Chapter 15
Fifteen
“OKAY. I SEE the sign.” Collins Law Firm. Deckard pulled into the oversized lot in front of what looked like a historic carriage house—as large as a sprawling hacienda—with an arched wooden door that Harper guessed led to a courtyard.
He looked over at Harper. “Let’s do this.”
She nodded, and they climbed out of the truck.
Ice patches covered the lot. “Do you want to hold my hand through the lot?” he asked.
“Yes.” She placed her hand in his. Just having his warm skin against hers was soothing. And she needed anything that could anchor and soothe her in the present.
Treading carefully, they made their way to the wooden front door. A large wolf knocker sat mounted in the center of it. With a glance at Deckard and a nod from him, she clanged it.
The door opened, but no one appeared.
Harper surveyed the area. There were sliding doors on either side of the front door with vertical blinds pulled opened, and she saw another door across the courtyard. “I’m guessing the one with the buzzer panel.”
“Agreed.” Deck gestured for her to go first, and she strode across the brick courtyard. “I hope she’s willing to talk with us.”
“Me too. It would be good to know what, if anything, Nick was privy to regarding the divorce. I imagine Taylor shared that information with her lawyer, keeping her abreast of the situation. But we’ll see.” She pressed the buzzer.
“How may I help you?” said a voice over an intercom.
“We’re here to see Lindsay Collins,” Deck said.
“Do you have an appointment, sir?”
“No. But it’s under extreme circumstances.”
“I don’t—” the woman began.
“Someone is dead.”
“That’ll do it,” Harper whispered under her breath.
The buzzer went off, and they stepped inside a large foyer with a dark planked floor and a high mahogany counter a hundred feet ahead.
A woman with long, wavy brown hair and deep blue eyes sat behind it. “Welcome to Collins Law Firm. I’m Jessica.”
Deck leaned against the high-top counter. “Hi, Jessica. As I said outside, we’re here to see Lindsay Collins.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Private Investigator Deckard MacLeod.” He held up his badge.
“Oh, you’re located right here in town.” Jessica smiled.
“You got it.”
“I’ve always wondered what it must be like being a PI. Is it at all like the Magnum, P.I. reruns?”
“Sometimes.” He chuckled. “Just lose the Ferrari part.”
“Gotcha. Well, let me try Ms. Collins’s extension. But I’ll warn you, she’s extremely busy.”
“We appreciate you trying. Hopefully, given the circumstances with a young woman dead, she can find five minutes to speak with us.”
“And . . .” Jessica shifted her gaze to Harper. “Who would you be?”
“Harper Grace. I was a close friend of Taylor Jackson’s.”
Jessica frowned. “You’re not saying . . . ?”
“I’m afraid so. Taylor passed seven days ago.”
Jessica held her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I hadn’t heard, but I’ve just returned to the office after some sick leave. I really am sorry. She was such a nice lady.” Her phone rang, and she answered, explaining the bare details they’d shared.
Deck continued to lean against the counter and gave Jessica one of those smiles—the one that noodled Harper’s legs and stuttered her speech.
Jessica smiled back, still conversing on the phone, then she hung up. “Miss Collins will see you, but she’s mid-brief. She asked if you could take a seat, and she’ll be with you soon.”
Deck gestured for Harper to sit first, then he took the seat beside her.
She released a whoosh of air. “There’s something I should’ve mentioned earlier, but my brain is still swirling to process everything.”
“I’d worry about you if it wasn’t.”
Not what she’d expected to hear. He’d worry about her if she wasn’t a mess? She shook off the thought and, leaning in, whispered in his ear, “Tay and Nick had a prenup, so even if Nick killed her, he’d have no right to her money.”
Had Deck shuddered at her breath on his ear, or was her mind playing tricks on her?
“What about the rest?” he whispered back, tickling her ear and sending gooseflesh rippling along her skin. Had her whisper done the same to him?
“Harp?” He nudged her arm.
“Right. The rest?” Where was her mind? On him. Not where it should be and at a completely inappropriate time. She cleared her throat, hoping it would clear the muddle in her head.
“House, cars, etcetera?” Deck said.
“Yes. All are worth a great deal of money—their house, vacation home in Aspen, several cars, the boat . . . Nick has a lot of toys.”
“Do you think she left them to him? Or if they’re in his name or even jointly owned, he’d be able to keep them, I believe.”
“Good point,” she replied. “We’ll have to start digging to see what all he stands to get outside of the prenup. It could add up fairly quick with just vacation properties alone.”
She bounced her knee, the second hand on the clock on the wall behind her ticking away. Tick. Tick. Tick. The ten-gallon water bottle at the beverage station bubbled. Glub. Glub.
She glanced back to the counter, her knee bouncing higher. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” Deck unzipped his jacket and leaned back in the leather seat.
“Excuse me,” she said, approaching the counter. “I just wanted to check on the progress.”
“She’s nearly done and should be out momentarily.”
“Thank you.” Harper tapped the counter. “Just a couple moments,” she told Deck as she retook her seat, legs swinging.
A few minutes later, a beautiful woman with olive skin, dark eyes, and wavy hair stepped into the lobby. “I’m Lindsay. You’re friends of Taylor Jackson’s?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Harper stood. Deck came up behind her, a reassuring hand on her non-bruised shoulder. She didn’t flinch. His touch had become comforting. Just in little, unstartling bits.
“Why don’t you follow me into the conference room?” Lindsay led the way. “Please take a seat.” She gestured to the office-style leather chairs situated around an oval cherrywood table. “How can I help you?”
