Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Vivien
There is something wrong about being attracted to a man in a sheet with a red halo bobbing above his head and white wings strapped to his back.
It’s got to be because it’s the first man I’ve been this close to in years other than the mail guy, my dentist, and teenage Noah, lover of gourds.
Oh, and the cop, Jerry, who just arrested me. Can’t forget about him.
That’s it. It’s absolutely not because of his tumbled dark hair or whisky-brown eyes or the slight flush on his cheeks or the fact that the unitard he’s wearing like a second skin outlines his lean, athletic frame. I’ll just ignore the hearts and red lip marks dotting the ensemble.
“This lady says she has an appointment with you,” the cop says. “She says she’s Vivien Hart, can you believe it? I watched that show she was in, and that girl was a child. This lady has got to be thirty.”
My mouth pops open. “Thirty?” I’m twenty-nine. But still. I look at least twenty-seven.
Hot angel-man speaks. “You’re right. Looks nothing like her.” Then he winks at me.
Is he kidding? I would laugh if I could remember how to interact with someone who makes my heart beat a little faster.
This whole situation is jarring and surreal. My first foray outside of my little bubble of reality without a disguise, and I get arrested and taken to a school to be judged in front of a man in a cupid-themed unitard while children shriek in the background.
Are they always this noisy?
Jerry keeps going. “She conveniently doesn’t have any ID on her.” He chuffs out a disbelieving laugh.
I’m too shocked to react. This whole night has been one bizarre incident after another.
When the cop pulled up behind me at the inn, I thought for sure I was saved. Jerry has a head full of white hair, thick white brows, and a white beard and mustache.
He’s basically Santa Claus in the flesh.
But when I tried to explain about my car, the appointment, and how I didn’t have my ID, none of it mattered.
It didn’t help that I was stuttering and stumbling over my words the whole time.
Being mostly reclusive for years doesn’t prepare you for reasoning with authority figures.
He handcuffed me, put me in the back of his crazy, golfcart-like vehicle that’s equipped with track tires and a blade attached to the front like a snowplow, and took me here to “confirm my story” with Mr. Montgomery.
Mr. Montgomery, who is apparently dressing like the angel of love in the local elementary school play.
“Jerry.” He takes the halo off his head and sets it in a cubby behind him. “Where did you get the handcuffs?”
“Aren’t they great? I bought them at that new costume store down on Vine with this.” He gestures to his dark blue long-sleeve button-up and slacks.
Wait a minute . . . I peer closer at the star affixed to Jerry’s lapel. Does that say The Fun Police?
I take in the rest of the outfit. Does it have Velcro tearaway sections?
Was I arrested by a stripper?
It’s a bridge too far. “Why are you dressed like that if you aren’t the police? And why did you arrest me?”
Jerry draws himself up, shoulders straightening. “I didn’t arrest you. Does this look like a police station? Have you been fingerprinted and booked? No. I brought you to the person you said you were in town to see. I’m a good Samaritan.”
Before I can argue, masculine laughter erupts behind us.
I twist around.
A guy with dark hair and glasses smothers his laughter. He’s cute, in a nerdy way.
A little person in a parrot costume taps him on the arm. “Mr. Carter? Why is this lady in cuffs? Is she a criminal?”
Jerry answers. “She definitely is, Benji. A liar at the very least.”
“I am not!”
Jerry turns to me, his white mustache quivering. “Listen, lady, I know a hardened criminal when I see one. I’ve been on the neighborhood watch for twenty years now.”
This is getting out of hand. I pull on my Hollywood persona and address the attorney speaking with as much authority as I can muster on limited sleep and little patience. “Listen, Mr. Montgomery, I had an appointment with you tonight. Regarding Beverly Kemper’s estate.”
His brow creases. “You weren’t in my calendar.”
“You sent me a certified letter. Then I talked to someone named Quinn last week on Tuesday, and she set it up.”
His eyes fall shut and he pinches the top of his nose. “Dammit. We have a new scheduling system. We’ll get it sorted, I’m real sorry about all this. Jerry, can you uncuff her now?”
Jerry straightens. “I don’t know, Spence. You sure you can trust her? She seemed pretty good with breaking down doors. Are you sure the appointment stuff isn’t a ruse?”
I release a groan of frustration. “A ruse to what? I was trying to get into the inn’s office. What would I be breaking in to steal? The free continental breakfast?”
