Santa Fe Edge

42

Barbara left the hospital and drove back to the computer shop where she had made her state ID and license plate. She had an idea about how to improve them.

The man at the desk directed her to a vacant computer, and on a whim, she decided to check her old e-mail address. There were hundreds of spam messages, but as she scrolled down she found an e-mail from a law firm she had paid a retainer to when consulting them about overturning her late husband’s will. On the morning he was killed in the car crash he had signed a new will that severely limited what she would get in the event of his death. The lawyer had advised her that the will was impenetrable, and there was nothing she could do about it. In addition, the will contained a clause that would reduce the sum paid to any beneficiary to one dollar if the beneficiary contested the will.

There had been one thing she could do, though, and she had done it. She had hired someone to murder her husband’s attorney.

“Mrs. Keeler,” it read, “there has been an interesting development concerning your late husband’s will. It could be greatly to your benefit if you would telephone me as soon as you receive this e-mail.” It was signed by Ralph Waters, and the e-mail was dated the day she had escaped from prison in Mexico.

This was interesting, Barbara thought. She forgot why she had come to the computer store and immediately returned to her hotel, where she sat down and called the attorney on her cell phone. He came on the line immediately.

“Mrs. Keeler? This is Ralph Waters. Thank you for returning my call.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, Mr. Waters,” she said, “but I’ve been traveling. What is your news?”

“I know I don’t have to remind you about the terms of the will your late husband signed on the day of his death.”

“They are etched in my memory,” she replied.

“I expect so, but a couple of weeks ago I was playing golf with a lawyer friend of mine who serves on the ethics committee of the California Bar Association, and he told me a very interesting story. A woman named Margaret Jepson, known as Margie, who was the secretary of Joseph Wilen, your husband’s attorney, has made a report to the bar association that may change everything.”

“Tell me,” Barbara said.

“I’m not sure yet what her motives are, but she says that the will that was probated was not the will that Walter Keeler signed that morning, that Joe Wilen made some crucial changes to it after he heard of Mr. Keeler’s death in the accident. According to Ms. Jepson, Wilen harbored some ill feelings toward you, so he made certain changes to the will in the word processor, reducing your share to a stipend of fifty thousand dollars a month and the use of, but not the ownership of, Mr. Keeler’s San Francisco apartment, then he initialed the pages with the same pen Keeler had used and substituted them for two pages that he removed and destroyed. He told Margie Jepson and an associate in his firm, Ms. Lee Hight, of his actions, since both of them had witnessed the will, and they agreed to join him in a conspiracy to reduce your inheritance.”

“The son of a bitch!” Barbara said. “I knew there was something wrong. Walter would have never done that to me. Do we know what the original pages said?”

“Ms. Jepson reportedly has a copy of the will that Mr. Keeler signed, so that would bolster our position. Worst case, if her testimony holds up we could get the will thrown out and then the previous will would apply, and even though you had been married only a short time and might not be mentioned in the earlier will, California law would entitle you to a large share of the estate.”

Barbara’s heart was pounding. “As I recall, Walter had more than a billion dollars in liquid assets, plus real estate, and others, like a jet airplane.”

“That is correct,” Waters said. “And there are more good tidings: The will has not yet cleared probate, so none of the assets have been dispersed. Only your stipend has been paid out.”

“That’s wonderful!” Barbara said. “What should our next move be?”

“I’ll need to depose Ms. Jepson and get her to sign an affidavit confirming her story, then I can take it to a judge with a petition to invalidate the will and reinstate the original version. If he signs off on it, then we can submit the original will for probate. Our fallback position would be to get the will declared invalid and reinstate the earlier version.”

“Mr. Waters, I direct you to do just that,” Barbara said, “and along the way I’d like to see that bitch Lee Hight disbarred for her part in the conspiracy.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Keeler, because Ms. Hight died of breast cancer last month. I suspect that is one reason that Ms. Jepson has come forward, since telling her story relieves her conscience and doesn’t punish anyone.”

“One other thing, Mr. Waters,” Barbara said. “I want you to hold this in absolute confidence. I do not want the press to get wind of it. Is that clear?”

“I’ll do everything I can, Mrs. Keeler, but at some point this will become a matter of public record, and given the prominence of Mr. Keeler, someone is going to notice.”

“I’m going to give you my cell phone number,” Barbara said, “and you are not to share it with anyone else.” She gave him the number. “I do not wish to be contacted by anyone but you, and should the press contact you, you are to make no comment without my authorization. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, Mrs. Keeler. I’ll be in touch.” They both hung up.

Barbara leapt from her chair and did a little dance around the room, then fell back into the chair, laughing and crying. She was going to get, at least, hundreds of millions out of this! Then she stopped and began to think.

As far as she knew, her absence from the Mexican prison was not known north of the border. If she now murdered Ed Eagle, the whole story of her divorce from him and her arrest and imprisonment in Mexico might very well come out in the news reports of his death, and she might be either charged with his murder or extradited to Mexico and prison.

“Shit!” she screamed. She was going to have to lie low until the will was probated, and probably for some time after that. She picked up the phone and called her new friends, Hugh and Charlene Holroyd.

“Ellie, how are you?” Charlene asked. “Hugh, pick up the extension.”

“Hey there, Ellie,” he said. “We’ve missed you.”

“I’m very well, thanks,” Barbara replied. “Do you suppose you could put me up for a little while?”

“Of course. You can have your old room back,” Hugh said.

“Or if you’d like more space, take our guesthouse. You can visit us whenever you like,” Charlene added.

“The guesthouse sounds wonderful,” Barbara said.

“Where are you now?”

“In Santa Fe.”

“Well, come on over here,” Hugh said. “May we expect you for cocktails?”

“You certainly may,” Barbara said. “I’ll see you then.” She hung up, lay back in her chair and sighed.

It would be fun to see the Holroyds, but she had been so looking forward to killing Ed Eagle.