Free Hidden Riches by Felicia Mason Page B

said, shrugging off his hand. “God, you can be a pain in the ass.”
    â€œThe decision is yours, Mrs. Coston,” Rollings reminded her.
    â€œI’ll take the money.”
    â€œThat’s my girl!”
    Lester bent over and kissed the top of her head like a good luck charm. “You’re gonna be sorry, Margie . . .”
    â€œIt’s Marguerite,” she said, ice dripping from each syllable.
    â€œ. . . you should have taken the cash,” he said. “I bet this is gonna be just like ‘Let’s Make a Deal.’ You’ve traded ten grand for a chicken coop.”
    His chortles filled the office.
    â€œAna Mae did like her game shows,” Rosalee said. “She got that fancy satellite TV just so she could get the Game Show Network.”
    â€œOh, God,” Delcine said.
    Winslow too practically moaned his disappointment.
    Clayton and Archer looked at each other, and Archer raised a brow in question. Clayton shrugged. “That doesn’t change anything,” he said.
    â€œI sure hope not,” Delcine muttered.
    Rollings handed JoJo one of the two remaining manila envelopes.
    â€œSuckers,” Lester taunted.
    â€œMr. Coston, please have a seat,” Rollings said.
    â€œAnd shut up,” Rosalee added.
    Even Reverend Toussaint cracked a smile at that.
    Lester sat, and JoJo, looking glum, handed over to him the envelope with the check.
    Grinning, Lester settled down.
    Rollings turned toward Clayton. “Dr. Futrell, that leaves your decision.”
    Clayton glanced at Archer who simply said, “It’s up to you.”
    â€œAll right,” Clayton said. “I’ll play. I’ll waive the money and see what the big mystery is.”
    â€œAnother sucker,” Lester said not quite under his breath.
    â€œMr. Coston.”
    The warning from Rollings came in the tone of a principal giving a recalcitrant pupil one final warning before consequences were meted.
    â€œAll right. All right.” Lester pinched his thumb and forefinger together and ran them across his mouth to indicate it was zipped.
    Rollings picked up the envelope Delcine rejected and, in a deliberate motion, placed it with the one Clayton turned down and tore them both in half.
    Delcine sighed, as if resigned to the fact she’d made a bad decision.
    The lawyer then aimed a remote control at a paneled wall, and it opened to reveal a large flat-screen television.
    â€œMiss Futrell left final messages to you via a video recording,” he said. “She did this on my advice and recommendation so there would be no misunderstandings given her, well, as you’ll see, her rather unusual wishes. These statements were filmed at her home with myself and another attorney from the firm present as witnesses.”
    Rollings glanced around at the heirs. Seeing or hearing no objection so far, he gave a nod, then said, “Here now, in her own words, she will explain about the rest of her estate.”
    A moment later, Ana Mae Futrell popped onto the fifty-two-inch plasma screen.
    â€œHey, everybody!” she hollered, waving energetically.
    Rosalee and JoJo gasped.
    â€œOh, for God’s sake,” Delcine muttered.
    The men—Reverend Toussaint, Clayton, Archer, and Lester—just stared. Rollings watched all of them.
    Ana Mae, wearing a floral print dress, spoke to them from her front porch. At her side a round pie-crust-edged table held a pitcher of lemonade and a glass. It looked like a sunny day in the spring.
    â€œIf y’all all are watching this,” she said, “it means I’m gone on to glory. Don’t shed any tears, though . . .”
    Delcine harrumphed. “As if.”
    â€œ. . . ’cause I’m walking with Jesus now,” Ana Mae said.
    â€œHallelujah,” Reverend Toussaint responded with a holy wave of his hand.
    â€œEverett shoulda done read all that legal stuff to you. Now we get to the good part.” She grinned