a cheap, useful field worker. Claudia told me I’d lost my mind. I’ve never fit her idea of a suitable mother, I’m afraid. I didn’t tell them who Peter was. But I intend to this very evening. They deserve to know, and I believe I’m free to speak the truth now. Is that all right, Glynis?”
“As far as I’m concerned, it’s fine.”
“Father didn’t want them to know. He made it very clear to me on his deathbed. Mother was in failing health herself. She died less than three months after father.”
“How was Peter provided for in his will?” Des asked Glynis.
Glynis scanned John J. Meier’s file folder before she said, “He’d already seen to Peter’s needs when he set up the trust fund. Initially, it consisted of shares in the Meier Steel Corporation equal to but not exceeding the sum of five million dollars-which over the past thirty-some years has grown into the eighteen-million-dollar figure we discussed. The vast majority of John J.’s holdings, including Four Chimneys, he left to Poochie.”
“Was anyone else provided for?”
“Bessie Mosher was long dead, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“By her own hand, I’m told.”
“Yes,” Poochie said. “Father felt no financial obligation toward Ed or Bessie’s other son, Milo. He provided only for Peter.”
“With certain safeguards,” Glynis pointed out. “Peter had been institutionalized by this time, after all. Legal guardianship was granted to my father, who subsequently signed it over to me when he retired from the firm.”
“Did Peter ever marry?” Des asked.
“There was a brief misadventure with a German fashion model back in, oh, ’66,” Poochie recalled. “Apparently, they ran off and got hitched in Marbella, both of them high as kites. A week later it turned out she was still legally married to another man, so her marriage to Peter was annulled or voided or whatever it is they do. She didn’t get a penny off of him.”
“How about children-did he ever have any?”
Poochie gazed at Des blankly. “Why, no.”
“None that we are presently aware of,” Glynis hedged, going legalese. “To the best of our knowledge, Peter died without issue.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“As sure as we can be. No one has come forward to make any such claim.”
“Say someone does. What happens then?”
Glynis studied the Can Man’s last will and testament, her lips pursed primly. “No provision was made for heirs. And with good reason, I might add. Peter’s doctors kept him in a drugged state. There was genuine concern that an unscrupulous nurse might try to get herself pregnant by him, produce an heir and make a claim to his fortune. Such things have been known to happen. John J. made sure that it could not by spelling out unequivocally that upon Peter’s death the entirety of his trust fund passes to Poochie and no one else. You’re correct to suggest that an unknown heir could come forward and try to contest it, thereby throwing the ball into a judge’s court, but John J.’s wishes were quite clear. Absolutely no one else is provided for.”
No one like, say, Pete’s half-brother Milo. Or his old friend Doug Garvey. Neither man had a financial upside in seeing Pete dead. At least none that was apparent to Des. “Forgive me if this sounds morbid, but who would his trust fund have passed to if Poochie had predeceased him?”
“It would have gone to her heirs, Eric and Claudia,” Glynis replied.
“Poochie, may we talk about your own estate for a moment?”
Poochie didn’t respond. Didn’t even seem to be listening to Des. She was too busy gazing at Yolie. “You have such a sad aura, sergeant,” she observed. “A healthy girl like you ought to have a man in her life.”
Yolie swallowed uncomfortably. “What makes you think I don’t?”
“Because I know you’re lonely. You’ve never been so lonely.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” responded Yolie, seriously weirded out.
“Poochie, we seem to be straying a bit,” Glynis put in tactfully. “Des wants to know who stands to inherit from you. You’re under no legal obligation to respond, The judge’s warrant applies to the contents of Peter’s will, not your own.”
“I don’t have anything to hide, do I?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then tell Des what she wants to know.”
“As you wish,” Glynis said deferentially. “In fact, there is one slightly unusual wrinkle. John J. was very particular about this house and land, all two hundred and seven acres of it. As his sole male issue Peter stood to inherit Four Chimneys upon Poochie’s death-not Claudia and Eric.”
“Did that include the house’s contents?” Des asked.
The attorney shot a quick glance at Poochie before she said, “The contents of the house are considered separate. As are Poochie’s own financial assets, which are hers to distribute as she sees fit. But as to Four Chimneys itself, John J.’s wishes were quite specific.”
“So, in a sense, Poochie and Peter have owned Four Chimneys together all of these years, am I right?”
“You are,” Glynis replied. “But now that Peter has predeceased her, it will pass to Claudia and Eric-and from them on to Be-ment. Should Eric and Danielle have a child, then he or she would share title with Bement until one of-”
“Stop this horrid nonsense!” Poochie erupted suddenly. “I cannot abide it!”
“We’re trying to help, Mrs. Vickers,” Soave said. “Sorry if this is upsetting to you.”
“It’s very upsetting!” Poochie had grown highly agitated. “I feel as if my cold dead flesh were being picked apart by turkey vultures. I hate talking about money. I won’t! Glynis, you’re on your own. I’m starting dinner.” She scrambled out from underneath Bailey and charged off toward the kitchen.
The snoozing dog remained where he was. In terms of alertness, Bailey was only slightly keener than a napa cabbage.
Soave watched Poochie go, tugging at his goatee thoughtfully. “How big an estate are we talking about?”
“I’m not going to talk specifics,” Glynis answered, hands folded neatly in her lap. “I will say that Poochie was born into great wealth, married great wealth and has amassed a considerable amount through her own hard work.” She glanced at her wrist-watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to return to soccer mom mode. Number two daughter needs picking up.”
“Glynis, there’s something else that’s staring us right in the face,” Des said.
Glynis returned the files to her briefcase and snapped it shut. “Which is?…”
“Poochie herself. She’s been acting a little strange lately.”
“I heard that,” Yolie agreed. “What was that about my aura?”
“That was just Poochie being Poochie, Sergeant. She’s apt to say the oddest things.” Glynis hobbled her way across the parlor toward the front hall, the three of them joining her. “When I was fourteen she pulled me aside and told me to focus my intellectual energy on science. Geology, specifically. Why? Because I was obviously destined to become the first woman in history to reach the planet Mars.”
They headed out into the front courtyard. Doug’s Jeep was parked there alongside their Crown Vics and Glynis’s mini-van.
“Poochie is also very upset about Peter,” Glynis added. “Perfectly understandable under the circumstances.”
“Perfectly,” Des allowed. “Except I’ve been getting her out of a lot of jams lately. And Claudia wants power of attorney over the family’s financial affairs. She’s told me so. Given that we’ve been talking about estates worth millions of dollars, it’s hard not to wonder if it all connects up.”
Glynis opened the door to her minivan and set her briefcase inside. “I regret that Claudia spoke to you about this matter. I’ve tried to discourage her from pursuing it. As far I’m concerned, Poochie remains perfectly capable.”
“Glynis, there are a whole lot of candy bars squirreled away in that attic.”
“What of it?” Glynis said mildly. “When I cleaned out my father’s attic I discovered that he’d stolen ashtrays from seemingly every saloon, nightclub and restaurant he’d been to since his undergraduate days at Harvard. There were thousands of them. This was a man who didn’t smoke. And he was practicing good, solid law right up until the
