Richard Patterson - Fall from Grace

“So we’re back to the postnup.”

“As always. But there’s one more factor that may benefit Clarice. The last will I drew up deferred estate taxes until she died. If she succeeds in bringing the trust assets back into the estate, Carla and Jenny will have to pay taxes on every dime they get. That means the estate will lose almost four million dollars, potentially leaving Clarice with one-third of the eight million dollars remaining. Assuming, again, that she can bust the postnup.” Thomson smiled a little. “If Carla’s the schemer you believe her to be, she won’t like that result one bit.”

Adam thought swiftly. “What if Mom can force a settlement with Pacelli?”

“Then she’ll get the full amount of the settlement without paying any estate tax. The question becomes what she’d have to give Carla in return.”

“And if she can prove my father lacked the mental capacity to execute this will?”

“That would invalidate the will in its entirety-including its revocation of the prior will. Clarice gets everything; Carla, Jenny-and you-nothing. So Carla, and perhaps Jenny, will fight Clarice like tigers.” Thomson shook his head. “I’d hate to think it, but perhaps Ben in his perversity hoped for that.”

A cooling breeze touched Adam’s face. “More than perhaps. It would have pleased him to imagine women fighting over his remains.” His tone became crisp. “So how does Mom keep the money away from Carla until the court decides the will contest?”

“She needs to race to the courthouse claiming that the trust assets are part of Ben’s estate. Once she files, the probate judge will bar Carla from taking the money and haul Ted Seeley, as Ben’s cotrustee, before the court.” He gave Adam a sideways glance. “What you need to do, as executor, is notify your mother that you’re submitting the will for probate. If she’s prepared, she’ll be in court a nanosecond later. No doubt Carla knows that.”

“No doubt.”

Thomson’s eyes became curious. “I gather you’ve met her. And so?”

Adam sorted out his impressions, trying to separate his emotions from the woman he had encountered. “Pacelli’s not quite what I expected. She’s cooler, smarter, and very self-contained. And beautiful, I’ll grant you, but in a different way-tempered and subdued. With her gifts as an actress, she’ll make a better impression than she deserves.”

Thomson nodded, eyes narrowing as he looked out at the water. “Whatever the reason, she made a considerable impression on Ben. That much I know.”

His tone caught Adam’s curiosity. “How, exactly?”

“The last time I saw him was a few weeks before he died. We were fishing off Lambert’s Cove on a chilly spring night. I didn’t know that he was dying-no one did, perhaps not even Ben. But he tired easily, which worried me some. To keep him company, I sat with him on the beach, sipping whisky from a flask to keep the dew off.

“It was quite dark, just the two of us in the silver light of a quarter moon. Ben got very quiet. He felt different to me, like life was weighing on him-I realize now that he’d already changed the will. Because we were old friends, and because I felt a debt to your mother, I brought up this actress.” Thomson grimaced. “There’d been talk, I mentioned, enough to embarrass Clarice deeply. I asked if Ben weren’t a little old for such foolishness, and whether he should place more value on the woman who’d stood by him all these years.”

Adam was touched. “A good question, and an act of grace. How did he respond?”

“Strangely, I thought. He just smiled, in a way I found smug yet oddly melancholy. All he said was ‘Carla has promised to make me immortal.’”

“Do you know what he meant?”

“No. It was a curious remark, I thought. Even Ben knew that no one gets out of life alive.”

“A sane man would know that,” Adam amended.

“True. Anyhow, too late to ask him now. He’s dead, and you’re his executor.” Facing Adam, Thomson spoke slowly and firmly, “I don’t know your intentions, and don’t want to. But you know the rules for remaining as executor. You should at least appear to follow them. That means that you’ll graciously accept Ben’s generous bequest to you, and take no overt steps to undermine the will. Or Ms. Pacelli and Mr. Seeley will have you pilloried by the court. Still with me?”

“Yes.”

“Let your mother’s lawyer, Gerri Sweder, do the heavy lifting. Gerri’s no one’s fool. The first question she’ll ask Clarice is the one I always wanted to ask-why such a clever woman signed this disastrous postnup. On that fateful day, and ever since, I’ve wished that I could read your mother’s mind. But she’s the last of the old-line WASPs, and she holds on tight.” Thomson gave Adam a long, quiet look, and then finished evenly, “With your father’s demise, she’s the only one who knows her reasons. There’s nothing to stop Clarice from choosing her answer with care.”

Adam offered no response; it was clear that Thomson wanted none. “There’s one more issue,” Adam said, “involving George Hanley and the state police. Suppose that someone who inherits under the will pushed him off the cliff. They get nothing.”

Thomson gave him a pointed look. “Are you confessing to his murder?”

“No. Regrettably, I wasn’t here.”

“Then the pool of people who profit from Ben’s death shrinks to two, doesn’t it? Who’s your favorite-Carla or Jenny?”

“Carla, naturally. She gets more money.”

Thomson stared at him. “You’re not joking.”

Adam shrugged. “George thinks someone killed him. That it be Ms. Pacelli serves my family’s interests at least two ways. It cuts her out of the will and gets George off our back. What better?”

Thomson laughed aloud. “You are a cool one, aren’t you?”

“Just practical.”

“Then it would help if George convicts her. To simply accuse her won’t suffice. So have a care.”

“Always.” Adam paused. “A last detail. How would I find out the date my father bought our house from my grandfather?”

“By asking Clarice. If her memory isn’t precise, ask to see Ben’s papers.”

“Then let me put it another way. How would Carla’s lawyer determine the date without alerting my mother?”

Thomson contemplated the ground. “I gather you’re thinking about the postnup,” he said at length, “and your mother’s reasons for signing it.”

“Not very subtle, am I?”

“Subtle enough. So here’s the deal. If the sale took place after 1985, which is roughly nine years after she signed the postnup, Carla’s lawyer could check Massachusetts land records on the internet. If Ben bought the house before then, he’d have to slog through the Registry of Deeds in Edgartown. But eventually you’ll find what you need-date, parties, and price.” Thomson paused, then added, “Of course, someone might remember you were looking and wonder why. Best to ask your mother.”

Adam stood. “I will. This has been very helpful.”

“To whom, I wonder.” Thomson remained seated, gazing at the water. “Mind if I sit for a while? I’ve got some thoughts of my own to sort through.”

Adam thanked him, and went on his way.

When Adam returned home, he went to his room and spent a few moments on the internet. Then he found his mother on the porch, sipping iced tea as she watched the late-afternoon sun descend toward the water. She had just completed a bicycle trip around the island-even as a child, Adam had perceived that she sought distraction in strenuous exercise from whatever troubled her. Now her face had the healthy flush of exertion. But she still looked older to him, more vulnerable, with wisps of gray in her hair that seemed to have escaped the colorist. Looking up, she asked, “Did you see Matthew Thomson?”