Beyond Suspicion

36

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Jack and Rosa reached the Law Offices of Clara Pierce amp; Associates at precisely 3:29 P.M. The reading of Jessie Merrill’s will was scheduled for half-past three, and one extra minute was plenty of time for Jack to sit in enemy territory.

A receptionist led them directly to the main conference room and seated them in chairs of ox-blood leather at the long stone table. From the looks of things, Clara’s practice was thriving. Plush carpeting, cherry wainscoting, silk wall coverings. The focal piece of the room was the exquisite conference table. It was cut from creamy-white natural stone, rough and unfinished, one of those expensive excesses that interior decorators talked lawyers into buying and that was completely nonfunctional, unless you were the type of person who liked to try to put pen to paper on the Appian Way.

The receptionist brought coffee and said, “Please be sure to use coasters. The stone is porous and stains quite easily.”

“Sure thing,” said Jack. Beautiful, impractical, and high maintenance, he thought. Jessie would so approve.

She closed the door on her way out. Jack and Rosa looked at each other, puzzled by the fact that they were alone.

“Are you sure Clara said three-thirty?” asked Jack.

“Positive.”

The door opened and Clara Pierce entered the room. A leather dossier was tucked under one arm. “Sorry I’m late,” she said as she shook hands without a smile. “But this shouldn’t take long. Let’s get started.”

“Isn’t anyone else coming?” asked Jack.

“Nope.”

“Are you saying I’m the only heir?”

“I think I’ll let Jessie answer that. Her will is as specific as it can be.”

Jack didn’t fully understand, but Rosa gave him a little squeeze on the elbow, as if to remind him that they had come only to listen.

Clara removed the papers from the dossier and placed them before her. Jack sipped his coffee and absentmindedly set the mug on the table. Clara’s eyes widened, as though she were on the verge of cardiac arrest. With a quick snap of the fingers she said, “Jack, please, coaster.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“This table is straight from Italy. It’s the most expensive piece of furniture I’ve ever purchased, and once it’s stained, it’s ruined.”

“Just lost my head there for a second. Won’t happen again.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you read the will, please?” said Rosa.

“Yes, surely. Let me say at the outset, however, that it was not my idea to have an official reading of the will. I would have just as soon let you see a copy when I filed it with the probate court. But it was Jessie’s specific request that there be a reading.”

“No explanation needed, but thank you just the same.”

“Very well, then. Here goes. ‘I, Jessie Marie Merrill, being of sound mind and body, hereby bequeath…’”

Sound body, indeed, thought Jack. Perhaps it should have read, “I, Jessie Marie Merrill, being of sound mind and body that’s a whole heck of a lot more sound than I’ve led everyone to believe, including my dumb-schmuck lawyer, Jack Swyteck, without whose unfathomable gullibility I wouldn’t have diddly squat to hereby bequeath, bequest, and devise…”

Jack listened to every word as Clara continued through the preamble. After a minute or two she paused for a sip of water, carefully returned her glass to a coaster, and then turned to the meat of Jessie’s will.

“’My estate shall be devised as follows,’” said Clara, reading from page two. “’One. Within six months of my death, all of my worldly possessions, including all stocks, bonds, and illiquid assets, shall be sold and liquidated for cash.

“’Two. The proceeds of such liquidation shall be held in a trust account to be administered by Clara Pierce, as trustee, in accordance with the terms of the trust agreement attached hereto as Exhibit A.

“’Three. The sole beneficiary of said trust shall be the minor male child formerly known as Jack Merrill, born on October 11, 1992 at Tampa General Hospital, Tampa, Florida, and released for adoption by his mother, Jessie Marie Merrill, on November 1, 1992.

“’Four.’”

It was as if Jack’s mind had slipped into a three-second delay. He put down his coffee and said, “Excuse me. Did you just say she had a kid?”

Again, Clara snapped her fingers. “Coaster, please.”

Jack moved his coffee mug, but he was almost unaware of his motions. “And his name was Jack?”

“Please,” said Clara. “Let me get through the whole document, then you can ask questions.”

Rosa said, “Actually, we won’t have any questions. We’re just here to listen, right, Jack?”

He felt his lawyer’s heel grinding into his toe. “But Clara just said-”

“I heard what she said. Please, Ms. Pierce, continue. There won’t be any further interruptions.”

Clara turned the page. “’The beneficiary’s present whereabouts and current identity are unknown as of this writing. Should he not be located within one year from the date of my death, the trust shall be dissolved and my entire estate shall issue to the beneficiary’s father, John Lawrence Swyteck.’”

“What?”

“Damn it, Jack. For the last time, use the stinking coaster.”

“Jessie never told me she had a kid.”

“Quiet, Jack,” said Rosa.

“Coaster, please,” said Clara.

“And she sure as heck never said I was the father.”

Rosa grabbed his arm. “Let’s go.”

“No, I want to hear this.”

“Your coffee mug is still on my table.”

“Jack, if you can’t shut up and listen, then it’s my duty as your lawyer to get you out of here.”

“No!” he said as he yanked his arm free of Rosa’s grasp. His arm continued across the table in a sweeping motion and collided with the coffee cup. Hot, black liquid was instantly airborne. In what seemed like slow motion, Jack leaped from his seat to catch it, but to no avail. Clara’s mouth was agape, her eyes the size of silver dollars. The three of them looked on in horror as a huge black puddle gathered in the dead center of her creamy-stone table and then disappeared, soaking into the porous stone, leaving behind an ugly brown stain. The meeting suddenly took on the aura of a funeral.

Her expensive stone table now resembled fossilized dinosaur shit.

“Clara, I am so sorry.”

“You bastard! You did that on purpose!”

“I swear, it was an accident.”

“It’s ruined!”

“I’ll pay to have it cleaned.”

“It can’t be cleaned. You destroyed my beautiful table.”

“I just don’t know how that happened.”

“I think we should go now,” said Rosa.

Clara was on the verge of tears. “Yes, please. Both of you, get out of here.”

“But we haven’t heard the whole will,” said Jack.

“You’ve heard the part that matters.”

Jack wanted to hear more, as if he might hear something that made sense to him. But Clara seemed impervious to whatever plea he might have pitched. She hadn’t moved from her seat. Her elbows were on the table-one of them on a coaster-as she held her head in her hands and stared blankly at the big brown stain.

Jack said, “Sorry about-”

“Just leave,” she said, not even looking up.

He and Rosa slipped away in silence, showing themselves to the door.