Read Online Mallets Aforethought by Sarah Graves - Free Book Online Page B

laugh.”
    Not that it was any consolation now.
    The opposite, in fact. “So all this legal stuff about trusts and predeceased and so on . . .”
    “Victor,” I cut in impatiently, “it means that George inherits everything. His aunt left her estate in trust to Hector Gosling but only for so long as Hector lived. After that . . .”
    After that it belonged to George. And if what I’d gathered about his aunt’s net worth was true, it was a jackpot.
    Her house was a gorgeously restored Victorian overlooking the harbor, with a fabulous bay view. Every tradesman in town had drunk from the well of its never-ending maintenance: plumbers and landscapers, painters and roofers, electricians and purveyors of custom-built windows, to name but a few.
    And Paula paid in cash, which she’d gotten by unloading about a zillion acres of timberland back when the paper companies were buying instead of selling it. So there’d be liquid assets, too.
    “You know,” Victor said, “this might not look so good.”
    Like I said: a brain surgeon. “Right, and if he hung a sign around his neck saying ‘I did it,’ that probably wouldn’t look so good either.”
    Because if George had known about this will before Hector died, he’d had a far better motive for murder than I’d feared.
    Victor picked up his medical bag. “Look, I doubt Ellie will need me any more tonight. Call if she does. And . . .”
    He eyed me suspiciously. “You did,” he added thinly, “manage to remember to tell Sam you’d signed him up for the class?”
    Ah, yes; there was the Victor we all knew and loved. If he hadn’t bought his own house he could’ve moved into a wasp’s nest. The other wasps would never have known the difference.
    “I told him.” It’s amazing how well you can speak and bite your tongue at the same time, when you have as much practice as I do. “And Victor,
you
remember. You’re not to talk about this.”
    As it was, the news of George’s arrest would be a sensation and Ellie would be facing it soon enough.
    He frowned. “You must think I’m a fool.”
    I smiled sweetly at him. “Thanks for coming. Really, Victor, it was awfully good of you. I appreciate it.”
    Sam says Victor is like an English muffin: butter lightly. Mollified, he went out into the darkness.
    Standing in the doorway while he got into his car, I watched a skunk shuffling among the trash cans. George hadn’t had time to bring the cans in before the police took him. Victor’s headlights showed the skunk trundling away; George was so tidy, there wasn’t a meal for a housefly in those cans.
    Will was in the kitchen when I came back inside. “Hey, good job on those steps at Harlequin House,” he said. “I was driving by and saw them.”
    “Thanks. But how’d you know it was me?”
    “Well,” he smiled, tipping his head, “the rest of the volunteers are a little shy with the hammer-and-nails stuff. You seem like the only one willing to bash something apart to fix it. I wish there were a few more like you.”
    “Oh,” I said, pleased. Hardly anyone ever compliments me for bashing things apart.
    “Actually, there are some other things that could use your attention,” he went on. “I made up a list.”
    He pulled it from his pocket. “There’s a window on the first floor that won’t come out. The side trim needs a crowbar. And on the second floor, the ladies want to wallpaper over a hole. Could you maybe plaster it first? You know, just fill it so you can’t put a fist through the wallpaper.”
    I felt taken aback. This hardly seemed the time or place for going over fix-up plans. But Will continued.
    “. . . washstand in the kitchen lavatory. I hate to say it but someone’s going to have to take a sledgehammer to that.”
    He grinned winningly at me. “Seems right up your alley.”
    It was. But . . .
    “Will, don’t you think we should postpone the repair plans? Maybe until tomorrow? After all, with George being accused of a murder, I don’t