8. Marius
8
MARIUS
I shouldn’t have let the funeral get me so bent out of shape. I’d sworn I’d dance on Brooks’s grave when he finally kicked the bucket. I just didn’t know it would be so soon.
I’d listened, eating the plate of refreshments and making noncommittal noises while Zoe and Emmie excitedly told me their half-baked theories about Oakley or Beatrice being the killer.
It was possible. But if I was going to defend Emmie in court, I needed more than plausible deniability. We needed proof. Evidence, timeline, motive. The reading of the will would ideally provide that. But I hoped that it wouldn’t just provide proof that Emmie had killed her husband.
She’d been shocked and Zoe, furious, when I’d played devil’s advocate and suggested that maybe Emmie had been the one to find out about Beatrice and had killed Brooks. Emmie had refused to ride back to the senior center with me, instead cramming into the bus and ignoring me all evening.
The next afternoon, I stepped into the dark alley. Emmie hadn’t told me she’d seen any more evidence of the shadowy figure, so that was a probable dead end. It was likely a voyeur, though if I had to choose, I’d bet it was the crazy cat people who were camped out in front of the store. While Alice and Gertrude were still hell-bent on shutting the café down, Rosie seemed a little too interested in me, which was why I’d been entering the back way.
I reached for the door, preparing to knock.
Then I heard voices.
“Girl, you’re going to get everything!” Zoe said, clapping her hands.
“Shh! We don’t know that.” That was Emmie hissing. “I bet Brooks fucked me over.”
“I bet he was stringing Oakley along, especially if he and Beatrice had something going on.” Zoe was excited.
“I mean, it would be nice to have the house back. And my car. And the life insurance cash,” Emmie added, a smirk in her voice.
“Girl, you’ve been holding out…”
I backtracked, bracing for the cat protestors on Main Street so I could think.
Emmie did know about a life insurance policy, and it was likely a lot of cash. I’d have to make sure she didn’t talk to anyone else about it.
Rosie blew me kisses as I walked past.
“Emmie,” I said, approaching the counter.
She looked a little flustered.
“We have to go to the reading of the will now.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, feigning confusion. “Is it happening already? I can’t imagine why I need to be there. Brooks will give everything to Oakley.”
As I helped Emmie with her coat, Zoe flashed her a thumbs-up.
Emmie gave an imperceptible shake of her head.
“This is just like a movie,” Emmie said as I hurried her along Main Street.
“Yeah. No one does will readings anymore unless you were rich or apparently lived in a kooky small town.”
I held the door of my father’s former office open for Emmie. The same shoe-repair store was on the bottom, the same carpet on the stairs as we climbed up to the wood-paneled state-of-the-art-in-the-1960s office. The only thing that had changed was Theo’s name on the desk.
Somehow, the fact that nothing had been altered was more unnerving than if Theo had redone everything.
I hung up our coats on the worn coatrack and pulled out Emmie’s chair for her in the conference room.
“I’ll go fetch you a coffee, Oakley,” Beatrice was saying as they entered behind us.
“I thought pregnant women couldn’t have coffee,” I said, staring at them.
“I meant decaf.”
“She means tea,” Beatrice said at the same time
Oakley glared at Beatrice. “Yes, some herbal tea.”
Theo helped Oakley sit down, fussing over her, while Beatrice came back with a cup of steaming tea.
“Are you all right?” Theo asked her as he took a seat at the head of the table.
Oakley heaved a big sigh and took a noisy sip of her tea. “I will be as soon as I have the money I need to support the last piece of Brooks on this earth.” The loud sobs started again. “I need to know my house is mine. I need to finish the nursery.”
Emmie’s face was dark. She stared straight ahead.
“Let’s get on with it,” Beatrice said with a strained smile. “Brooks would have wanted us—I mean you, Oakley—to be strong.”
Theo shuffled papers. “As the executor of the will of Brooks Dawson, it is my duty in the State of New York to ensure his final wishes are carried out as specified in this legal document.”
He cleared his throat and read:
“I, Brooks Dawson , being of sound mind and body, hereby declare this my last will and testament. To my beloved soon-to-be spouse, Oakley , I leave our family home, with all its belongings and memories, in gratitude for the years we spent together.”
“What the fuck? He just changed the name on the will we wrote.” Emmie was furious.
“If you can’t mind your manners, you’ll be thrown out,” Theo sneered at Emmie.
My fingers dug into the leather seat.
