Free Bitter Sweet by Connie Shelton

gently.
    “But . . . Can he do this? I’m
sure Lila had nieces and nephews she would have wanted to leave something to.
And what about her favorite causes? She supported quite a number of charities.”
    Sam didn’t want to point out
about possession being however many points . . . Ted’s being on site and ready
to move so quickly . . . well, the place could very well be cleared out before
any court could act to stop him. She could call Beau, but had the feeling that
there was nothing the sheriff’s office could do without a warrant or court
order or some such thing. And O’Malley had that smarmy attorney conveniently on
hand to handle any objections. The whole thing stunk—big time.
    “I’ll speak to him again—give it
one more try,” Sam said. “Maybe you should just go on home and try to get this
picture out of your head.”
    “Can you come over? Darryl went
to Santa Fe for the day and I don’t want to be alone.”
    “Sure. Put on the tea kettle and
I’ll be right behind you.”
    Sam watched Zoë walk toward her
car with a dejected slump to her shoulders. She looked back at the house,
squared her own shoulders and went inside. Ted O’Malley was flashing a charming
smile at an older lady, wooing her into buying the dining table and chairs. He
backed away when Sam approached.
    “Mr. O’Malley,” she said. “I’ve
just been on the phone with the sheriff.” O’Malley obviously didn’t spot the
lie; his face went two shades whiter. “He’s got a call in for the probate
judge, who wants to know by what authority you are selling these items.”
    His mouth worked for a moment
before the gracious smile came back.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your
name,” he said with a glance over her shoulder.
    She simply stared him down.
    The voice of the lawyer came from
behind her. “Ms. Coffey rewrote her will as soon as she married. My client, Ted
O’Malley, is the sole beneficiary of her trust. A trust which, by the way,
keeps the entire estate out of probate. Your sheriff’s judge has no
jurisdiction over that.”
    O’Malley gave her a smug grin.
They’d called her bluff. And Sam knew that he knew it.
    “I can show you a copy of the
documents,” Smith said. “But you’ll need a court order for that. Since we don’t
really know you from Adam.”
    Curses. She turned away.

Chapter
8
    The conversation replayed through
her head the whole time it took her to drive to Zoë’s house. By the time she
pulled into the long drive beside the big adobe bed and breakfast, she’d calmed
down enough to know that she wasn’t going to be able to force Ted O’Malley’s
hand. There simply was nothing she or Zoë could do to stop all of Lila’s
belongings from disappearing. She parked near the back door and admired the
shady patio and Zoë’s touch with flowering plants.
    Inside her Mexican-tiled kitchen,
Zoë had set out tea cups and wine glasses.
    “We better go straight for the
wine,” Sam said.
    Ever the hostess, Zoë pulled out
some chips and whipped up a little bowl of guacamole.
    “I didn’t get anywhere at all with
the husband or the lawyer,” Sam said, after admitting that she’d tried to use
Beau’s rank to intimidate them. “He barely flinched.”
    “It’s not that Lila’s things are
most important anyway,” Zoë said. “That stuff eventually has to go somewhere.
It’s just—I miss her. And I feel like a horrible friend for not staying in
touch recently. I mean, how could I have not known that she was seeing someone
and getting serious enough to marry the guy? During my quick visit to the
hospital she only talked about how silly it was that she’d broken her ankle and
how we would get together soon. Maybe she meant to tell me about Ted when we
saw each other again.”
    “She surely didn’t know him very
long, otherwise you would have known about him.”
    “I have to wonder when they met. I’m
going to call some mutual friends and see if anyone knew of Ted O’Malley. Maybe Lila got