A Bullet to the Heart, Kathy Wheeler [inspirational books txt] 📗

aggravated her, though she couldn’t say why.

“Where’s Tevi?” Lydia whispered.

“Next to old Simon, practically hiding in the curtains. What do you suppose that’s about?”

Tevi’s nervousness was palatable. “We’ll know soon enough. Did you see Jackson?”

Jo suppressed any ounce of emotion. “Yes. He looks horrible. But I can’t seem to drum up any sympathy for him.”

“Me neither,” Lydia said.

They lapsed into silence.

Simon, Sr. cleared his throat. “It's with heavy heart that we gather here today.”

“Well, I guess this is it.” Jo turned and caught sight of Simon’s son, the other Guthrie of Guthrie & Guthrie, off to the side. He sat with an open attaché case on his lap. His hairline was high enough to indicate a pattern of baldness similar to that of his father though he was some thirty years younger. Both sported wired framed spectacles, sitting atop straight noses and thin lips. The Guthries had the other large house on the island, but it had always been considered their summer home and usually sat unoccupied this time of year.

Jo and her sisters had reason to visit the Guthries’ home in the city on occasion. It was located not far from where Uncle Victor’s Montgomery penthouse was off 5th Avenue. Victor and Simon, Sr. went back years. Perhaps attended Harvard together. Jo couldn’t remember. She didn’t care much for Simon’s son. Make that repulsed the two or three times she’d been forced to shake his hand, it had been clammier than hers. She shuddered.

The elder Simon’s gaze traveled the crowded room with tension dense as fog over the streets of London depicted in the horror novel Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. “First, I shall read the affirmative statements, then move on to the staff and personal bequests. Finally, at Mr. Montgomery’s request, only the immediate family shall remain for the rest.” He rubbed his pointed beard, moving his gaze to each of them in turn. “Is everyone present?”

No one spoke, but no one objected either.

“Very well then.  I, Victor Montgomery, of the town of Stone, the county of Clover, and the state of Connecticut, being of sound mind and disposing memory, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all Wills and Codicils by me heretofore made. I direct that all my just debts and funeral expenses be paid as soon as practicable after my decease. I do hereby bequeath...” Simon, the elder, had perfected the solicitor drone Victor had always teased him about. His monotone voice faded in and out, making it painful for Jo to keep her eyes open.

Jo thought she would die before Simon finally cut to the commentary. She could feel Wyn’s gaze stabbing her between her shoulders as if he wielded a jagged blade.

“This completes the staff bequests,” Simon concluded.

Finally.

“Promised funds shall be distributed by the first of the year. If I can have you step out at this time, I believe you’ll find refreshments in the front salon.” He pointed to Junior who tipped his head in accord. “Please verify your contact information with my son. Any questions should be directed to my office.”

The myriad staff had almost completely departed when a skirmish ensued outside the crowded doorway.

Wallace Hayes shoved through the throng.  “What the hell is going on here?  Where’s that damn lawyer? I’m here to represent my wife.”

Jo recoiled from the sight of her mother’s second husband. The acrid scent of his body odor mixed with spearmint and pine permeated the study. The contents of her stomach, which contained mostly acid since she hadn’t eaten a thing, recoiled.

Lydia shot to her feet. “Get out of here. I told you, you’re not welcome. You’ve done enough.”

Jo shot her a sharp look. “What are you talking about?”

Tevi leaned down and whispered in the elder Simon’s ear then rounded the desk, joining Lydia. Jo gathered her courage and slowly moved to Lydia’s other side.

Wallace’s malice-filled eyes bounded between the three of them, narrowing when they landed on Jo.

Lydia took up the torch. “Why are you here?”

He ignored her question “Where’s Eleanor?” he demanded.

“Mr. Hayes, is that you? Lydia said I never had to see you again.”

Jo looked over her shoulder.

Her mother hunched in her chair, trembling like a feather in the wind, her hand splayed at the base of her throat.

Wallace surged forward but Wyn glided in to intercept him. “Eleanor, these people are only after your inheritance,” Wallace growled.

The old Simon pointed a gnarled finger at Wallace, his voice soft yet firm.  “Let him stay.” He nodded at Wyn. “I’m not worried about trouble.”

Wyn didn’t move so much as a muscle. He wore his dark uniform proudly, black trousers, white shirt, tie tucked neatly beneath his overcoat. He held his hat, clamped down under the other arm.

Seeing him standing so staunchly emboldened Jo. She went to the door and shut it on the gathered spectators.

Wallace shifted to where he was facing the desk.

Jo, however, maneuvered her position. Never again would she turn her back on the likes of Wallace Hayes.

“Mr. Hayes, since you insist on being present, we might as well deal with this now.” Simon’s gaze moved from Wallace to Eleanor with an apologetic smile while he resumed his seat. He scanned the document in front of him. “To my sister Eleanor, I have provided a means by which your needs shall be met for the duration of your lifetime. That being said, no monetary inheritance shall be forthcoming to you.” His eyes settled on Eleanor. “Shall I give Lydia the correspondence from Victor?”

Eleanor nodded and the younger Simon rose and placed an envelope in Lydia’s outstretched hand.

The elder Simon pinned Wallace Hayes with a stern look. “As you can see, sir. You are not a beneficiary.”

The room stilled at this shocking announcement. No one uttered a sound. Jo would have laughed, but laughter from her would need a good oiling to make her mouth, her throat, work properly.

Wallace’s fury, as he surveyed each of them, was a living, breathing organism, landing lastly on