An Embarrassment of Itches Page 9

  I nodded but added a qualifier. “Only what she had at the house or in town.”

  Laney sighed again, as though contemplating the loss to the art community. “She was brilliant. She did her drawings and paintings on commission, but she had a whole series of children’s books that rivaled Beatrice Potter for their sheer appeal. She also maintained an Etsy shop where she offered adult coloring books of her drawings, and sold plushies, calendars, and the like.”

  Amanda had sketched a picture of Remy with a butterfly on his nose that had captured his innate gentleness and goofiness, and I’d been meaning for some months to have it framed. It was bound to still be in the safe place I’d put it, if only I could remember where that was. “Wow. I had no idea. But then again, I didn’t even know her real name.”

  “Samantha.” Laney’s face fell with her words. “Her name was Samantha Taylor.”

  The door opened, and a man I’d never seen before blew into the room like he owned it. If Brad was the epitome of the California Surfer Dude forced to work in an office, then this guy was Brooklyn Bad Boy personified. Dark hair shone with some sort of styling gel, and he appeared to be sporting at least two day’s growth of ferocious stubble. He wore a battered bomber jacket that had probably set him back at least five hundred bucks, paired with distressed jeans and black motorcycle boots.

  The glance he flicked in my direction dismissed me instantly as not being worth his time. He cast a similar look at Laney, and all but sneered before taking a seat at the head of the table between us. “Ladies. Are they going to get this show on the road or what?”

  Hah. I’d been right on the accent. His words were flat, as though his tongue were at the back of his teeth. I half expected him to throw his thumbs to the side and say, “Aaaay” like the character in that old Happy Days sitcom my dad had liked to watch.

  I suppose had the new arrival not bruised my ego with his dismissal of my charms, I might have seen his appeal. In many ways, he was a grittier, edgier version of Joe, and Lord knows, I have a type. But Joe had ten times the animal magnetism of this guy, more so because I suspected this guy often felt the need to beat his chest.

  The door opened once more, this time as the assistant ushered in Brad Taylor. He scowled at us all on entering and made a beeline for the coffee.

  “Hey,” Brooklyn called out as the assistant was shutting the door. “How much longer is this going to take?”

  The assistant fixed him with a steely eyed glare. “Mr. Carter will be with you shortly.”

  Brooklyn made a sound of disgust, took out his phone, and began scrolling. Brad, having poured himself a cup of coffee, seemed undecided where to sit, and finally took a seat between Brooklyn and Laney.

  Pausing only to shoot me an unfriendly glare, Brad gave Laney a brief smile, as though they’d met before. Then he turned to Brooklyn and spoke in his stuffiest voice. “And you are?”

  Brooklyn looked up from his phone with a wolfish smile. “I’m Derek Ellis. Samantha was my wife.”

  Chapter Seven

  And that, as they say, put the cat among the pigeons.

  “She was what?” Brad sputtered, even as Laney’s eyes popped wide open and she gasped, “No way!”

  “You heard me.” Ignoring Laney, Derek responded to Brad instead. “I’m Samantha’s legal husband. Which means all her stuff comes to me, not you.”

  Brad half rose out of his seat. “Impossible. My sister never would have married the likes of you, and she wouldn’t have kept it a secret, either.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that, pal. Who do you think gave her the idea to cut you guys out of her life? Go to New York and make a new life for herself? Me, that’s who.” Derek shot Brad a withering look that made him sink back into his chair.

  “But that was at least five years ago.” Brad had the poleaxed expression of a man who’d just received word of a terminal disease. “She would have said something before now.”

  Laney piped up. “She left New York a long time ago. Where have you been all this time? I’ve been Amanda’s agent for the last four years, and she’s never breathed a word about your existence.”

  “Yeah? Well, she never mentioned you, either.” Derek lifted his lip in a perfect sneer.

  Brad’s brows pulled together in a sudden scowl. “I’m not buying it. Sure, Sam abandoned her family—left me to run the company while still benefiting from the dividends—but we’d mended our fences. And she never said a word about being married. Prove it.”

