The Cemetery Club (Darcy & Flora Cozy Mystery Book 1) (12 page)

“I wish he had kept you
entirely out of the whole thing,” I muttered. “If his handwritten will holds up
in court, you are going to be a wealthy woman, whether you want to be or not,
and more of a mark for a killer. And, if Rowley manages some sleight of hand,
somebody else is going to get his hands on a lot of wealth.”

“My head is splitting,” Mom
said. “If I am declared Ben’s legal heir, it’s going to make somebody awfully
mad.”

“Yes. I think we need some
legal advice, Mom.”

She nodded. “As soon as I
take a couple of aspirins, I’m going to make an appointment with Jackson Conner.”

I had not seen Mom’s lawyer
friend since my return to Levi. If anybody could give us direction on which way
to go, it was Mr. Conner.

Chapter 18

At 9 o’clock the next morning, my mother and I were in the offices of Jackson Conner, a man who had
been a lawyer in Levi longer than I
could
remember. Among his clients were numbered the school board,
bank, and
the biggest farmers and ranchers within a hundred miles. He drew up wills for
every one of Levi’s citizens who owned
enough
property or had enough children to need estate direction. I felt
comfortable
in talking to him. More importantly, my mother trusted him.

As soon as she had those
aspirins yesterday, Mom phoned Mr. Conner. Then, she and I had a long
discussion about what might happen if Ben’s handwritten will became public
knowledge. My, oh my, how tongues would wag! I could hear the gossips having a
field day: “Did you know that Flora Tucker got all of Ben Ventris’s money and
land? That looks to me like they were a little closer than just friends.”

This future gossip was
another thing for which I could thank Ben. I was beginning to think that I
liked Ben Ventris a whole lot better before I knew about that gold.

More deadly than malicious
gossip was the trouble the will would stir up for us from those who wanted
Ben’s gold. Somebody had committed murder, not once, but three times, to be rid
of anyone who stood between him and a fortune. Perhaps he thought he had pretty
much cleared the field. After our local newspaper printed the notice of Ben’s
will, I could only imagine the rage that would fill the heart of that unknown
killer.

First, though, we would need
to determine whether a court would conclude that Ben’s will, handwritten on a
sheet of notebook paper, was valid. My mother assured me that anybody would
recognize Ben’s strong, backward-slanted writing. It was certainly distinctive
but I doubted that Ben had written many letters. My mother could not be the one
to verify that his will and signature were authentic, since she was the person
who would gain from it.

How did one go about the
process of validating a handwritten will? Were other samples of Ben’s
handwriting available? Most wills were certified by two witnesses. This will
had no witness at all, so did that make it invalid?

Looking around at the walls
of Jackson Conner’s office, I saw that it was truly a man’s room. Cedar
paneling, two brown leather sofas, and a large chair were evidence of the
owner’s taste. Photographs of local scenes hung on the walls: two deer among a
stand of winter-bare trees,
someone in hip
boots (Mr. Conner, perhaps) standing in the river with
a rod and reel in
his hands, a lovely picture of a plain, white church with a bell at the top and
several people going into its wide open doors. I had seen that little church
many times on my way to Granny Grace’s land.

A pretty receptionist sat
behind an oak desk in this outer room. As we were about to sit down, Jackson
Conner opened the door to his office. The aroma of cherry-flavored pipe tobacco
wafted out. I always associated that scent with this big, attractive man.

Holding wide his door, Mr.
Conner smiled and boomed, “Come in, come in. Two of my favorite ladies. Have a
seat, please.”

Mom and
I sat facing the lawyer’s desk, in leather chairs similar
to
those in the outer office. Conner’s swivel
chair creaked as he returned
to it.

“I haven’t seen you in a
month of Sundays, Flora. And Darcy, it has been a long time since we’ve talked.
I heard you moved back to Levi. Mighty sorry about your husband.”

Swallowing a lump in my
throat, I smiled and said, “Thanks. I’m back home for a while, at least, maybe
a long time.”

“Do you ladies mind if I
smoke?”

We said, “No” at the same
time. In fact, I would have been disappointed if he had put away his pipe. For
some reason, that cherry scent was relaxing.

Jackson Conner rearranged
some papers on his desk and got his pipe going to his satisfaction. Next, he
gave us his full attention.

“Now, ladies, what can I do
for the two of you?” he asked.

As a young man, he must have
been quite handsome, and now, with his white hair and handlebar mustache, he
was not only attractive but distinguished-looking too. He flashed a roguish
grin.

“You didn’t hang out in a
bar last night and get yourselves arrested on the way home, did you?”

My mother snorted. “You know
better than that, Jackson Conner.
No, our
problem is not what we
have
done but rather, what we
should
do.
And, I don’t know if you can solve it or if anybody can, for that matter.”

Mr. Conner’s white bushy
eyebrows rose. “It may not be as bad as you think,” he said.

For the first time, I
noticed the plaque on the wall behind him: “
If God brought you to it, He
will take you through it
.”

“I’ve cleared my schedule
for the next couple of hours, Flora. They are all yours, if you need them. I’m
prepared to listen to whatever is disturbing you,” he said.

Mom sat twisting the straps
of her handbag for several seconds, then she blurted out the question that had
kept her awake most of the night. “Why does all that stuff about a will being
probated have to be published in the paper?”

Mr. Conner’s eyes registered
surprise. He knocked a fragrant chunk of charcoal from his pipe, cleared his
throat, and said, “It’s the law, Flora.” Reaching into the glass canister on
his desk, he pulled out fresh tobacco and began tamping it into his pipe.

“If you’re talking about
your will,” he said, putting a match to the pipe’s bowl, “it probably won’t be
necessary to run it through probate since practically all your property is in
your and Darcy’s names, jointly.”

