Free Lawyer for the Cat by Lee Robinson Page A

thought it was advisable,” I explain. “My role as trust enforcer is to—”
    â€œOh, for God’s sake, Judge Clarkson doesn’t give a damn who gets the cat or where the cat lives. If he did, he’d be handling this himself. He just wants to wash his hands of the whole thing, because he knows how crazy my mother is … was.”
    â€œI need to get back to Charleston, but I’ll think about what you said.”
    â€œI trust you will … no pun intended.”
    â€œJust one question: What if I continue with my investigation, and I determine that one of the others—the librarian, or the nephew in New York—would be willing to move here, and would make the best caregiver for Beatrice?”
    â€œThen the deal is off. Look.” He’s turning red, and though it’s cold in the room, his forehead is damp with perspiration. “My mother thought Gail would take good care of the cat, otherwise she wouldn’t be on the list. And Gail’s willing to take the cat. Why make it more complicated? Or is it that you just want to rack up a bunch of hours on my mother’s dime?”
    â€œIf you’re going to challenge the trust, you’ll need to hire a lawyer.”
    â€œI’ll do whatever I have to do. This house isn’t just a piece of real estate to me,” he says. “My great-great-great-great-great grandfather built it. That’s six generations. It’s in my blood. Look, I like cats, but I’m not going to let some damn animal keep me from getting what’s mine. Now,” he says, standing up, “I don’t want to take up any more of your time. You think it over, what I’ve said.”
    â€œI will, but I want to reiterate—”
    â€œYou law-yers like fancy words, don’t you? You usually get, what, fifty dollars a word? So maybe for the fancy ones, you get a hundred, right?”
    Just before he drives off he says, “Don’t let anything happen to that cat, you hear?” His truck, a big shiny black one, roars away.
    *   *   *
    Beatrice doesn’t want to part with Gail, or maybe she doesn’t want to leave her warm spot by the fire. She complains mightily about getting back in her carrier. “Poor thing,” says Gail, “she just got back home and now you’re going to … And she hates the car. You sure you don’t want to leave her with me?”
    â€œI wish I could.”
    â€œCan’t say as I understand all this legal stuff,” she says.
    â€œI have to interview two other people. But it shouldn’t take long.”
    â€œI don’t even know why she—Lila—even named them. That librarian lady—”
    â€œKatherine Harleston?”
    â€œYeah, her. She’s nice enough, but her husband’s kind of, you know, a snobby-type Charleston person. I can’t see him moving out here. And the nephew, he lives in New York. Only been down once to see her, since I started working out here, anyway.”
    â€œHow long is that?”
    â€œAbout five years. He’s, you know…”
    â€œNo, tell me.”
    â€œI guess you’ll see for yourself. Anyway, I just can’t see him wanting to live down here.”
    â€œBy the way, how did Randall know I’d be here today?”
    â€œI guess my boyfriend—my fiancé, I mean—might have told him. They’re friends.”
    â€œWhere does Randall live?”
    â€œOver on the front beach,” she says. “Lila bought the house for him a while back, before the property values went through the roof.”
    â€œSo he doesn’t really need a place to live.”
    â€œHe’s just got a sentimental connection to this house, I guess.”
    â€œBut if he and his mother didn’t get along, I don’t understand—”
    â€œRandall’s always been kind of a mystery,” she says with a shrug.
    I look at my watch.