Harper waited until the door was closed behind them before diving in.
“Deckard is a PI and I’m FBI. And we have concerns about the suddenness of Taylor Jackson’s death, along with the possible motive of someone close to her. It all has us worried foul play may be involved.”
“Foul play?” Lindsay frowned, linking her arms across her cream suit blazer. “I heard it was a heart attack.”
“There wasn’t an autopsy so we can’t be sure of cause of death.”
“Really?” She leaned forward.
“Nick refused to have one done, and since no criminal activity was suspected by the police, he had that right. And then he had her cremated, so there’s no way to get one now. I think he might have been covering his tracks.”
“Wow.” Lindsay sat back. “That all was fast. As was his calling me the day after she died. At first I thought it was just to inform me, but he requested a reading of the will. Most bereaved wait longer than a day before shifting their thoughts to that.”
“We agree,” Harper spoke for both of them.
“So . . .” Lindsay slid the green folder in front of her.
Was it Taylor’s file? Harper inched forward on her seat, the edge under her thighs. If she could only get a peek.
“So how can I be of assistance?” Lindsay pulled over a legal pad and grabbed a pen from the cup in the center of the table.
Harper rested her forearms on the shiny wooden tabletop. “Our big question is whether Nick knew about Taylor filing for divorce.”
“Yes.” Lindsay tapped the pad with her pen. “Taylor signed the paperwork. Nick refused.”
“Refused?”
Lindsay nodded. “Nick’s lawyer, who is a piece of work, called to say if Taylor was going to divorce him, then they were going to fight the prenup.”
“On what grounds?” Deck asked.
“They claimed Taylor was having an affair.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Harper said. “She adored Nick. My guess is she was only ready to divorce because of his infidelity.”
A look she couldn’t quite define crossed Lindsay’s face, but the woman quickly smoothed her wrinkled brow. “If the prenup got circumvented, then Nick could claim everything the prenup covered as his.” The pen bounced louder off the pad. “Unless . . .”
Harper scooched forward a little more, nearly slipping off the chair. “Unless?” She reversed, resting against the back of the chair.
“Taylor had a will, but it only covers what she owned in her name.”
“But knowing Taylor, that’s a lot. Unless she left Nick everything in the will or the prenup is demolished, he stands to lose nearly everything—properties, boats, investments.
” Plenty of reason for a man who no longer loved his wife to consider doing away with her.
“I still can’t believe Nick is claiming Taylor was unfaithful.
She did all she could to make their marriage work. ”
“You know that, and I know that,” Lindsay said, “but it’s up to the presiding judge to decide.”
“So now what?”
Lindsay sighed, dropping her pen. “Now I hold a reading of the will. And she changed it a few months before her death.”
“Probably when she discovered Nick was having an affair.” It lined up with when Taylor confided in Harper before her trip.
“I can guarantee Nick will contest it.”
“Why?” Harper asked. “She didn’t leave him what he’ll feel he deserves?”
“She didn’t leave him anything.”
Harper’s jaw slacked. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“When is the reading of the will?”
“Today.” Lindsay looked at the clock. “In about an hour.”
“Can I call you afterward? Just to hear Nick’s reaction so we know what we’re dealing with? It goes to motive.” Possibly. If Nick inherited nothing and he knew it, then he had no motive to kill her. “Did Nick know about the will change?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
Harper crossed her legs, bumping her knee on the underside of the table. “So he still thinks he’s inheriting a lot.”
“That would be my supposition.” Lindsay nodded.
“Can you tell us who she left the money to?” Steve, probably.
“Afraid not, but Steve and Susan are coming in for it. I assume you know Taylor’s brother and his wife?”
“We do.” Deck rested his forearms on the table and interlocked his fingers.
“Give them a call in a couple hours, and I bet they’ll tell you—since you were close with Taylor?”
“Very tight.”
“Worst case, you have to wait until the executor files it with the courts and then it’s public record.”
“Can you tell us who the executor is?” Harper pushed.
“Talk to Steve.” Lindsay pushed the legal pad back along with her chair and got to her feet. “If that’s all, I need to prepare for the reading.”
“Of course.” Deck stood and pulled out Harper’s chair for her.
Harper slid her purse strap up on her shoulder. “Thank you for your time.”
“You’re welcome. Best of luck. And . . . if you don’t mind, keep me posted on the case. Seems like you might not be too off base.”
Harper and Deck exited the building into the biting wind. “Well,” Harper said, “I’d say that confirms Nick knew about the impending divorce.”
“Could definitely be motive, especially as he probably has zero idea she changed her will.”
“Which he can contest, but I doubt he’ll get anywhere with that.”
“Agreed.”
Deck opened the truck door for her, and she climbed inside, thankful for shelter from the wind. She smiled at Deck. Thankful for shelter, period. God might have abandoned her, but Deck had not.
“Let’s grab some lunch and do some digging,” Deck suggested. “Blake’s Lot-O-Burger sound okay?”
“Green chile cheeseburgers always sound amazing.” If her stomach would actually let her eat and not reject the burger as it had nearly everything else. At least the milkshake went down smoothly.
Deck shifted the truck into drive and pulled out of the lot.
“Where should we start?” She rubbed her hands in front of the heater, the warmth kicking in remarkably fast.
“I think we see where else Nick might get money from.”
“Good idea. We should start with examining if he had a life insurance policy on Taylor. If so, he could be in for millions.”