on a loveseat between the chairs Elaine Keener and son Stanley occupied on the one side and the writing desk the lawyer sat at on the other. Putting her back to Mr. Oak.
Sam thought it impertinent, impudent even, as if the woman were flinging down some sort of challenge. But then, it seemed highly unlikely any of the staff would be kept on for long. Both the house and island had been the personal folly of the murdered man’s, and it was difficult to imagine any of his potential heirs not selling it as fast as they could, once it was theirs to do with as they would. Though how many people were looking to buy an island?
Unloading this place might take a while, but the butler, maid, and cook wouldn’t be needed in the interim. Since all three faced unemployment because of Brandt’s death, they then would’ve had reason to want to keep Keener alive rather than kill him. Unless one of them was coming into a huge sum under the will. But Mrs. Trimble seemed like the only candidate for such a bequest, and Sam still couldn’t see the woman as a murderer. Even Bailey had been inclined to dismiss her as a suspect.
The lawyer coughed to get everyone’s attention, then ran his eyes over each one in turn without any expression on his face that Sam could see. Opening the briefcase he’d set on the writing desk, Mr. Dobson removed a thick sheaf of papers. He glanced at them casually, flipping through as if to remind himself of the contents before lifting his gaze to address those assembled around the room. “I must warn all of you that this could take some time.”
Sam stifled a groan. She was finding it difficult to breathe under the sofa and had hoped this would not take too long. Stanley Keener didn’t bother hiding his impatience.
“Can’t you just give us the gist of things?”
Dobson took a deep breath before ignoring this and continuing with his own remarks. “After I have given you all the details of Mr. Keener’s last will and testament, there will remain related business that I will have to take care of with some of you, but I hope to conclude all of that over the weekend. So I’ve ordered the ferry to return, for myself and anyone else who will be ready to leave for the mainland, tomorrow afternoon. I ask to have your full cooperation, in order to complete everything in a timely fashion.”
Sam wondered who was it who’d said that lawyers were long winded. She hoped he didn’t put her to sleep. If she started to snore, she’d be discovered rather quickly.
Dobson started the recitation with a dry cough. “‘I, Brandt Keener, being of sound mind and—’”
He was interrupted by a snort from Stanley and stopped. “I can provide copies of the will for anyone who wishes to read the entirety of Mr. Keener’s testament, but I’m not required to read the whole will.”
The man continued with a concentrated look at Elaine and her son. “Just explaining the testamentary dispositions may take some time. Mr. Keener’s foundation already handles his charitable contributions, so these provisions all relate to persons in this room. And since the staff may have urgent duties to attend to, I propose to deal with them first. Then we can continue on to the more significant stipulations without wasting their time.”
Even without seeing the expression, or the lack thereof, on Dobson’s face, the tone carried the clear implication that the lawyer wanted to dismiss them as soon as possible. Sam wondered why.
The others stirred restlessly, but nobody voiced a complaint. They were at the lawyer’s mercy, and it would probably only delay things even more, which wouldn’t do. At least, that was her point of view.
Mr. Dobson looked down the length of the parlor at the cook. “To you, Mrs. Trimble, has been left one hundred thousand dollars ‘in gratitude for your devoted service and delicious meals.’ Those are Mr. Keener’s words, not mine.”
Then he turned to Talia. “I’d better confine myself to quoting from the will from now on.” He took the sheaf of papers then leafed through to find what he wanted. “‘To Talia I leave a sum of fifty thousand dollars for services rendered.’”
The maid had sat up to listen as he began. Now she surged to her feet with a face that had turned to scarlet. “The louse! We were supposed to get married, and he leaves me this insult?”
Elaine Keener had turned in her chair, and now raised her eyebrows at the maid. “Married? In case you hadn’t noticed, Brandt already had a wife.”
Talia snorted. “Two, and he was ready to trade up. Brandt and I—” She paused, and Sam saw the woman was about to burst into tears. Even from a distance Talia’s eyes looked red and inflamed.
