Read Artful Dodger (Maggie Kean Mis-Adventures) for Free Online Page B

easier for everyone involved.”
    “Remind me not to name you in my Living Will. I’d hate to think of you ‘expediting’ matters and yanking the plug while I was still breathing, just to make it easier on everyone.”
    Preston pursed his lips and regarded me angrily, but evidently decided not to say anything more. Mr. Hawthorne cleared his throat again and ruffled his papers to get everyone’s attention, staring pointedly at me.
    “Sorry,” I mumbled.
    He nodded solemnly and reached for the glasses in his top pocket, but not before I caught the glint of laughter in his eyes.  “Let me start by saying that Mrs. Boyer’s will is very clear and concise. She was especially aware of the problems that inherited wealth can cause if the wishes of the deceased are not laid out very specifically.  Elizabeth was careful to review her will every year at exactly the same time.  Except for the codicil which added Ms. Kean’s name, everything has remained essentially the same over the last ten years.” Hawthorne slipped on his glasses and shook his head. “Elizabeth was an extremely predictable creature in some ways, especially in terms of her legal affairs.  In fact, I was quite surprised when she called to set up a meeting for next week.”
    “She wasn’t due to discuss her will?” Villari asked.
    Hawthorne frowned. “Actually, she wasn’t. We had gone over the document just a few months before.”
    “I don’t see the big deal,” Preston interjected. “You and Grandmother were friends and traveled in the same social circles.  You saw each other during dinner functions and at the club. She could have wanted to meet for a hundred reasons...something as simple as a donation to her latest charity.”
    “Perhaps,” Mr. Hawthorne conceded. “But your grandmother seemed hesitant to tell me why she wanted to meet. Usually she was very forthright, set up the agenda over the phone, and came prepared with files and notes. She didn’t like to waste any time.”
    “Which is exactly what we’re doing right now,” Preston interjected. “This is an exercise in futility. We’ll never know why Grandmother wanted to see you, and I, for one, don’t really care.”
    The man had the manners of a pig. Or a vulture.  Swooping down to tear chunks of flesh off a fresh kill, burying his nose in the blood and guts.
    “Yes, well, perhaps you’re right.” Hawthorne peered over his half glasses and exchanged a look with Villari, a look I couldn’t decipher.  Then again, I didn’t understand anyone here. It seemed heartless to be reading a will before the body had spent at least one day underground.
    Cassie spoke up.  “I’m sure Preston did not mean to sound like he didn’t care about Grandmother, because that’s simply not true. The two of them were very close, and this whole situation has been devastating for both of us.  But,” she added with a brave little catch in her voice, “the fact of the matter is, Grandmother is gone and we must carry on.”
    More senseless drivel from the Queen of the Manor.  Hawthorne pulled a sheaf of papers from his file and began reading.  “ I, Elizabeth Boyer, of El Paso County, Colorado, being of sound mind and memory and over the age of twenty-one years, do hereby make, publish, and declare this to be my last will and testament...”
    She was dead long before I saw her floating in the filthy sewage, but the sense of finality, of true loss, hit me in the gut when I heard Hawthorne’s deep voice intoning the final words of Elizabeth Boyer. The will was written in convoluted legalese, but I could easily imagine this very grand lady sitting and strumming her fingernails against her lawyer’s desk as she listed, in no uncertain terms, her final wishes. The attorney’s words swirled around me like a pile of dust kicked up by an old truck traveling over a dirt road. I couldn’t focus on what he was saying, but I was sure Preston had a hidden recorder tucked in his pocket so he could