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distance before placing the actual call, then armed herself with Miriam’s ski pole, which doubled as a walking stick and had been leaning against the wall next to the phone table, to keep them at bay.
    The attorney’s secretary answered on the second ring. “Mr. Arquette’s office.”
    Gil Arquette specialized in corporate law. After practicing for twenty years in a downtown Denver firm, he’d semiretired to the peaceful surroundings of Elk Park. Nowadays, local businesses represented the lion’s share of his clientele. Esther Mills is—had been—his premier client.
    “Good morning, Ms. Drummond. What can I do for you?”
    “Call me Lark, Mr. Arquette – and I need some help.”
    “I heard. Bernie Crandall called me this morning.”
    Lark gestured to the others, indicating he knew about the murder.
    “Horrible thing. Just horrible,” he continued. “What I can’t figure out is, who would have wanted her dead?”
    “Probably someone after the bank receipts,” Lark ventured.
    “Except that she wasn’t robbed.”
    “Excuse me?”
    Rachel, Dorothy, Cecilia, and Gertie leaned forward at the note of surprise. Lark waved them off with the ski pole.
    “How do you know that, Mr. Arquette?” He hadn’t given her permission to call him Gil.
    “Well, according to Bernie, they found the bank deposit lying on the ground a few feet away from her body. He thinks someone wanted her dead.”
    “What’s going on?” Gertie whispered. “What’s he saying?”
    Lark cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “He says it wasn’t a robbery. That someone intentionally killed Esther without taking her bank deposit.”
    A buzz rose from the women. Lark plugged her free ear and hunched over the receiver. “Do the police have any suspects?”
    “The usual. Business associates, family, and heirs. You are aware she left a will.”
    Lark’s chest tightened. “No, I didn’t know that.”
    “According to the partnership agreements, you and Esther are, or should I say, were equal partners. There is no survivorship clause in the contracts. You still own approximately forty percent of the Chipe Coffee Company, which encompasses the Warbler Café. The other investors, Dorothy MacBean, Cecilia Meyer, and Gertie Tanager, own a combined twenty percent share. Esther’s heir receives the other forty percent.”
    “What are you saying, Mr. Arquette?”
    “I’m saying that, for the moment, you and the others are free to reopen the business.”
    “That’s great news.” Lark flashed an okay sign to the others.
    “But, hold on there, missy. It’s imperative you hear me out. I said ‘for the moment.’ Right now it requires that three of you swing a majority—you and two of the others. However, once the will is probated, it may be a totally different story.”
    Lark flailed the ski pole in the air, trying to shush the others. “What do you mean, Mr. Arquette?”
    “Esther’s heir can choose to petition the courts for company control.”
    “How will that affect us?”
    “If he loses? Not at all. If he wins? You’ll be knocked back to silent partner status.”
    Lark banged the ski pole on the floor. The others stopped talking.
    “It’s a remote possibility,” said Arquette, rustling more papers, “but all of you did grant Esther stewardship of the businesses, thereby opening the front door for her heir to petition. Whether or not he does remains to be seen, as does whether or not he could triumph in such an action.”
    As far as Lark knew, there was only one likely candidate for heir. “Are you telling me this because you’ve already talked to Vic and he told you he planned to sue?”
    Arquette cleared his throat. “I know as well as you that Vic and Esther were living together, but, in spite of that fact, she didn’t leave him a dime.”
    “Then who’s the heir?”
    “Paul Owens, at the Migration Alliance.”

CHAPTER 6
    “Paul Owens?” Lark could have understood Esther’s leaving her worldly possessions to the