Stuart Woods - Santa Fe Dead

“Mr. Cato, where were you last weekend?”

“Me and Grif Edwards-he works over to the motor pool-was down in Tijuana.”

“When did you leave L.A.?”

“We got out a little early on Friday, to beat the traffic. Around three, I guess.”

“What time did you get to Tijuana?”

“Well, shit, we didn’t beat the traffic, so it was pretty near bedtime when we got there.”

“What time was that?”

“I don’t know, ten, maybe.”

“Where’d you stay?”

“A little hotel called the Parador, down near the bullring. That’s what we went down there for, the bullfights.”

“Who was fighting?”

“Shit, I can never remember their names.”

“How many bullfights did you go to?”

“Well, we went Saturday and Sunday, and there was three each afternoon. We came on back when they was over on Sunday.”

“What time did you leave?”

“Around five, I guess. There was less traffic, so we were back in L.A. around nine.”

“Do you know Don Wells, a producer on the lot?”

“Well, yeah, I’ve worked most of his pictures, either as a stuntman or an extra.”

“He’s a buddy of yours, then?”

“Sort of. We play poker every Thursday night, when he’s in town.”

“Where do you play?”

“Over at his office.”

“When was the last time you played?”

“Right before he went to Italy. That was a few weeks ago.”

“Does Grif Edwards play, too?”

“Yeah, he’s a regular.”

“I guess that’s it. Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t mention it. See you, Jeff.”

The two men got back into their golf cart and drove away.

“Okay, I guess that went well,” Bender said. “Cato lied about what time they left on Friday, and Edwards lied about not knowing Wells socially.”

“It’s a start,” Reese said.

JOE WILEN TOOK the elevator up to Eleanor Keeler’s apartment, accompanied by his associate, Lee Hight. Eleanor met him as he stepped directly into the foyer. “Thank you so much for coming to San Francisco, Joe,” Eleanor said, shaking his hand warmly and ushering him into the living room. “I don’t even have a car. Walter was going to ship his two cars up here along with his household goods, but none of that has arrived yet.”

“Eleanor, may I introduce my associate, Lee Hight?”

The two women shook hands, then Eleanor sat down on the living room sofa and offered them the facing chairs. “Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

“Thank you, no,” Wilen said. “I’d rather get directly down to business.”

“Of course. I must say, Joe, that you look a little grim this morning.”

Wilen didn’t respond to that. “Much has transpired since we met on your wedding day,” he said, avoiding using her name.

“Well, yes, you’re right about that.”

“Including some events you don’t yet know about. That’s why I’m here.” Wilen set his briefcase on the coffee table, opened it and placed the copy of the doctored Keeler will before her. “This is the will that Walter executed an hour or so before his death in the accident,” he said. “It makes very specific bequests to you, and I want to tell you about the bequests and the conditions attached to them.”

“Conditions?” Eleanor was looking wary now.

Wilen ignored the question. “Walter took me aside on your wedding day and gave me some notes for a new will. When I returned to the office, I gave the notes to Lee, here, along with my instructions, and asked her to draft the will while I was away for a couple of days in Santa Fe.”

Eleanor’s expression changed ever so slightly at the mention of Santa Fe.

“I played in a golf tournament in Santa Fe, and my partner was your former husband, Ed Eagle.”

Eleanor’s face became stony. “A very untruthful man,” she said. “I hope you didn’t believe anything he told you about me.”

“Mr. Eagle wrote a letter to Walter and asked me to deliver it. He did not tell me of its contents but said Walter could, if he wished to.”

“A letter?”

“This letter,” Wilen said, handing her the copy from Eagle.

She glanced through it. “This is preposterous,” she said.

“No, it is not,” Wilen replied. “I took the precaution of having the state police check it out, and they confirmed all of the major assertions.”

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter whether I understand. Walter was at the point of signing his new will when I gave him the letter. When he had finished reading it, he showed me the letter and told me that he wished to make some changes in the will before he signed it. He dictated some new instructions to me, and I asked Lee to make the changes. When Walter had read the new draft, he signed it in the presence of three witnesses, as you will see on the final page.”

“Just give me the short version,” Eleanor said, her face hard.

“Walter has left you a stipend of fifty thousand dollars a month for life, to be paid from a trust that now also owns this apartment. He has also given you lifetime occupancy of the apartment but not ownership. You may neither sell or rent the apartment or use it for any other purpose than your residence. You will be held liable for any damage to the apartment. Both the stipend and your residency in the apartment are contingent on noncriminal behavior on your part. Should you be convicted of any felony, the stipend will stop immediately, and you will be given thirty days notice to vacate the apartment.”

Barbara had gone pale. “That was not what he gave me to believe,” she said. “I was to get everything after his charitable bequests.”

“He changed his mind after reading Mr. Eagle’s letter,” Wilen replied.

“This will not stand. I will break this will.”

“I should point out that Walter also dictated a clause stating that, if any of his heirs contest the will or complain about its terms to the press, his or her inheritance will be reduced to one dollar.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Eleanor spat.

“I assure you that it is perfectly legal, as is everything else in this will, and I can assure you, as Walter’s executor, that, if necessary, I will expend whatever funds are necessary to uphold the will. I don’t think you would be able to find a lawyer anywhere who would contest the will under these circumstances.”

“What about Walter’s airplane?”

“He sold it the day he signed his will. He planned to buy a better one but never had the chance.”

“What about the vineyard we bought?”

“I spoke with Emilio Galiano, and he has released the estate from the sale and returned Walter’s check.”

“But that was to be mine!”

“A great deal might have been yours but for your dishonesty.” Wilen closed his briefcase and stood up. “I want to make it perfectly clear that I in no way represent you legally. I do not wish to speak to you again. If you have any need to communicate with me, put it in writing and send it to my office. Do you understand?”

Eleanor stood up. “Get out.”

Wilen turned to go, then stopped. “Oh, by the way, you have about ninety thousand dollars in your checking account, and you may keep that. Walter’s household goods and cars will not be shipped here; they are now part of his estate. You will receive your payments on the first of each month, wired to your checking account. Good day.” Wilen stalked out of the apartment, followed by Lee Hight.

They were out of the building before either of them spoke. “That was very good, Joe,” Hight said.

“It was very satisfying,” Wilen replied.

“I’m very glad that we acted as we did with regard to the will.”

“If I had any doubts, they have all been resolved,” Wilen said.