Spencer chuckles. “I’ll take it from here. We’ll go back to my office and sort it out.”
Jerry’s brow is creased with suspicion, but he reaches over and clicks something on my cuffs and they fall off. He didn’t even need keys.
Embarrassment flushes through me. I could have gotten out of those this whole time?
Jerry shoots me one more glare before exiting.
Spencer moves closer to me. “Hey. I’m really sorry about all this. Why don’t you have a seat?” He gestures to a bench in front of a row of cubbies. “I’ll get dressed, and we can get out of here.
What other options do I have?
“Fine. Thanks.”
Thirty minutes later, after Spencer has changed out of the cherub clothes and donned dark jeans and a winter coat, we’re walking through the front doors of the law offices of Montgomery & Son.
I spent the drive over explaining the events of the evening to Spencer, who couldn’t hide his amusement even though he was very apologetic.
I’m not at the laughing phase, not quite yet, but maybe it’s because my fingers are still numb and my ego is still bruised.
In the entrance of his office, I stomp and wipe my snow-covered shoes on the mat and glance around as he flicks on the lights.
“Go ahead and have a seat in there,” he gestures to the left of the small, tiled entrance.
There’s a brown leather sofa in the center of the room, flanked by two armchairs. A fireplace sits empty and dark against one wall, and across from that, a narrow table has been set up with a coffee maker, kettle, thick ceramic mugs, packets of sugars and creamer cups, and a filtered water tower.
“Help yourself to whatever you want. I’ll be right back.” He disappears through an open doorway into a darkened office. Another light clicks on, illuminating the desk. He shuffles through paperwork. The glow of the lamp throws highlights and shadows onto his neck, firm jawline, and full lips.
He is really good-looking.
I force my gaze away. No ogling the attorney.
Coffee. Focus on coffee.
I make my way over to the coffee bar, and it only takes a minute to fill a single-serve mug.
The leather sofa is worn soft with age, and I try not to think about how many asses have settled down into it over the past fifty years as I slump into it.
Blowing on the coffee, the mug warming my fingers, I take in the rest of the space.
It’s a typical attorney’s office, heavy wood furniture, high quality, but out of date. The walls are various shades of beige and dotted with fancy diplomas.
Exhaustion presses down on me from all sides. I sink deeper into the depths of the sofa. Could I just sleep here?
Spencer appears in front of me out of nowhere, and I almost jump out of my skin.
I press a hand against my racing heart. “Holy crap, you scared me. I was becoming one with your couch here.”
“Sorry to startle you.” He holds up an envelope. “Before you can read this, there are some things I am authorized to tell you, and a couple of questions.”
“Authorized. Sounds ominous.”
He sits on the couch next to me. “Not ominous, but serious. Beverly has some very precise instructions. One of them is to give you a series of letters at specific intervals. There are certain things I am not privy to. I don’t know what is in each of these letters, but I do know each letter has an assignment for you, to retrieve a specific object or perform a specific task. ”
“Like a treasure hunt?”
It was a game we would play. Beverly would give me a list and let me roam the theater and the surrounding area. She had an old Polaroid camera, and I had to take a picture of each item, since some of it was little magical places, built into the walls and fixtures of The Palace itself.
His head tilts. “I’m not entirely sure. All I know is when you bring me the item, I have to open a letter that will confirm if what you gave me is what she’s requested, and then provide additional instructions on the next steps.”
I set my coffee down on the table next to me and angle my legs in his direction. “Why is it so complicated?”
“To ensure that you’re the one doing the work to complete the tasks and claim the inheritance.
You can seek assistance from others, you may even have to in some situations, but since I am the administrator, I cannot interfere.
I have to remain impartial to ensure the will cannot be contested.
Beverly expressed some concerns about that. ”
Wait. Beverly was concerned about the will being challenged? Why? Mother wouldn’t care about some dusty old reel or random keepsakes. “What exactly did she leave me?”
He blinks and then chuckles. “I guess I forgot to mention, she left you everything.”
Maybe I’m more tired than I thought. “I’m sorry, I think something is wrong with my hearing because did you say everything? Like The Palace and everything?”
He nods. “The theater, her house and all of its contents, and her investments and bank accounts. The liquid assets are worth somewhere around a half million.”
Shock echoes through me. Everything? As in everything?
After a few long seconds, I manage to unhinge my jaw. “But we aren’t even related. Not really.”