  “Prove what?” Derek leaned back in his seat and rested his elbow on the back of the chair. “That I’m her husband? Yeah, I thought you might want to see the certificate.” He pulled a folded document out of an inner pocket of the bomber jacket.

  Brad made to snatch it away, but Derek whipped it out of reach and held it open. “Look but don’t touch.”

  He positively gloated as both Brad and Laney craned forward to examine the unfolded certificate.

  Brad made a noise of disgust and slammed back into his own seat. “That means nothing. So, you got married. There’s nothing to say you’re still married. You could have gotten divorced.”

  “She didn’t divorce me.” The statement was delivered in a cold, flat tone that raised the hair on the back of my neck.

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.” Brad pushed his hand through his hair angrily in a gesture that screamed his uncertainty.

  Derek’s smug smile returned; there wouldn’t be any record for a divorce filing.

  “Suit yourself.” Derek shrugged with a curve of his upper lip. “No matter what you think, I’m the legal heir.” He shot a malevolent glance at Laney. “Which means you can both stop panting over her crappy drawings. They’re mine, not yours.”

  “If her work is so crappy, why do you care what happens to it?” I broke off a piece of cookie and popped it into my mouth.

  Derek’s eyes went hard and still, like chips of flint. A wave of hostility emanated from him. If Brad had made me uncomfortable earlier in the evening, Derek triggered all my alarm bells.

  “I’d lay off the cookies if I were you, sister.” Derek’s smile was toothy as he patted his stomach. He let that sink in a moment before adding, “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

  “I’m the vet.” Somehow my mouth kept running even after I should have shut up. “You know, the one skilled in castration and euthanasia.”

  Brad’s coffee cup hit the table with a clatter, splashing coffee on his sleeve, which he mopped up with a napkin, cursing under his breath. Laney’s eyes went wide with suppressed glee, and she sat with the lively expression of a cat watching two mouse holes at once.

  “Zat so?” Derek half-closed his heavy eyelids. “I’m thinking you’re the woman who needs to shut up.”

  Okay, so he didn’t say “woman.” He called me a term for female dogs seldom used outside of a kennel. And like any female dog that had been insulted, my hackles went up.

  Stop provoking him.

  Odds were, he was going to inherit Amanda’s estate. I needed to cooperate with him for the sake of the animals. If I’d thought Brad was bad—the cats didn’t stand a chance around Derek. Another horrible thought occurred to me: what if she’d left the horses to Derek? I couldn’t afford to buy them a second time. So, as tempted as I was to tell Derek to stuff it, I finally came to my senses and bit off my next angry words.

  Fortunately, Mr. Carter chose that moment to enter the room, followed by his assistant.

  “Thank you for gathering here on such short notice.” He glanced around the table, took a seat at the opposite end from Derek, and laid his folder in front of him. His assistant checked the supplies on the coffee cart, straightened the plate of cookies, and poured a glass of water to set beside Mr. Carter’s right hand. She then came to stand behind her boss like a kind of watchful Doberman.

  Derek had slid back into his too cool to care persona, lounging back in his chair as though king of the room. I half expected him to put his boots up on the table. Br
ad didn’t look exactly rumpled, but his chairman of the board impression was marred by beads of sweat that had gathered around his temples. He took out a handkerchief and patted his brow. Laney cupped her coffee mug in both hands and stared down into its depths as though it held the secrets of the universe.

  “Before we begin, I have a letter to read at the specific bequest from the deceased, Samantha Marion Taylor. Also known as Amanda Kelly.” Mr. Carter put on a pair of reading glasses and undid the string on a manila envelope. A single sheet of paper slid out, and he picked it up to read.

  “A chance conversation a few weeks ago with my veterinarian and friend, Dr. Ginny Reese, made me realize I had not left my affairs in good order should something happen to me.”

  The eyes of everyone in the room except for Mr. Carter shifted toward me, and I smiled weakly.