Mom was about to twist her
purse straps off. “But what if there’s no close family and the—what do you call
it—the major heir in the will isn’t even related to the person who died?”

“It doesn’t really matter if
the heir is related to the deceased or not. If the will is prepared correctly,
nobody should object to its being made public. There’s a good reason for the
law being written that way. For instance, suppose a person dies after borrowing
money from a relative and hasn’t paid it back. In that case, filing a notice of
probate alerts the person who made the loan. He could then appear before the
court and present the signed document and be re-paid by the deceased’s estate.”

Mr. Conner paused, glanced
at Mom, and realized he hadn’t yet quite answered the question she hadn’t quite
asked.

“Also, Flora, it’s just to
let all the relatives and other possible heirs know about the probate of the
estate. There could be a person who
thinks
he should have been given something but wasn’t mentioned in
the will. In
that case, he or she might decide to file a claim against the estate.”

Mom leaned forward. “Do you
mean that sometimes a person who isn’t mentioned in a will can file a claim and
collect?”

Jackson thoughtfully
replaced the lid on the tobacco canister. “Only if that person you’re talking
about has a legitimate document that proves the deceased owes him some money.
Or if that person can otherwise prove he had a vested interest in the estate.
Is there some reason you wouldn’t want your will made public, Flora?”

Mom shook her head. “We’re
not talking about my will, Jackson. It’s just sort of a theoretical question.”

“I see.” The lawyer blew a
perfect smoke ring toward the ceiling.

I had some questions of my
own. “Is it always necessary to have two witnesses to a will to prove that it
really belongs to the person who signs it?”

Mr. Conner shifted his
attention to me. “Not necessarily. That’s the usual way it’s done but there are
other ways of verifying that a will was actually written by the deceased. Are
we talking about a problem with your husband’s estate, Darcy? If that’s the
case, I might need to do a little research since Texas law may vary some from
Oklahoma law.”

Shaking my head, I said,
“No. It’s not my husband’s estate that is in question. It’s just —”

He raised his hand. “I know.
I know. It’s just sort of a theoretical question. Now, ladies, let me ask you a
sort of theoretical question.”

Mom and I waited.

“Are the two of you actually
undercover investigators from the state bar, here to determine whether I still
know all I need to know about wills and estates and probate? Or are you asking
these theoretical questions just in case you might need to know the answers in
the future? Or, far more likely it seems to me, is there a problem that
involves a will and you’re a little reluctant to tell me about it?”

Mom and I looked at each
other. I could see that we were going to have to tell this lawyer everything if
we proceeded with the probate. Starting with just the bare facts might be a
good idea.

Taking a deep breath, I
faced Jackson Conner. “I guess one of the things we really want to know, and
this isn’t just theoretical, is this: suppose there is a handwritten will
that’s proved valid and it gives all the deceased’s property to a person who
isn’t a relative. Suppose there’s somebody else who isn’t mentioned in the will
but is trying to file a claim. This last person is doing his best to establish
himself as the sole heir and executor of the estate. In that case, which person
has the sounder claim?”

I tried not to feel like a
child who has just asked her teacher a silly question as Mr. Conner scrutinized
me silently for a few seconds. His reply was to the point and probably straight
from a law book.

“A valid will always takes
precedence over anything else except in the case of property that’s owned
jointly with the right of survivorship.”

Drawing a deep breath, I
relaxed. “That’s what I thought, but it’s good to hear it from an authority.
Here are the facts, Mr. Conner: my mother is the sole heir under a will that is
not quite the usual textbook case. In fact, she didn’t even know about it until
the person who made the will died.”

Jackson
Conner nodded, probably thinking he had it all figured out
at
last.

Glancing at Mom, I said,
“Then we discovered there is someone who claims there isn’t any will and he
should inherit everything because—um—he was assured of this.”

I now had Conner’s full
attention. He took the pipe out of his mouth,
put
it into the ashtray, and asked, “Is there a large amount of money
involved?”

Carefully choosing my words,
I said, “There may be, but as yet we don’t know the amount or value of all the
assets.”

Mom frowned. “First of all,”
she said, “I don’t care a flip about the money I might get if we probate the
will. There are people who need it more than I do. In fact, I’m not sure who it
rightfully belongs to.”

Mom had never chased after
the mighty dollar. She owned a beautiful old house now only because my father
had seen it and the surrounding land as a good investment, many years ago. My
parents had never done much to the house except paint it and update the
kitchen. Mom had an income that allowed her to live well enough to suit her.
Once again, this was due to my father’s foresight in purchasing a life
insurance policy through his job. In fact, it was my father’s example that
persuaded Jake to buy a similar policy.

Conner nodded. “Indeed. I
know you’ve never been interested in money, Flora. That’s one of the many
things I’ve always admired about you, but sometimes the deceased wants a
certain heir to have control of his property because he knows that person will
follow his intent exactly. It’s actually quite a large responsibility, the
inheritance of wealth.”

The lawyer’s shrewd blue
eyes narrowed. “We’re talking about one Mr. Ben Ventris and his will, aren’t
we?”

She nodded toward me. “You
lay it out for him, Darcy. You can do it a lot better than I can. Tell him
about the visitor we had yesterday.”

So, I did. I began with
finding Ben’s body in the cemetery, its subsequent disappearance, the death of
the Oklahoma City antiques dealer, Ben’s daughter’s death, and the arrival of
Ben’s letter containing his handwritten will several weeks after his death. I
finish by recounting that unforgettable visit from the lawyer representing an
unknown heir who had not actually threatened us, but certainly implied that
things would be better if we went along with his proposal. I placed the
affidavit that J. Smith Rowley left with us on Mr. Conner’s desk.