Stuart Woods: Insatiable Appetites

“My guess is you’re not going to find a huge amount in his estate,” Dino said.

“You think Eduardo’s been concealing assets?”

“Eduardo is a Sicilian. It’s in his nature to conceal everything, especially money. I’ll bet when you see his will, you’ll find there isn’t much in there besides the house and some investments.”

“I’ve always had the impression that Eduardo was immensely wealthy,” Stone said.

“Back when we were married, Mary Ann thought so, too. Even before she started her investment firm she was helping him with investments, so she knew things that I didn’t.”

“What sort of investments?”

“I had the impression he was pretty big in real estate, but I don’t know what else. Except for his house, which is lavish, he seemed to live fairly simply. There were some practically invisible servants around the place — in addition to the evil Pietro — and Eduardo’s dead wife’s younger sister lived there and cooked for him until she died a couple of years ago.”

“He owns a lot of art,” Stone said. “His study, the living room, and the dining room are filled with his acquisitions.”

“So are the upstairs rooms,” Dino said. “Did you ever go up there?”

“No.”

“Have a look around, if you have the chance.”

“I may have the chance tomorrow,” Stone said. “I’m meeting Mary Ann out there at ten.”

“She’s right on it, isn’t she? She always had a mind like a steel trap, and hands, too.”

“Well, I’d rather have a client who is ready to deal with things than one who doesn’t want to know.”

“I’ll bet you two things,” Dino said. “One, she already knows a lot. Two, there are things that she doesn’t know, that Eduardo kept to himself.”

“It will be interesting finding out.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Dino said, slapping his forehead. “I just thought of something.”

“What?”

“Dolce.”

Stone gulped. Dolce was Eduardo’s younger daughter. Stone had once had a torrid affair with her, ending in their marriage, in Venice. It had been a civil ceremony, and before the religious one could take place, the following day, Stone had been called back to the States. Dolce had followed him, apparently believing that he had jilted her at the altar, and had begun a series of attempts on his life. She was clearly mad, under a placid surface, and Eduardo had locked her away in his house. She kept escaping, continuing her plots against Stone, and finally her father had packed her off to Sicily, where she had been kept in a convent. Stone had received an envelope from Eduardo containing a page from the book they had signed at the Venice town hall upon their marriage. It was the only legal evidence of their union, and Stone had burned it.

“Oh, shit,” he said.

“If Eduardo dies,” Dino pointed out — unnecessarily, Stone thought — “what’s to keep her in Sicily?”

“I wonder if Eduardo had her legally committed?” Stone mused.

“More likely, he just stuck her in that convent and made a generous donation,” Dino replied. “That would be more Sicilian. I’d look into that, if I were you.”

“Believe me,” Stone said, “I will. Listen, I’m having everybody to dinner at my house tomorrow night.”

“What time.”

“Six-thirty for drinks.”

“Viv will be back. We’ll be there.”

“I’ll have to ask Mary Ann, but I doubt she’ll come.”

“From your lips to God’s ear.”

Stone called Herbie Fisher at home after dinner, told him about Eduardo, and asked him to work on the new case. The kids arrived after eleven; Stone greeted them all, sent Ben to Mary Ann’s apartment, then went to bed.

The following morning, Stone had Joan print out a representation agreement, which was mostly boilerplate, then Fred drove Stone and Herbie to nether Brooklyn. As they turned into the driveway, they were flagged down by a uniformed policeman. They identified themselves and, after a call to the house, were admitted.

Pietro met them at the door, somehow looking older since yesterday, then he led them to Eduardo’s study. Mary Ann sat at her father’s desk, rifling drawers and peering under the large piece of furniture.

“Good morning, Mary Ann,” Stone said. “How is your father this morning?”

“In a deep coma, thank you.” She stared at Herbie. “Who’s this?”

“Mary Ann, let me introduce Herbert Fisher, a partner at Woodman & Weld, who will be assisting me in this matter.”

“Bring us coffee,” she said to Pietro, who vanished.

“What were you doing under the desk?” Stone asked.

“Looking for secret drawers,” she replied.

“Before we begin, Mary Ann, let me explain a few things about how we will work.”

“All right, go ahead.”

Pietro appeared with a silver tray bearing a coffeepot, creamer, cups, and a plate of small pastries.

“Leave us,” she said to him. “Go ahead, Stone,” she said, when the man had gone.

“First of all,” Stone said, “we can represent the estate or we can represent you, personally, but not both. Since you are, presumably, an heir, that would be a conflict of interest. Which will it be?”

Mary Ann thought about that for a moment. “You will represent the estate,” she said. “I’ll find my own attorney.”

“Fine. You must understand that we will, in a sense, be representing the court, and that means we must keep you at arm’s length while we do our work.”

“All right,” she said.

“I want to go off the record here for a moment,” Stone said. “What I’m now about to say to you is to be confidential among the three of us.”

She looked at Herbie, then back at Stone, and her eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

“Before I begin to look at a will or any other documents, I must tell you that we can deal only with those assets mentioned in Eduardo’s will and any others listed in financial statements. Is there a will?”

“Yes, it’s in a safe behind the bookcase, there,” she said, pointing. “I don’t know how to open it.”

“Does Pietro?”

“He says no.”

“Then I will have steps taken to open it. What I meant by my previous statement is that, if Eduardo undertook during his life to remove cash, property, or other assets from his taxable estate by concealing them in secret accounts or corporations, I cannot know about it. I must be in a position to tell the probate court, honestly, that I am not aware of any assets not listed in my petition to the court. Is that clearly understood?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she said softly, “Yes.”

“Something else: you are going to have to become accustomed to the idea of the estate’s paying very substantial inheritance taxes. If you obsess over taxes, you will start making mistakes that will pile up and are likely to fall on you. From what little I know of Eduardo’s affairs, he is very wealthy and, even after taxes, his heirs will come into large sums of money and/or property. You must be content with what’s left.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Now I must ask you, has anything been removed from the house since Eduardo fell ill?”

“I suppose the maid took out the trash.”

“I will need to see any trash bags not yet collected,” Stone said. “Has any piece of artwork been removed?”

“Not yet.”

“You may not remove anything that belongs to the estate from the house, until the court gives permission.”

“I understand.”

“Who is Eduardo’s secretary, and where is she?”

“Her name is Angelina Bono, and she is upstairs with my father.”

“Good. When we’re done here, please tell her I’d like to speak with her.”

“When will we be done here?”