Haley had once explained that one sink was for washing fruits and vegetables. She had laughed a little when I asked if the other two were for meats and starchy foods, but I think she was just humoring me. The island was topped with a maple butcher-block counter. Hanging over it was a pot rack about the size of a compact car, festooned with dozens of brass and stainless-steel skillets, pots, and saucepans of every size. Beside the island was a long pine table, with eight pine chairs on either side. The room was about the size of a three-car garage.
Simon had us set up with beverages in no time. An iced tea for Teru and lemonade for me. Simon took his tea hot.
I said, “Tell me what you know about the police investigation.”
They looked at each other, and then Teru said, “They were here for three days, going over everything. I don’t think they found much of interest. They questioned me two times.”
“Two times for me as well,” said Simon.
“What kinds of questions did they ask?”
“What you would expect,” said Teru. “Did she have any enemies? Did she do drugs? Did any of her friends do drugs? Where was I that night? Like that.”
I looked at Simon. He said, “They put the same sort of questions to me, sir, but they also asked quite a few about you.”
“Yeah,” said Teru. “They were very interested in you. And they paid a lot of attention to the guesthouse. Took it apart from top to bottom.”
“Really? I didn’t notice that.”
Simon said, “I took the liberty of returning the guesthouse to its proper condition after they departed.”
“Thank you.”
He didn’t bother to reply.
I said, “Who did the questioning?”
“Several people were involved those first few days, sir,” replied Simon. We had ladies and gentlemen here from the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, the Orange County Sheriff’s Department, the Los Angeles Police Department, and the Newport Beach Police Department.”
Teru said, “It was Haley, after all.”
“Someone would have been the lead interrogator.”
“Yes,” said Simon. “That seemed to be one Detective Russo with the Los Angeles Police Department.”
The name awakened something in my imagination, or maybe it was a memory. I had a feeling Russo and I had met during my first few weeks in the hospital. It made sense the detective would interview me. I wondered what I’d told him. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. Memories came like photographic stills. A face out of focus. A man in a bad suit standing with his back to me as he stared out through the hospital room window. Otherwise, I couldn’t recall anything.
I opened my eyes. Simon and Teru were watching me closely. Simon said, “Are you well, sir?”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Maybe we should change the subject.”
“As you wish.”
“Okay. Here’s the thing,” I said. “I think I remember a lawyer coming to the hospital. I think he said Haley left most of her estate to me. But so much of my time there was confused, I’m not sure. Do either of you know if that’s right?”
They looked at each other, and then Simon said, “That is my understanding, sir.”
“Absolutely,” said Teru, nodding. “She left most of it to you.”
I took a deep breath. I let it out. I said, “I can’t inherit her things.”
“And yet I believe you have,” replied Teru.
“No, it’s not going to be possible.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Simon. “Since it is an accomplished fact, it does seem more than merely possible, if I may say so.”
“I signed a prenuptial agreement. Haley didn’t like it, but I insisted. I wanted her to know I wasn’t interested in her money.”
Simon said, “If I might be permitted a suggestion… Perhaps a conversation with her attorneys could clarify the situation.”
“I don’t know how to contact them.”
“Nothing could be simpler, sir. If you would care to join me in the study, I can connect you.”
The sense of unreality I had been fighting seemed to line the halls like cobwebs as I followed Simon through Haley’s mansion. It took several minutes to reach her study, a surprisingly small room maybe twenty feet by twenty, with rolling ladders to reach to tops of bookshelves that extended to the ceiling, fifteen feet above. Her desk was just as she had left it—a stack of screenplays in one corner, a green-glass-shaded banker’s lamp in another, and between them a telephone and a leather blotter.
Simon drew a key from his vest pocket and used it to unlock the center top drawer. Opening the drawer, he removed a small leather address book. He turned the pages, then dialed a number on the phone. Handing it to me, he said, “Direct line to a Mr. Williams, sir, of Williams, Harcourt, and Shasta in New York.”
I took the handset and put it to my ear. It was still ringing. Then a man’s voice said, “Howard Williams.”
“Hello,” I said. “My name is Malcolm Cutter. I’m calling about, uh, Haley Lane.”
Simon left the room as the man replied, “Yes, Mr. Cutter. Of course I know who you are. Congratulations on your release from the hospital.”
“Are you the one who visited me there?”
“Yes, that was me. I understand you were somewhat confused.”
My mouth felt dry. It was difficult to speak. I swallowed, then said, “I’m better now.”
“So very glad to hear it. How may I assist you today?”
“You’re…you were…Haley’s lawyer?”
“One of many, Mr. Cutter. Miss Lane required counsel on so many matters.”
“But her…uh…her will. You handled that?”
“Sadly, that’s true.”
“Okay. But I seem to remember you saying something about an inheritance? For me?”
“Yes. You seem concerned. Is there a problem?”
“I signed a prenuptial agreement. Before we were married.”
He chuckled. “Yes. That’s when most of them are signed.”
“So you know about it?”
“I do indeed.”
“So her things… I didn’t inherit anything, right?”
“Oh no. You inherited almost everything.”
“But the prenuptial said I wouldn’t get anything.”
“I’m aware of that, since I’m the one who wrote it. But you see, a prenuptial agreement is only valid when it has been executed by both parties, and your wife never signed the document.”
“She did. I saw her do it. It was the night before our wedding. We were in her suite drinking champagne. I saw her give it to an assistant later on that night and tell her to send it to her lawyers.”
“We did receive it, and you may have seen her write something in the signature line, Mr. Cutter, but it wasn’t her signature.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“Apparently your wife didn’t agree with the idea of a prenuptial, Mr. Cutter. So she signed the document with the words ‘Luckiest Girl Alive’ instead of with her name. Of course, that means the agreement isn’t binding.”
I stared at the books across the room, trying to process the information. I said, “How much is there?”
“The exact figure varies from moment to moment of course, given the volatility of the markets.”
“Roughly, then. The last time you looked.”
He named a figure with eight zeros attached.
I asked him to repeat it.
He named the same figure again.
I sat down behind Haley’s desk.
I said, “I had no idea it was so much.”
“I’m surprised to hear it,” said the lawyer. “Surely you must have noticed all the private jets and yachts and properties around the world.”
“Jets? You mean she had more than one?”
“I mean you have more than one, Mr. Cutter.”
“But I thought Haley chartered them. She told me she did.”
“Yes, but not the way you seem to mean. She chartered her jets to other individuals and corporations when she wasn’t using them herself. It wasn’t one of her more profitable ventures, but it did contribute a few hundred thousand to the bottom line each year.”