“So, how’d she take it?”
I jolted at Penny’s voice, straightening from my perch where I leaned against my office doorjamb. “Better than I thought, honestly.” But I hadn’t liked the blank mask that had slipped over Kenna’s face when she finished the letter. It was a façade that seemed to suck every last ounce of life out of her, and I had no idea how to get it back other than to piss her off. Maybe I’d start by having donuts delivered to her every day but Sunday.
“How do you think the Abbots will take this?”
My gut tightened as I glanced at my watch. The family should be here any minute. “I’m guessing not well.” Why was it that some people who had so much, only hungered for more? As if just knowing that they were missing out on one small piece of the pie was enough to send them into a rage, even if they couldn’t possibly eat everything that was in front of them.
Penny tapped her pen against her desk. “Never cared for them. Clark and Annabelle always acted like they were too good for everyone else on Anchor, and they spoiled their son rotten.”
“I’ve never met Grant.” I’d only met Harriet’s son, Clark, and his wife, Annabelle, in brief passing during their last visit to the island a few years ago.
Penny clucked her tongue. “He’s something. Never understood that the answer to one of his requests just might be ‘no.’”
Well, he was about to learn the word. The vast majority of Harriet’s estate had been earmarked for assorted charities. Trusts had been left for Clark and Grant, but Grant’s inheritance had a stipulation. He had to complete five hundred hours of community service at a specific homeless shelter in Seattle before he could access the fund. Harriet had become good friends with the shelter manager and had made sure Grant wouldn’t be able to charm or buy his way out of this one.
“What are you smiling about?”
“Just Harriet’s craftiness.”
A smile stretched across Penny’s face. “She’s gonna try and teach that boy a lesson from the grave, isn’t she?”
“That she is.”
The bell over the office door jingled as it opened. The woman who entered scowled up at the gold bell as if she were offended by its sound. She probably hated Christmas and Santa, too.
“Hello, Mrs. Abbot. Mr. Abbot. And you must be Grant.”
The three people who were clearly related poured into the office waiting room. Clark reached out a hand, shaking mine. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. McCoy.”
“Please, call me Crosby. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”
“I wish it were in a timely manner,” Annabelle griped.
“Now, Annabelle, the delay gave us a chance to get settled.”
She huffed, muttering something I couldn’t hear.
Grant Abbot extended a hand. “Good to meet you. Thank you for making time for us this afternoon.” The man was much as I had expected, wearing a crisp, button-down shirt and tailored slacks. He was polite but wore an air of superiority that I was far too familiar with.
“Why don’t we head into the conference room? Would you like some tea or coffee? Water?”
Annabelle started ahead of us. “What I’d like is to move this charade of a meeting along so that we can get off this island as soon as possible. I’ve spent too much of my life in this godforsaken place already.”
Grant chuckled. “Can you tell she’s not much for small-town life?”
“Anchor isn’t for everyone.” And I was damn glad I didn’t have to share thirty square miles with this woman. I followed her into the small conference room and motioned to the chairs. “Please, take a seat. The folders on the table are copies of Harriet’s most recent will. I’d be more than happy to have them sent to your attorney if you’d like, as well.”
Clark stiffened in his seat. “What do you mean, her most recent will? Mother has had the same will since Dad died.”
I cleared my throat. “She made some changes to it a few years ago after she was diagnosed with heart disease.”
“Why the hell wasn’t I consulted?”
I met Clark’s increasingly angry stare. This was where the true colors began to show. I kept my tone calm and even. “Because you aren’t my client, your mother is.”
Heat colored Clark’s cheeks. “My mother was not in good health, and probably not in her right mind to make any changes to her will.”
I fought to keep the expression on my face neutral. “I assure you, Harriet was in perfect mental health when she made these changes. She’d had a checkup just the week before, and I made sure to have Dr. Kipton sign off on her well-being at the time of signing.” I’d also given Kipton a call earlier in the day to make sure he’d stand by his findings.
Clark opened his mouth to say something else, but Grant held up a hand. “Dad, let’s just read the will and see what’s what. There might not be anything to get upset over.”
Clark scowled at his son but flipped open his folder and began reading. It wasn’t long before he was muttering curses, and Annabelle was gasping. Her gaze snapped to mine. “You have got to be kidding me. I support my charitable causes as much as the next person, but this is ridiculous.”
I stayed silent. What was there to say? You’re a greedy bitch?
Grant’s head jerked up. His tone remained even, but heat blazed in his eyes. “There’s a contingency on my trust that isn’t on my father’s.”
“That’s correct. It was a wish of your grandmother’s that you get more involved in one of her charities of choice.”
Grant’s jaw worked back and forth. “I am working towards partner at Dad’s law firm. I work fifty hours a week. When do you suggest I put in those five hundred hours of volunteer time?”
“Five hundred hours?” Annabelle gaped.
Clark threw the folder down on the table. “This will is a joke. I’ll get it thrown out in court in a matter of weeks.”
“You can try, but trust me, you won’t succeed.” But what they could do was tie up the estate for years to come, leaving Kenna in a miserable state of limbo.
“You have got to be kidding me. She left her estate to that—that—” Annabelle couldn’t even finish her sentence.
“Be very careful what you say next, Mrs. Abbot.” My fingers closed around my pen, my knuckles turning white.
Grant quickly scanned the pages of the will before his head snapped in his father’s direction. “She can’t do this, can she? That property is worth millions.”
Clark was focused on the papers in front of him. He did his best not to let any part of his expression give anything away, but the small tic in his cheek betrayed him. “I need more time with the document.”
Annabelle’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If you think we will sit by while our family home is taken over by a user who wants nothing more than to bleed our family dry, you are in for a rude awakening.”
I forced my voice to remain even, not letting the rage that was coursing through me erupt. “You mean the home you’ve been to twice in the past ten years? And the woman who has taken care of Harriet from the moment she received her diagnosis. The one who cooked for her, arranged for the house to be taken care of, took Harriet to doctors’ appointments, and made sure that she never, not once, felt alone. That woman?”