The widow barked an abbreviated laugh. “Maybe you’re a newer model, but Brandt was slumming it. Trade up? You were more like a loaner, dear.”
Sam wished the woman hadn’t mixed her metaphors—it was hard enough for her to follow their exchange as it was. Talia shook and seemed to struggle between anger and tears, then she started to say something. But whatever she might have said, she apparently changed her mind. Closing her mouth, she whirled and walked swiftly across the room and over to the door.
There she turned, took a deep breath, and once again seemed to think better of whatever she’d been about to say. She just stalked out and slammed the door behind her. There was a general stir, but then everyone returned their attention to the lawyer.
Dobson might not even have noticed. Frowning at Padget, he continued with the contents of the will unfazed. “‘For whomever happens to be the butler currently in my employ, I’m instructing the trustees of my estate to offer you a continuation of your position at the same salary, for as long as you would like to remain here. As long as you don’t give them reasonable grounds for dismissal.’” The lawyer looked back and forth from the will to Padget. “I am afraid as he makes no mention of adjusting for inflation, it will be up to the trustees to approve any raise.”
The butler was too far to the back to see the expression on his face. And all he said was, “Is that all, sir?” When Dobson said yes, Padget continued. “I’d like to escort Mrs. Trimble back to the kitchen, then, if that’s alright. We could use a cup of tea.” Notably he didn’t ask anyone if they’d be requiring anything of him. But being able to keep your job was good. It was surely the best the man could have expected as short a time as he’d been working for Keener.
They all waited in silence for the staff to depart. As soon as the door closed behind the butler though, Elaine Keener burst out with a question. “What are you talking about with this business about keeping a butler here? We’re going to want to get this place off our hands as soon as possible.” She flicked a glance at the first Mrs. Keener. “I plan to continue living in our house in the suburbs. Even for a weekend getaway this is too far from civilization.”
The lawyer narrowed his eyes at her. “If I may, I should probably return to an earlier portion of the will. ‘I instruct my executors to auction off my suburban property, with the proceeds to go the heretofore mentioned trust, but maintain the residence on Keener’s island indefinitely, for my family’s use.’”
A menacing growl began to emanate from deep in Elaine Keener’s throat. “You keep talking about a trust, Dobson, but you have yet to explain what it means.”
Unruffled, the lawyer flipped over a page of the papers in his hands and glanced down at what must have already been quite familiar to him. “Mr. Keener’s will establishes a trust for his children, using all the assets remaining to his estate after his other bequests, including his entire holdings in Keener Corporation, as principal. With the will’s executors also functioning as the trustees, who are instructed then to use the interest generated by that principal to see said children are properly provided for. With sums being spent equally on their behalf according to the best judgment of the trustees, after such funds have been dispersed as necessary to meet the other stipulations of the will. That would include fees going to the executors, the costs of maintaining this place as a residence for the family, etc. The trust is so set up as to continue in perpetuity, with the trustees handing over their responsibilities to successors as needed, and the funds spent on behalf of any offspring of Mr. Keener’s children after them.”
Elaine pursed her lips. “So Stanley gets half. Is what that boils down to, isn’t it? But he doesn’t get to decide how to spend it himself. Well, that’s probably for the best. If he doesn’t have control over his money, he can’t waste it. But that bit about trustees—does that mean you and I have to agree about how to spend his money for him?”
The lawyer shook his head. “Mr. Keener named Mr. Hope as the other executor, which makes him a trustee as well. But yes, both of us will have to agree to any and every expenditure made on behalf of the children. And Mr. Keener left the two of us each our instructions, under separate cover and not a part of the actual will, which include how he would like us to exercise our responsibilities as trustees.”
“And what about me? Isn’t it illegal for a man to disinherit his own wife? He can’t have left me penniless. I’ll challenge this in court.” Challenge. That was what Bailey had said somebody who objected to the terms of the will might do, and the widow clearly objected.
