Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [104]
“Because Linderman kept saying ‘sole surviving heir,’ which could mean the will hadn’t been changed after Vernon’s daughter Susan’s death, leaving Amery as the only one left to inherit.”
“What’re you saying?”
“Just that Luella took Vernon on unsanctioned outings. What if she had convinced him to leave all or part of his estate to Prime Time Friends? Logically, one of the places she’d take him to would be a lawyer’s office. But what if she’d known what kind of stink it’d raise if it got out Sloane had another will? Amery 369
would be pissed and could use the instance of ‘undue influence’ to argue for guardianship.”
“Effectively ending any control Luella had over Vernon,” Kevin said.
“Bingo. So Luella kept it quiet and continued to care for him like nothing had changed.” Something else popped up in my thoughts. “Did Amery talk to Luella at all at the funeral?”
“No. I thought it odd at the time. It was almost as if they were purposely avoiding one another.”
Our eyes met in perfect understanding.
“Crap. They might’ve been in on it together. Amery offers Luella a big chunk of the inheritance if she helps get rid of him?”
“Or Luella approaches Amery and offers her a deal. Instead of the 250K or whatever she’s getting for her percentage bequeathed to Prime Time Friends, she suggests Amery forks over a larger amount to keep the old will in play as the only official one.”
Even as I said it, the thought made me nauseous. Luella didn’t seem manipulative. She genuinely seemed to care for Vernon Sloane. Then again, Kev and I had both bought into Amery’s concerned granddaughter routine, too. Kevin cocked his head. “This is far-fetched.”
“Absolutely.”
“Probably we’re making it too complicated.”
“Maybe. There’s one simple way to find out.”
“How?”
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“You pump Amery for information and I’ll tackle Luella.”
That slimy porn star smile I detested slipped into place on Kevin’s face. “We’re talking literally, here?
Right?”
“Whatever it takes.” I pawed through my purse for the scrap of paper with Reva’s phone number on it and dialed.
371
After the Vernon Sloane fiasco, security had tightened considerably at Prairie Gardens. I donned my winter hat/smart girl glasses/wool trench coat disguise and waited in the receptionist’s area for Reva to escort me to her apartment.
Reva rolled up, wearing a jumpsuit reminiscent of fish scales: skintight, iridescent, with weird bumps in odd places. She’d clipped a matching bow in her thinning, dyed hair. I squeezed her frail frame, getting a whiff of butterscotch candy and Emeraude.
“Sweetheart, it’s so good to see you again,” Reva said loudly. “Come on back. I made your favorite tea.”
I couldn’t see the TAR’s response, but their burning curiosity melted the yarn on my hat as we disappeared down the hallway. 372
“Did they recognize me?”
“Honey, I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“That bad, eh?”
“Sydney Bristow always looked better in disguise, not worse.”
We didn’t speak again until we were in her tiny dining area. “So, what’s been going on around here?”
Reva set out the floral teapot, matching cups, and a tin of Walkers shortbread cookies. “Nothing. Feels like we’re in lockdown. No roaming the halls.”
“Bet that puts a crimp in your spying activities.”
“Smarty.” She poured two cups of gingerbready smelling tea. “The one good thing to come out of this tragedy is Security is back to the twice daily checks.”
“That’s encouraging.” I sipped the warm liquid and tried not to make a disgusted face. Yuck. This shit always smelled way better than it tasted.
“I know you’d prefer coffee, but I can’t stomach it anymore, so you’re stuck with Celestial Seasonings.”
Reva doled us each three cookies. “You didn’t come here to talk to me after you found Vernon Sloane. Was it horrible?”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry.