Fatal Trust Read Free Page A

until she reached the
relevant notes. “Max’s sister Muriel gets five percent of the trust. Since
Max’s children all predeceased him, the remainder goes one-third to Edgar’s
sons Seth and Jeremy, one-third to Allen’s children Cecilia and Dylan, and
one-third to Rebecca’s son. Max said your mother was named after Daphne du
Maurier’s masterpiece.”
    “Yep. She’s lucky she wasn’t a boy, or she’d probably have
ended up named Poe.” He picked a key ring off the corner of his desk. “Let’s
go. Unless you’re scared.”
    “Of meeting Max’s family?” Catherine smiled faintly. “He did
say some members … have issues.”
    “Talk about rephrasing for politeness. I meant scared of
staying at Nevermore. It’s haunted, you know.”
    Catherine stuffed her pen and legal pad into her briefcase,
and then stood. “Your grandfather made a fortune writing books that probably
terrify Stephen King. Max would never own a house that wasn’t supposedly
haunted. Luckily I don’t believe in ghosts.”
    “Neither do I.” Ben’s keys jangled against the blotter. “You
need to dress more like my girlfriend would. Do you have any clothes that don’t
look quite so lawyer-like, or should we pick something up at The Clothes
Garden?”
    Catherine suppressed a sigh. Looking like the girlfriend of
a man with Ben’s admittedly Neanderthal taste in women was at the top of her
Never to Do list, but she’d signed on to this. “Give me a couple of minutes,”
she said. “Where’s the restroom?”
    Ben pointed her to it, and she was glad to find that the
restroom was warm but clean and had decent lighting and a large mirror.
Catherine set her jacket on the toilet lid and pulled her turquoise silk shirt
out of her black skirt. A few rolls of the waistband and the skirt was four
inches above her knees, not exactly a mini, but she was closing in on
thirty-five, after all. She tied the hem of the shirt so it covered the rolled
waistband, then checked the mirror. The shirt had a few wrinkles, but the sauna
outside should steam those out before she reached her car. Then she undid
enough buttons to expose the top of the black cotton-and-lace camisole she’d
worn underneath. The cotton hadn’t prevented her shirt from resembling a
saturated silk towel, but at least it was proving good for something.
    Finally, she took out the pins securing her French twist,
releasing hair she paid a fortune to keep what used to be its natural golden
hue. She finger-combed it, reapplied her lipstick, and then studied herself.
She probably still didn’t look the part, but she was not buying anything at The
Clothes Garden. With a name like that, she’d bet every item sold there featured
flowers or ruffles, and she detested flowers and ruffles. She’d been raised in
a world of solid colors and clean, elegant lines, and old habits were hard to
break. Besides, her ex-husband Neil’s new wife Deidre was a ruffly, flowery
person.
    Catherine opened the restroom door just as a redhead in
cutoffs so short they were likely illegal in several states flip-flopped up to
Ben, stopping right where he had a prime view of her cleavage above her gold
halter top. “Hey, Ben. I heard my car’s ready.”
    “It’s parked outside. Trudy’s got the key.”
    “I know, but I wanted to thank you personally for fixing it.
You’re so talented.” The woman rested her hand on Ben’s arm. Her glittering
gold nails had to be more than an inch long.
    “It just needed a new muffler.”
    The woman moved closer to Ben. “If you hadn’t figured it
out, the muffler might have gone out totally while I was driving and made my
car crash. I could have been killed.” She stroked his arm. “Let me know how I
can repay you for saving my life.”
    “Trudy has the bill.”
    She touched a nail to his lips. “I wasn’t only talking about
cash.”
    “I’ll remember that, babe. Call if you’ve got any problems
with the car.”
    “I’ll do that. Keep in touch.” She turned