Dobson drew his brows down in a frown. “Now Mrs. Keener. I never said your husband hadn’t provided for you. Of course he did.”
“Well, what did he leave me?”
“I believe you’re aware that Mr. Keener had certain investments the interest on which was used for paying alimony to his first wife. With his death, his legal obligation to pay that has ended. And the will specifies those same funds now be paid to you.”
Elaine’s mouth fell open. “You’re joking. What Brandt was giving her was barely enough to live on. You don’t suppose I can make do on so little?”
The lawyer glanced swiftly at Barbara. “I know that Mr. Keener settled some shares on you and the first Mrs. Keener at the time of your marriages. I’m sure you can manage, between those dividends and what he provided you in his will. You’ll have to. I’m confident any court would be satisfied, and that any challenge to this will would be unsuccessful.”
Meanwhile, Sam wondered how Barbara Keener was reacting to all of this. The woman hadn’t said a single word so far. Then that changed.
The voice sounding from above the sofa was dry and deep. “Am I to conclude, Mr. Dobson, that I’m now reliant on my own daughter for support?” Her rich voice chuckled. “Brandt certainly had a unique sense of humor. What about it, Steph? Care to have your old mom sleeping on your sofa?”
There was an awkward, lengthy silence. Elaine Keener sat forward in her chair looking determined and angry, and Sam thought the woman would challenge the will whatever the lawyer had said. Stanley slumped in his chair looking confused. She couldn’t see Barbara or Stephanie sitting above her, but neither had reason to complain. The ex could not have expected to receive anything herself, but her daughter inherited the same as Keener’s son.
The lawyer gave another dry little cough. “Still, Mr. Keener’s will specifically provides for the maintenance of this house for any of his family who wish to reside here. So either or both of you, Mrs. Elaine and Mrs. Barbara, can make this your home.”
From the deafening quiet that followed, it didn’t seem to please any of them that they could live here. Possibly the only attraction to this place would have been Mrs. Trimble’s cooking. But now she had become an heiress and was unlikely to continue working here for the family.
Elaine finally spoke. “Another of Brandt’s little jokes. He knows I’d never be able to stay here. And he left me without sufficient income to live where I’d want, or in the lifestyle to which he accustomed me. So I’ll have to stay with Stanley.” She gave the lawyer a level look. “He’ll want to live somewhere nice in the Seattle suburbs. He likes the city, but he will need to be near the company headquarters in order to run things. I presume you’ll want him to take his father’s place as president and make sure his house suits his position.” And she would clearly find such a residence suitable for herself as well.
Sam noticed that her tone had softened though, and guessed that the woman had realized that if the lawyer’s approval was going to end up being needed for every expenditure of her son’s money, she would do well to get on his good side. If he had one.
Dobson coughed. “There are many things to be discussed before Mr. Hope and I make any such decisions.” He wasn’t finished with the family yet. He looked carefully at Stanley and Stephanie before he spoke again. “There is another condition I probably should mention now. The children aren’t named in Mr. Keener’s will. Rather it requires DNA testing be done on the prospective heirs to confirm they are in fact his biological offspring before they can become beneficiaries of the trust.”
Elaine snorted. “Brandt ran a paternity test on Stanley just after he was born, as I imagine he must have done on his daughter as well. This is his way of getting a dig in. He was always saying Stanley didn’t measure up, didn’t like admitting Stanley was really his son. So running some test is just Brandt’s way of being a nuisance.”
The lawyer looked at her. “It may appear to be a technicality to you, but it’s a condition that must be fulfilled before your son can inherit anything.”
Whatever their thoughts were, none of the family had any further comment to make after that, and Dobson shifted his attention to Turner.
“Mr. Hope, in addition to naming you as executor and trustee, Mr. Keener’s will also instructs us to offer you his position as president of Keener Corporation. Since the trust we’ll be administering holds the majority of shares, we also have the responsibility of seeing the company is properly managed, so it would be convenient if you accepted.”
