“That must’ve been a shock.”
“A puff of air could’ve knocked me over, and I’m no lightweight.” She sipped her coffee. “I really didn’t want to take it on, Angie, but Mick convinced me that I was the best person to run the Galleria if anything happened to him. He assured me that his finances were in good order and I wouldn’t have problems keeping it going. What could I do?” She raised her hand in a gesture of helplessness. “I felt so bad for him that he didn’t even have a close friend to ask. And when he said that his personal property would be mine too, I just about fainted.”
“Wow!” I said. “Small wonder you felt overwhelmed.”
“He was adamant and I didn’t think I could refuse, for the good of all the owners. So I signed the papers, and he told me he’d have them notarized and get me a copy. Then he left. He handed over the paperwork the following week, and we never discussed it again. In fact, I kind of forgot about it until he… died.”
“Did you bring the papers with you?”
“Oh, right.” She levered herself up, got her purse from the hall closet, and removed a larger-than-legal-size envelope. “Here,” she said. “You take it. I honestly don’t know what I should do next.”
The envelope was gummed shut and stamped with the name and address of a local attorney, Rebecca Franken. “I think the best step is to contact the lawyer and make an appointment. Unless you have someone else you prefer to work with.”
“Well, no. The person who looked over the rental agreement for the shop retired and moved to Texas more than two years ago,” she said. Pacing over to the window and back, she asked, “Am I in trouble?” with a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. “I mean, will the police think I killed Mick because of the inheritance?” She began to wring her hands and then stopped herself.
“I’m sure they’ll have questions,” I responded, “but they won’t jump to conclusions.” I placed the package on the coffee table. “The morning of Mick’s death, where were you?”
“At home,” she promptly replied. “I don’t usually leave the house until eight-thirty.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, except for my dog, Bleki.”
“Blackie?” I repeated, unsure if I’d heard her right.
“His name is spelled B-L-E-K-I. It’s Russian for Blackie, but it’s pronounced bleck-ee. He’s a great guard dog, a Black Russian Terrier. He gives me a sense of peace since I live alone.” She pulled out her cell phone, scrolled, and then showed me a picture.
The word terrier conjured images of a small, sturdy dog. But Blecki stood about three feet tall and had to top a hundred pounds. His coal-dark fur flowed in waves along his body and down to his massive paws, covering his eyes and drooping from his jaw like a beard. “Beautiful animal. How did you come to own him?”
“Actually, Mick saw me outside the shop one night after closing. I guess I was acting nervous. He advised me to get a dog for protection and put me in touch with a breeder. And he even helped choose the name. I often bring Bleki to the shop when I know I need to work late. Wish I’d had him with me last night, but I didn’t plan such a long day. Fortunately, I have a great neighbor who lets him out and feeds him if I have to be away.”
Another Russian connection, I thought. “He’s a big boy,” I told Debby. “Is it hard to manage him?”
“He’s very well trained,” she said. “Supersmart and incredibly calm. He’s not stranger-friendly, but he’s not aggressive. They’re bred to protect their family. He’d give his life for me.”
“In light of your ex, I’m glad you have him.” I handed the phone back and rose. “Next steps,” I said. “I’ll contact the attorney. Then I think you should call Detective Wukowski and tell him about Mick’s estate.”
The hand wringing recommenced. “I can make the call, but would you go with me to the lawyer’s, Angie? Or… can I hire you to represent me? I’d feel so much better if you were there.”
“I can accompany you and act as your agent. But I can’t represent you in legal matters. And unless I’m working for your attorney, nothing you share with me is covered under Wisconsin client confidentiality agreements, if it comes to the police or court testimony.”
Her eyes widened. “Do I need that?”
With a small shrug, I said, “I doubt it, but these circumstances are unusual, to say the least. If Ms. Franken doesn’t want to engage you as a client, I have someone I can talk to. Meanwhile, do you have ten bucks on you?”
“Um, I think so.” She rummaged in her purse and handed me a Hamilton.
“I’ll consider this a retainer and bill you later for hours and expenses. I’ll bill you separately for the personal work and the Galleria work. Is that agreeable?”
“That would be great. Thanks so much.” She impulsively embraced me in a hug, then backed quickly away.
“Don’t borrow trouble, my Aunt Terry always says. I’m sure things will work out.” The reassurance sounded sugarcoated even to me, but I hoped it was true.
This was eating up time I could better spend on revenue-generating activity, but Debby was my daughter’s friend and she needed help. I couldn’t ignore her.
Chapter 19
Among all these were 700 chosen men who were left-handed; every one could sling a stone at a hair and not miss.
Judges 20:16 (English Standard Version)
I decided to contact Wukowski before reading through the will and the property documents Debby left with me. That way, I didn’t have direct knowledge of what the papers contained. I admit, it was an attempt to dissemble, but I wasn’t ready to inform him about her yet.
Since my
