Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Advice. Purrfect Passion. A Purrfect Gnomeful

“But you’ve helped out your granddaughter so many times, right?”

“Yeah, but never surveillance.”

“So how do we do this? We just follow her wherever she goes?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the idea. We want to know what she’s up to before we talk to her. That way we can trap her into some lie or whatever.”

Oh, who was she kidding? She was making this up as she went along. She wasn’t a detective, and neither was Scarlett. Still, she was determined to get her man, or woman, if it killed her, and clearly so was Scarlett.

Kirk’s ex-wife, whose name was Sandy according to the interwebs, was setting a brisk pace as she traversed Main Street on her way to God knows where.

“What if she gets into a car?” asked Scarlett.

“Then we get into a car, too.”

“What if she sees us?”

“She won’t. Nobody expects two old ladies to turn out to be private dicks.”

“Hey, speak for yourself. I’m no old lady.”

It was true that Scarlett certainly didn’t look like an old lady. More like a weathered Kim Kardashian.

“I shouldn’t have worn heels,” Scarlett grumbled now.

“See? I told you. Sneakers are a detective’s uniform.”

“I’m learning so much from you, Vesta. Who would have thought, huh?”

“Who would have thought what?”

“That you and I would work together catching killers one day!”

She halted abruptly. “Let’s make one thing clear, all right? We’re not working together. You’re trying to catch this killer, I’m trying to catch this killer. Separately.”

“But then why are we going in the same direction?”

“Coincidence,” said Vesta, as she started walking again before they lost Sandy Weaver.

“Whatever you say, partner,” said Scarlett.

Vesta groaned. This was probably what hell looked like.

Sandy kept moving fast, and suddenly walked into a building.

“Now what?” said Scarlett, annoyed that their quarry would so easily escape them.

“Relax. She’s not going anywhere.” She gestured to a sign next to the door that announced this was the home of Lewis, Lewis, Lewis & Clark, attorneys at law.

“Probably wants to know about her inheritance,” Scarlett ventured.

“Yeah, probably.”

“I wish I could hear what she’s discussing with Lewis, Lewis, Lewis or Clark,” said Scarlett wistfully.

“Maybe there is a way,” said Vesta as she got an idea. She glanced at Scarlett and then at the nameplate. “Okay, so we’re sisters.”

Scarlett quirked a critical eyebrow. “Oh, sure.”

“Okay, so we’re mother and daughter,” she said grudgingly.

“Better.”

“And we’re here to discuss my will. You just keep the lawyer busy, while I sneak off, pretending to look for the bathroom. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to eavesdrop on Sandy and one of the Lewises.”

“Or Clark.” Scarlett smiled. “You’re on fire, Vesta!”

Chapter 16

Once inside, Vesta wasn’t surprised to find a small but immaculately neat lobby, where a gray-haired receptionist bade them welcome. She decided to let Scarlett do the talking, which the latter did with fervor.

“My dear mother is on the verge of death,” she explained to the woman, who’d first directed a critical eye at Scarlett’s trademark cleavage, but now lent her a sympathetic ear. “She’s eighty going on a hundred and probably won’t be with us for much longer.”

When the secretary darted a concerned look at Vesta, Scarlett assured her that her mother was practically deaf.

“I’m not dead yet!” Vesta yelled, a little annoyed.

“Deaf!” Scarlett yelled back. “I said you’re deaf! See what I have to deal with?” she added with a sigh. “The worst thing is that she doesn’t want to wear her hearing aid. She keeps flushing them down the toilet so I simply stopped bothering.”

“But those things cost a fortune!” said the woman, horrified.

Scarlett paused. Obviously she hadn’t been aware of that. “Which is exactly why I stopped bothering!” she said.

“You should,” said the woman. “Flushing them down the toilet, if you please.”

“Anyway, I want a lawyer to help me draw up Mama’s will, in case she dies on me, which could be any moment now.”

“Are you sure it’s worth it?” asked the woman, looking Vesta up and down. It was clear she didn’t think Vesta looked prosperous enough to be in need of a will.

“Yeah, she has her own place and wants me to have it, but my estranged brother, who’s a mafia boss in Kazakhstan, will probably try to take it away from me the moment Mama passes, and so we need a lawyer to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“The mafia is just the worst,” said the woman, as if she was an expert on all things mafia. “Let me see what I can do for you.”

“Where’s the bathroom?!” Vesta yelled, as this was taking entirely too long for her taste.

“I hope you’re not thinking about flushing your hearing aid down the toilet again!” the woman bellowed, with a commiserative look at Scarlett. “It’s over there!”

Vesta hurried off in the direction indicated, and could just hear Scarlett say, “She’s a dear, even though her mind went a long time ago.”

Vesta ground her teeth as she went in search of the lawyers’ offices and Sandy Weaver. Since she was officially non compos now, she could simply say when they caught her eavesdropping that she was looking for her marbles.

She found herself in a long corridor and tread silently on her white sneakers along the carpeted floor until she thought she heard voices. She put her ear against the panel and bingo! A woman was talking. She tried to hear what she said but the damn door was too thick. She wondered for a moment how to proceed, then got another idea. She knocked on the door of the next office and when no response came, snuck inside. As luck would have it, it was empty. So she darted behind the large mahogany desk and put her ear against the wall. Nope. Only faint murmurs.

She glanced around, until she saw that there was a vent placed in the wall. So she dragged the heavy desk over with a lot of effort, climbed on top of it, and put her ear against the vent. Immediately the sound improved, and this time she could hear what was being said. Eagerly licking her lips, she focused on the voices.

“He died, Franklin. So I think I have a right to know how much I’m getting.”

“But Mrs. Weaver, this is not the way to proceed.”

“And I’m telling you it is. If the divorce had been finalized, I’d have received half of everything, you know that as well as I do.”

“Actually I don’t. Mr. Weaver fought you vigorously and was vehement you not get a dime.”

“Well, he’s dead now, so are you really going to sit there and tell me I still don’t get a dime?”

The lawyer cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I’m not sure if I’m at liberty—”

“Oh, cut the crap, Franklin. How much?”

“I’m sure I can’t—”

“How much!”

A lawyerly cough sounded, and finally the man spoke. “Brace yourself for some bad news, Mrs. Weaver. I’m afraid Mr. Weaver was on the verge of bankruptcy.”

There was a stunned silence for a moment, then, “You have got to be shitting me.”

“I can assure you that I am not ‘shitting’ you, Mrs. Weaver. Your husband made some extremely ill-advised investments, and by the time he moved to Hampton Cove and engaged the services of this office he was in the hole for a large sum of money.”

“How much?” asked Sandy quietly.

“I’d have to check the numbers.”

“But what about the house? Don’t tell me he sold the house?”

“Mr. Weaver was mortgaged to the hilt. The house will go to the creditors, I’m afraid, as will everything else he owned. And even then it won’t be enough to pay off his debts.”