  Mr. Carter adjusted his glasses and continued. “Subsequent events brought home the need to write my will to prevent my worldly belongings—but most especially my animals—from being assigned to people who do not deserve them, nor would take care of them according to my wishes. Likely at the time of my death, I will have a considerable net worth. I know that money brings out the worst in people, which is why I requested the law office of Carter, Beasley, and Worth to expedite the formal reading of my will as soon as possible after I’m declared dead, in order to prevent the vultures from descending.”

  Mr. Carter paused to clear his throat. Derek’s eyes narrowed unpleasantly, and his hand clenched where it rested on the table. Brad mopped his brow again. Laney slew her gaze in my direction and raised her eyebrows. I pulled my lips down in a brief grimace in response.

  Paper crackling in his hand, Mr. Carter finished reading Amanda’s statement. “I know people and situations may change over time. Ten, fifteen, or fifty years from now, I may re-write this will to reflect my current status and connections. But for the record, know that at the time of writing this will, there is one thing I wish to make crystal clear: If at the time of my death, I am still legally married to Derek Antonio Ellis, he is not to benefit in any way, shape, or form from my estate. He knows why.”

  The term for a female dog exploded again from Derek’s lips. “If she wasn’t already dead—”

  “Mr. Ellis. Some decorum, if you please.”

  Mr. Carter’s prissy tone sounded so much like my fifth-grade teacher that I half expected him to whip out a ruler and smack Derek on the hand. I would have helped hold Ellis down if he had.

  Mr. Carter opened another sheaf of papers. “Now, for the terms of the will itself.”

  His dry voice plowed through the opening paragraphs of the will, stating the sorts of legalese that made my eyes glaze over. I started paying attention again when he began listing Amanda’s various holdings and accounts. Sheesh. Besides the mountain home in Greenbrier, she had a condo in Hilton Head that was under the management of a rental company, save for the times of the year she took up residence there herself. There was also a sizeable chunk of change in an annuity, as well as an IRA, a money market account, and other investments, including her holdings in her family’s company. And then there was the body of her work, which had been valuable before but now would likely skyrocket in price because of her death.

  “I won’t itemize the works by name, but please understand, there is a detailed list of art by title and catalog number listed with the company that insures them, as well as licensing agreements for the prints, T-shirts, mugs, etcetera, sold through the KellyArt LLC.” Mr. Carter flicked a glance around the table. “To ensure counterfeit works don’t start flooding the market with Ms. Kelly’s death, or should there be a question about provenance of a particular piece.”

  That felt like a statement aimed at a particular person in the room, but darned if I could tell where it was aimed. It could have easily applied to anyone. Maybe even me.

  Amanda’s net worth was a total I could only imagine. At nearly forty, having spent over a decade paying off student loans in a profession that notoriously underpaid its members and working for myself in a rural community, I couldn’t even dream of retirement. I envisioned a future where the cats and I shared the same can of food.

  It made sense why Brad was anxious that Derek did not inherit Amanda’s fortune, even though the Taylor family probably had more than enough money to live comfortably. I didn’t want to see Derek benefit from Amanda’s estate, either. As Mr. Carter droned on, Brad stopped sweating and the tension melted out of his shoulders. Apparently, Amanda’s letter had reassured him she’d never allow Derek to inherit.

  Or was it something else that eased Brad’s concerns? It seemed to me it was the recitation of Amanda’s holdings that soothed her brother more than her letter declaring Derek a non-starter in the inheritance stakes.

  Finally, it came down to the bequests. She’d left tidy sums to various people in her life, including twenty-five thousand to Laney, for being the first person to take a chance on her art. The bequest included a statement that she held Laney in absolute trust and that anyone managing her artwork after her death would be wise to continue to use Laney’s expertise and services. Laney knuckled a tear from her eye a moment later.

  Amanda bequeathed a couple of specific pieces of art to various organizations. The nicest bequest was a painting of the Blue Ridge mountains in full autumn color to be donated to the local library. I knew the piece—they already hung it in a place of honor as a loan in the library—and I also knew it was a personal favorite of Miss Ellie.

