Free Murder by the Spoonful: An Antique Hunters Mystery by Vicki Vass

thought about Ida’s plight and how she could help. But most of all she thought about the man from the train.

Chapter Fifteen
     
    Stepping off the elevator, Anne glanced up and down the long, narrow hallway of the high-rise office building on LaSalle Street. Etched on the double glass doors were the names, “Berman and Tabor, Attorneys at Law.” Anne had only met with Jon Berman once before to review Sybil’s will. Berman was handling Sybil’s estate.
    She opened the door and was greeted by a perky young law student, Kimberly, who was encased behind a wooden reception desk. “I have a meeting with Mr. Berman,” Anne said.
    “Yes, hi, Miss Hillstrom, Mr. Berman will be right out. Have a seat please.”
    A few minutes later, the short balding fifty-ish attorney came out to greet her. Shaking her hand, he said, “Anne, it’s good to see you again. Follow me back to the conference room.” Over Anne’s shoulder, he said to the receptionist, “Kimberly, let me know when Mr. Stilton arrives.”
    Anne followed Jon Berman down the hallway, getting glimpses through the glass doors of other attorneys consulting with clients or poring over law books. She didn’t think anyone was having a good time today. Anne wasn’t having a good time. She knew that this moment was coming, but she was not looking forward to it. She stepped into the conference room after Jon Berman. He sat at the head of a long table which was surrounded by twelve leather chairs. Anne sat next to him on his right.
    Jon pored through the files he had been carrying. He took his glasses out of his suit pocket and put them on the tip of his nose. He occasionally peeked over the tip of them at Anne just to remind her that he was sitting there. Finally, he closed his file and took his glasses off. He put them on top of the folder and sat back in his high back chair and swiveled towards Anne.
    “Anne, your aunt’s will is airtight. There’s no room for misinterpretation. I don’t see any grounds for contesting it,” he said.
    “The family is really upset. They feel that Aunt Sybil was not in her right mind.” Anne tugged at her suit jacket. It was too tight.
    “Anne, it’s very difficult to contest a will. They’d have to prove that she wasn’t of sound mind when she signed it, and they’d have to have evidence from a medical professional. I know that’s not the case. I drafted the will for her, and she signed it a few weeks ago. She seemed fine to me.”
    “Why did Aunt Sybil wait so long to draft her will? She was 85 years old.”
    “Actually, she did have a will in place many years ago. I wasn’t her attorney at that time. She contacted me a few months back and said that she wanted to write a new will. She was very specific about her wishes to have you act as executor and that her estate would be donated to the Field Museum.”
    “I think that’s why the family is contesting it. They can’t understand why she’d leave everything to the Museum. She’s already given them our family heirlooms––Viking swords and jewelry.” Anne paused. “I hadn’t seen Aunt Sybil for at least three years. I kept meaning to visit, but either she was traveling or I was working. You know how it is. You just mean to get together with someone and things get in the way. To be honest with you, she wasn’t always the easiest person to be around. Especially the past few years.”
    “When I went to her house a few months back, she seemed very nervous,” Jon Berman said. “She insisted that the new will needed to be done quickly. Was your aunt sick?”
    Anne shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
    “This is between you and me. I had to go to her house because she didn’t want to come downtown. When I knocked on the front door, I heard her unlock the door and then I heard something heavy being dragged from behind it. When I walked in, I saw that she’d been using a heavy cement Christmas tree stand to barricade the door.”
    “I know that tree stand.