Turner looked definitely and quite determinedly upset as he listened to that, the frown on his face deepening throughout the lawyer’s discourse. Still, he said nothing in response to the question implied by Dobson at the end. He just crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
After a minute the lawyer simply shrugged and moved on, turning a chilly gaze on Mr. Oak, whose wide form was flopped against the couch he’d chosen. “I’m sure you must be wondering where you’ll come into this. In his will, Brandt Keener refers to evidence he had recently collected, implicating you in embezzlement of funds from his fortune. Those papers he had deposited with me for safekeeping—in accordance with the terms of the will, I arranged for that evidence to be delivered to the proper people at the FBI this very morning. So I expect they’ll be waiting and want to talk to you when you return to the mainland.”
Oak had deflated like a balloon to lay sprawled across the sofa shocked and stupefied. Then slowly his head turned to the left to look at Mr. Quill. “You helped him, didn’t you?” His voice was too dull and flat to carry a note of anger, but Sam fancied she felt the emotion anyway. “You gathered this purported evidence. You always wanted to bring me down.”
Quill sat bolt upright in his chair with a satisfied smirk on his face. “Brandt never hid the fact that he had me going over your accounts on a regular basis, as he had you audit the company books. And I finally figured out how you were managing to skim from the assets he was having you move offshore.”
Mr. Dobson then turned those cold eyes on Mr. Quill. “And Mr. Keener explicitly expresses his gratitude here.” The lawyer held up the sheaf of papers in his hand. “And in appreciation for all your years of service to the company, he also instructs the trustees to accept your resignation with full benefits, as soon as a thorough audit by an independent agency establishes that your incompetence does not rise to the level of negligence.”
Quill’s chin dropped. And with his mouth hanging open and his eyes bulging, the man looked like a funhouse mirror version of Mr. Oak. But unlike Mr. Oak, Quill recovered himself. “This is absolute nonsense. Complete rubbish. I’m not afraid of any audit, and I’m not incompetent. I can’t believe Brandt said such a thing.” Jerking to his feet, he strode toward the lawyer. “Let me see that will.”
Sam saw Dobson take what seemed to be a copy of the will from his briefcase and hand it over. And as Quill continued to babble on about how it was all quite preposterous, Barbara Keener quietly stood to her feet and started walking toward the door. With Stephanie close behind. Elaine and Stanley decided not to linger either and followed them out.
Mr. Oak slowly rose to his feet, and by the time he’d started to stagger from the room like a zombie, Mr. Quill had stopped haranguing the lawyer. With a gesture of impatience, he sped around Oak as if he were an obstacle in his path and out of the parlor in a huff. Oak continued through the door in a daze.
That left Turner and Dobson alone in the room, and Sam was impatient for them to be gone, so that she could scoot out from under the sofa, but the two men simply sat in silence, staring at one another for a few long minutes.
Finally the lawyer sighed and spoke. “That was unpleasant, but I had to do it. Now I’m glad it’s over with. At least that part of Brandt’s business. We’ve got a lot of details still to work out, you and I.”
Sam could see Turner nod. “Why don’t we head to the study to discuss what we have to? We’re less likely to be disturbed there, and it’s more comfortable besides.”
The two walked out of the room with infuriating slowness. And Sam waited a little longer still before she crawled out from under and hurried over to the writing desk. She couldn’t chance an extended conversation with Bailey. Not until tonight in his room. But he needed to know about the contents of Keener’s will right away, to decide what to do next.
So, stationing herself where she could duck behind the desk if anyone entered, she took paper and pen out of one of the drawers and started scribbling notes of everything she’d just seen and heard. She’d go over it all in her own mind later, but she was also curious what her helper would make of it all. Bailey was the one with experience dealing with criminals. But she couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say before making her next move, whatever that would be, so she had to get out of here and find a place where she could sit and think things through.
More than anything she needed to sort through her impressions of what she’d just witnessed. All of the suspects had been here. Sam should be able to find a clue in something somebody had said.