  “As for the re-homing of my animals,” Mr. Carter began, and I leaned forward to listen. “Should my Siamese cat, Ming, still be alive at the time of my death, I ask that he be given to Dr. Virginia Reese. I can’t think of anyone else better suited to care for him for the rest of his life.”

  “That mangy cat is still alive?” Derek’s interruption was as unexpected and unwelcome as a heckler in a comedy club. “I would’ve sworn—”

  He closed his mouth abruptly, and his lips pressed together in an ugly, tight line.

  Mr. Carter chose to ignore him and continued reading. “It is my wish that Ming receive radioactive iodine treatment for his thyroid condition, providing he proves to be a candidate for the procedure. As such, I will award three thousand dollars to Dr. Reese for the cost of this treatment.”

  I certainly hoped my relief wasn’t visible, but I suspect it was. At least now, if Ming passed all the criteria for therapy, I wouldn’t have to withhold it based on cost. Laney gave me a subtle thumbs up from her side of the table.

  “As for the horses, Rebel, King, and Sherlock—the document here provides descriptions of the three animals—should they still be alive at the time of my death, I also place them in the care of Dr. Virginia Reese. I know she will take care of them as she would her own.”

  I shot my most evil glare at Brad. He’d had no right to sell the horses to Ringbolt. Moreover, I shouldn’t have had to buy them from him to prevent them from going to slaughter. Mr. Taylor and I were going to have a little conversation about that when this meeting was through.

  Mr. Carter paused and took a sip of water from the glass provided by his assistant. “Now, while the next part of this will contains statements at the behest of Ms. Taylor, I assure you, everything regarding the terms of this will are legal and binding, even if some of the wording included here is less than orthodox.”

  I exchanged another glance with Laney. She lifted her eyebrows again and gave an infinitesimal shrug.

  “As for the bulk of my estate, I imagine my brother, Bradford Wayne Taylor, is assuming he will inherit it all. He assumes incorrectly. Brad has the resources of Taylor Industries behind him. He has more than enough for his needs. He did me a favor when he bought out my controlling share of the company and advised me to ‘go play with my paints’, as I would have made a lousy CEO. However, I made a rather excellent artist, and I do not intend for him to benefit from my hard work. Thank you, Brad. I wish you well.”

  Whew. I had no idea Amanda could be so
vindictive. She’d always struck me as a quiet, contemplative sort of person. I guess there was something about the idea of being dead that had allowed her to speak her mind.

  I glanced at Brad to see the blood drain out of his face, leaving it a ghastly white, only to have the color rush back in red blotches across his cheekbones. “This is preposterous! I’m her brother! Her only relative who is mentally competent. If she’s not leaving her money to me, and she’s made it clear that he isn’t getting a penny of it—” he wagged a finger in Derek’s direction, “—then who inherits?”

  “Ah, yes. That.” Mr. Carter adjusted his glasses once more and continued reading. “I hereby bequeath all my worldly possessions as laid out in the previous articles to Dr. Virginia Reese. I know of no one else who is as hardworking as she is, with so little reward for her compassion and dedication. She deserves to have a comfortable place to live, the facilities to keep the horses, and the means with which to open her own clinic, should she choose.”

  “What?” I squeaked, unable to believe my ears. It was the last thing I expected.

  Brad exploded out of his chair and slammed a fist down on the table. “Undue influence! I’ll contest this will on the grounds of undue influence.” He wheeled to glare at me. “I have an entire bank of lawyers at my disposal. Unless you are prepared to sink everything you own into defending this ludicrous bequest, I will have you and this penny-ante lawyer for breakfast.” His sweeping gesture included Mr. Carter as well.

  “Undue influence?” I pulled my head back in consternation. “Wherever did you get such a crazy idea? Based on what?”

  “You—you—you seduced her.” Brad pointed at me now, flecks of spittle flying from his lips as his rage frothed within. “You and this dyke here.”

  “Excuse me?” Laney sat up in haughty outrage, her eyes flashing fire.

  “Hey, that’s a good one.” Derek snapped his fingers and pointed at Brad. “I’ll contest the will on the same grounds.”