Emmie’s face was white.
“To my beloved Oakley, I also leave all of the jewelry, the car, the china, my art collection—”
I grabbed Emmie’s hand before she could let out a swear word or five.
“Yes, oh my God, yes!” Oakley pumped a fist then realized it wasn’t the best reaction to have and began to sob again. “Of course, I’d rather have Brooks than the money.”
There was a knock on the door, and the paralegal entered.
“I’m in the middle of a will reading!” Theo barked.
“Yes,” the paralegal said, wearing that blank face the really good paralegals had even though you knew they were dying inside. “But I found this stuck in the mail chute. I told you we needed to get that fixed. It pertains to the will.”
“We just read the will,” Oakley snapped at her. “It’s been read . Now, give me my money.”
Theo slowly unfolded the paper.
If I hadn’t been there, I was sure that he would have just burned it up. His face went red as he read the revised copy of the will.
I stood up to read over his shoulder.
“Brooks has decided to give everything to his unborn child,” I said. “Oakley’s name is crossed out.”
“No! It’s a lie!” Oakley cried.
“It’s signed and dated with Brooks’s signature.”
“Not a problem.” Oakley patted her protruding belly.
“And should no child be born, then it reverts to the old will anyway, right?” Beatrice asked anxiously.
“Wrong,” I said. “It goes to the legal next of kin, who would be Emmie.”
“She’s not kin.”
“She’s his spouse. She inherits his estate,” I said.
Theo scowled.
“Guess you should have gone to an actual law school, not done an online degree.” I couldn’t help the dig, though I knew it was petty.
Theo glared murderously at me.
“I don’t care. I’m going to have a big, beautiful baby.” Oakley rubbed her belly.
“Oakley can’t have the house,” Emmie argued. “It’s not Brooks’s to give. That was our house.”
“Your name is not on the deed,” Theo said, pulling a document from the folder.
Tears pooled in her brown eyes. “Only because he said since I wasn’t putting money for the down payment, I couldn’t be on the deed. But then I ended up having to help him pay the mortgage. Now I know he didn’t have any money because he was supporting his mistresses—”
“Mistresses?” Oakley snarled. “Brooks wasn’t cheating on me.”
Beatrice sat ramrod straight in her seat. Maybe Emmie and Zoe had been on to something at the funeral after all.
“So you paid rent, Emmie,” Theo asked snidely.
“We’ll contest it,” I said to Emmie automatically. The last bit of estate law I’d done had been back at Harvard, but the thought of Brooks and Theo having the last word was intolerable.
“I want to contest the whole will! When was that will redone?” Emmie demanded, waving a folded stack of papers at Theo. “I have the latest will right here and the life insurance policy.”
“Angry that you killed him for nothing?” Theo sneered.
“My client didn’t—”
“Fuck you, Marius.”
“Life insurance policy?” Oakley screeched. “That’s mine!”
“Oh, he didn’t have you change that,” Emmie said sweetly, unfolding the paperwork and sliding it over. “Well, well. Guess he didn’t love you that much after all. Shocking that the man you helped cheat would turn around and cheat you.”
Beatrice made a strangled noise.
“At least I still have the car,” Oakley snarled.
“Your child has the car,” I corrected, “and furthermore, it’s unclear if that baby is even Brooks’s.”
“How dare you!” Oakley jumped up.
“Before any property is transferred, we need to have confirmation of paternity.” I stared at Theo, silently hoping he’d put up a fight just so I could wipe the floor with him in court. Petty? Yes. But holidays and small towns made people crazy.
“Fine,” Theo spat, “we’ll have confirmation.”
“This is horrible!” Beatrice wailed.
“You’ll have to wait until the baby is born,” Oakley said. “I don’t want to put little Brooks Jr. in danger. In the meantime, Theo, I want to sue her”—she pointed at Emmie—“for the life insurance money.”
“I’ll file the paperwork immediately.”
“She killed him. I know she did.” Emmie was fuming. “The will is proof! Brooks knew Oakley was up to something. That’s why he changed the will. He didn’t trust women. Ever. He always accused them of being gold diggers.”
“It is suspicious,” I agreed, “and it’s good for you if this murder goes to trial. I have notes, and I had the paralegal make color copies of the will for my records.”
“I want to sue,” she demanded. “Right now!”
“You’re not going to sue. You’re going to go to your café and calm down.”
“I’m not going to calm down.” Emmie was hopping mad. “I’m going to my house .”