Free The Short Forever by Stuart Woods Page B

through with it—the marriage, I mean.”
    “Then why were you having an engagement party?”
    “My parents pressed me, told me I was getting old. I’m thirty-two, for Christ’s sake!”
    “Maybe they just want grandchildren.”
    “Oh, they do, that’s true. I liked James, but I was never in love with him. They kept saying what a perfect match we were, and I suppose it did look good on paper, at least. I guess we could have made it work, produced the grandchildren, bought a country house, given good dinner parties. But I just didn’t want it.”
    “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Stone said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
    “Have you seen this morning’s papers?”
    “No,” Stone said. They had been stuck under his door when he returned to his suite, but he hadn’t even looked at them yet.
    “We’re all over them, and the tabloids are hinting that I killed James for his money! Can you imagine?”
    “Well, yes, considering . . .”
    “We weren’t even married; how could they say I killed him for his money?”
    “Well, there is his will.”
    “What?”
    “His will; he made a will. Surely you’re aware of that.”
    “Aware of what? I don’t know anything about a will.”

    “Apparently, James recently made a new will, making you the primary beneficiary.”
    There was a stunned silence at the other end of the line. “That’s preposterous! Why would he do a thing like that before we’re married?”
    “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know,” Stone replied. “But according to Sir Bernard Pickering, that’s what he did.”
    “Why is it that everyone knows this but me?”
    “I thought you did know it; I don’t know how Pickering found out, unless he prepared the will.”
    “Pickering is a barrister; he wouldn’t do wills; a solicitor would have to do that.”
    “Who is James’s solicitor?”
    “I have no idea . . . Wait a minute, yes I do; I was introduced to him at a party a couple of weeks ago.”
    “Do Pickering and the solicitor know each other?”
    “I don’t know; I suppose it’s possible.”
    “Could they work out of the same law firm?”
    “Solicitors and barristers are in different firms.”
    “Have you heard from the solicitor?”
    “No.”
    “I expect you will shortly, if there’s any truth to all this.”
    “Tell me exactly what Pickering told you.”
    “He said you were now the largest independent importer of wines in Britain and that you now owned a lot of wine shops and pubs.”
    “Hold on a minute; someone is rapping on my door.” She put the phone down and returned after a moment. “It’s a letter from James’s solicitor,” she said. “Hand delivered.”
    “What does it say?”
    “I haven’t opened it.”
    “Open it.”

    “Oh, Stone, this is so crazy.”
    “Open the letter and read it to me.” He heard the ripping and rustle of paper.
    “ ‘Dear blah, blah, blah, condolences, etcetera. It is my duty to inform you that, shortly before his death, Mr. Cutler made a will, in which you are an important beneficiary. I would be grateful if you would call at this office at your convenience so that we may discuss this matter. Yours very sincerely.’ It says ‘important beneficiary.’ That doesn’t sound like I inherit everything.”
    “Maybe it’s British understatement.”
    “Oh, God, I can’t deal with this now; I have to arrange a funeral for James in London; he didn’t have any family to speak of—both his parents are dead, and he had no brothers or sisters, so it all falls to me.”
    “Is there anything I can do to help?”
    “Stone, will you go and see this solicitor and find out about this?”
    “I think it might be better if you had your own solicitor go.”
    “I don’t have one, and I hate Daddy’s. Just go and talk to him; I’ll tell him you’re coming.”
    “All right. Is there anything else?”
    “Let me give you his phone number and address.”
    Stone wrote it all down, and Sarah’s