Chapter 8
The execution of the will was carefully planned, or so Simon thought.
Since he was not a criminal, he didn’t think like one.
What was the famous line in the movie Body Heat?
“When you commit a murder you make ten mistakes. If you can think of seven, you’re a genius.
” Or something like that. Simon wasn’t planning a murder, or any other crime for that matter, but he felt guilty anyway.
He made lists and charts and diagrams, and when everything seemed to click, he gave it the green light.
“Legal gobbledygook,” she said more than once, exasperated.
The gist and thrust was that upon her death her fortune would be placed in a foundation, one not too dissimilar to the trust Wally across the street had devised, and the money would be spread over a multitude of local charities that would do all manner of good things.
By keeping the money local, Simon believed the will would be more palatable to a jury in the likely event a big lawsuit erupted later.
Food banks, homeless shelters, boys’ clubs, girls’ clubs, Cub Scouts and Brownies, soccer leagues, senior center, United Way, policemen’s fraternal order, a dozen of the town’s largest churches of all denominations.
The Eleanor Barnett Foundation would make thousands of people smile for years to come, and Simon Latch would be Santa Claus.
As executor of the will, and sole director of the trust, as well as the attorney for the estate, he would be in complete control. His fees would be substantial.
But never mind. It wouldn’t matter. Wally wasn’t getting squat from the will he drafted or the one dear Netty was signing now in the presence of her two attesting witnesses.
As always, Simon choreographed the execution and asked Tony and Mary Beth Larson if they understood that they were vouching for the mental acuity of Ms. Eleanor Barnett.
With enthusiasm, both said yes and eagerly signed their names.
There were smiles and even giggles all around.
Simon notarized both signatures, and in doing so sealed the fate of the most valuable last will and testament he would ever prepare.
As his way of saying thanks to the Larsons, he usually took them to lunch, and today he insisted that Eleanor join them.
The invitation seemed harmless, and though it was made in good faith there was an ulterior motive.
Simon, now with one distant eye on future litigation, wanted the Larsons to spend even more time with his client.
They had no way of knowing that they were quite likely to be called as witnesses if the whole mess blew up.
The more time they spent with Eleanor, and especially on the same morning she signed her will, the more credibility their testimony would have.
Of course Simon did not mention their possible involvement in a will contest. The Larsons had been witnessing wills for years and there had never been a problem.
Why bother them now? He did have a twinge of guilt because he couldn’t warn them that one day they might get subpoenas, but he forced those thoughts out of his mind for the moment.
Simon pondered these things over chicken salad in a deli two blocks off Main, a hole-in-the-wall seldom frequented by lawyers and the courthouse gang.
He did not want Wally to see him out and about with Eleanor Barnett, who was having a delightful time chatting with Tony and Mary Beth.
The Larsons were friendly people, they sold insurance, and Eleanor warmed up to them considerably.
She seemed to thrive on the interaction and hardly touched her salad.
After an hour of listening, Simon broke up the party with a fib about being needed in court.
The will was done. Properly signed and witnessed and notarized. He had deliberately ignored the matter of the $250 fee, simply because he did not want a check that Matilda might see. Eleanor could keep her money. He had big plans to get it back later, in spades.
Back at the office, Eleanor was saying goodbye when she thought of something. “Can we talk for a moment?”
“Of course,” Simon said. Whatever she wanted.
“Well, I’m not sure how these things work, but what happens to Wally at this point?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do we tell him that I have a new will and the one he prepared is no longer valid?”
That was the last thing Simon wanted. Wally might react badly and become unpredictable.
He might press Eleanor to change her mind yet again.
He would certainly come after Simon with all manner of threats, though he probably wouldn’t follow through.
Sticking his name in her will to the tune of $485,000 cash outright would probably get his license suspended for a year or two, if not revoked.
Simon simply did not want to deal with Wally at this point.
Their disagreements would erupt later, after her funeral.
He said, “The law does not require one lawyer to inform another lawyer that a client has signed a new will that invalidates a prior one. It’s simply not done.”
“It seems like we should tell him.”
“Not now. Maybe later. The reason it’s not done is because a client, you, has the right to change your mind anytime you want.
You may decide next month to change something in your new will.
You many even decide to have another lawyer prepare a new one.
” Simon couldn’t believe he was uttering such foolishness.
Eleanor grinned and touched his arm. “I would never do that, Simon. I’m in such good hands now. I didn’t feel this way with Wally Thackerman. I still can’t believe he tried to take my money.”
“Let’s forget about that. It’s history now. I’ll keep the original will here in my safe and you take a copy home and hide it somewhere. No one should ever see your will, Netty, do you understand? Friends, stepsons, housekeepers—no one sees your will.”
“I understand.”
“There’s one last thing we have not discussed, and that’s your final arrangements. It’s a very delicate matter and I think we should do it over lunch in the near future.”
“You mean, funeral, things like that?”
“I’m afraid so. You live alone, and there’s no family nearby, or anywhere else. Who makes decisions about your health care? Who gets the phone call when you’re sick? And, yes, the funeral and burial. Do you have a burial policy?”
“Yes, Harry and I bought one years ago. I’ll be put to rest next to him in the Eternal Springs Cemetery. It’s a lovely spot.”
“I’m sure. I’m happy to help with these decisions, Netty, and some of them could be legal in nature.”
“Gobbledygook.”
“I know. Let’s put this conversation off a couple of weeks and meet for lunch.”
“I really enjoy getting out for lunch, Simon. And the Larsons are such nice people.”
“Then let’s do lunch,” he said with a smile. The Larsons would not be invited.