Free Suspicion of Guilt by Barbara Parker Page A

Gail another smile.
    The tenor aria ended with a soaring flourish, followed by scattered applause. Then came the sound of something heavy being winched upward.
    Gail asked, "Who else was present? Besides you, Althea, and Mr. Weissman?"
    "Irving Adler. Irving was once our mayor, you know." Mrs. Simms lifted her arm to see her watch—gold with diamonds around the face. Her wrist was no more than a crease. "I really must go. They're waiting for me."
    "Do you recall what Mrs. Tillett was wearing?"
    "Wearing?"
    "Yes. What did she have on?"
    Mrs. Simms gave her a long look. "Why in the world would you care what she was wearing?"
    "Well ... it could show her state of mind." Gail had to walk alongside Jessica Simms now, because the woman was heading toward the end of the corridor.
    "Good heavens. I really don't remember. A dress, I assume. Althea always wore a nice dress when she went out."
    "Was she able to drive?" Gail leaned a shoulder on the door. "Or did you all arrive together? She didn't live far from you, did she? Perhaps you picked her up."
    "Pardon me." Mrs. Simms gripped the handle of the wide steel door and waited for Gail to move out of the way. "Please assure Mr. Norris that his aunt was perfectly sane and that if he tries to break the will on those grounds, he will be wasting his time. And yours." She opened the door and Gail could see the stage blazing with light. Jessica Simms went through, then turned back, filling the crack in the doorway, speaking in a low voice.
    "Gail, dear. You should know that Althea gave your mother a ring. Althea and I discussed it. Irene always admired her emerald dinner ring. Four carats, with a spray of diamonds. My goodness, it must be worth twenty thousand dollars. Althea said she would leave it to her."
    Gail frowned. "It isn't in the will."
    "Oh, but it is, indirectly. Althea kept a list in her safe deposit box, naming friends who would receive various items of personal property. Mr. Weissman sent out letters last week. Irene didn't tell you?"
    Gail knew it was true, about the list. People did that sometimes, keeping a list in a separate place, changing it when they wanted to, rather than redoing an entire will or making a codicil. Althea Tillett had mentioned sucha list on page five. Gail had crossed her fingers, hoping hermother's name wasn't on it. She should have known better.
    Now Jessica Simms's round face drew closer. She smiled. "That was Althea's last wish, to remember her dearest friends. So you think about that the next time you talk to Patrick Norris."
    She drew back, and with a hollow clank, the door closed firmly behind her.

    "Mother?"
    When Gail came in, Irene was standing over a map of the auditorium spread out on a table, the sections colored with various shades of marker—pink, yellow, blue. "You certainly ran out of here in a hurry."
    "And I have to go again. Could you watch Karen for a while? I won't be long." She picked up herpurse from the bench by the window. "If Jessica Simms says anything, pretend to be surprised."
    "I won't have to pretend. Where are you going? But I suppose it's none of my business." Irene capped her yellow marker.
    Gail came back in. "All right. Althea's nephew Patrick came to see me. He says Rudy and Monica Tillett forged her will. I was asking Mrs. Simms about it. She was a witness. Supposedly. I need the signatures for comparison."
    "Are you sure?" Irene whispered.
    "I'm sure Jessica Simms was lying. Please don't say anything about this, Mother. I'll explain it to you later."
    Irene could only shake her head.
    Gail put the strap of her purse over her shoulder. "Did Althea ever discuss her will with you?"
    "No, never."
    "Was she on good terms with Patrick?"
    "Patrick?"
    "Her nephew."
    "I know who you mean." Irene sat down heavily. "Well, she didn't talk about him much—not to me, anyway. I heard her yelling at him on the phone once, but not as though she didn't love him. Some people express love in the oddest ways. Outsiders