"Mr. McNally," she said crisply, "I understand you were the attorney for the late Roderick Gillsworth."
"That is correct."
"Then I suppose you're handling his estate?"
He inclined his head, and she took that for assent. In addition to a black calfskin handbag she was carrying a zippered envelope of beige suede, large enough to hold legal documents. She opened the three-sided zipper with one swift motion and withdrew two sheets of white paper stapled together.
"I have here," she began (and I marveled at how assertive her voice was), "a photocopy of a handwritten last will and testament executed by Roderick Gillsworth approximately a month ago. It has been properly prepared, dated, and witnessed. Attached is a photocopy of an affidavit signed by the testator and both witnesses in the presence of a notary public and so certified. I believe the affidavit makes Mr. Gillsworth's will self-proving, and it may be admitted to probate without further testimony by the witnesses."
She leaned forward to proffer the documents. My father bent forward to accept them. He remained in that position a moment, staring at her expression-lessly. Then he leaned back and began to read. He perused the two sheets slowly, then read them again. He turned his swivel chair a bit to face me.
"Archy," he said, his voice dry, "this purportedly holographic will, allegedly signed by Roderick Gillsworth and witnessed by Irma Gloriana and Frank Gloriana, states that the original manuscripts of the testator's poems shall be given to the Library of Congress. Other than that, the total assets of Roderick Gillsworth at the time of his death are bequeathed to Irma Gloriana."
Al Rogoff had been right; the bomb had been dropped.
My father's aplomb was something to see. He showed absolutely no sign of the turmoil I knew must be racking him. The face he turned to Mrs. Gloriana was peaceable, and when he spoke, his voice and manner were pleasantness personified.
"You were a friend of the late Mr. Gillsworth?" he inquired.
"A close personal friend," she said defiantly, lifting her chin. "Especially after his dear wife passed over. I believe my family and I provided him with spiritual comfort."
"My son tells me your daughter-in-law is a medium."
"She is. And very gifted, I might add."
"Did Mr. Gillsworth attend the seances I understand are held at your home?"
"Occasionally. He attended with his wife."
Father nodded and seemed to relax. He looked down at the papers he was holding, rolled them into a loose tube, tapped them gently on his knee. He didn't speak, and his silence obviously perturbed Mrs. Gloriana.
"Is there any reason why this will cannot be filed for probate immediately?" she said. "It is absolutely authentic."
"Well, naturally that must be determined," he said smoothly. "The testator's signature must be verified, as well as that of the certifying notary public. A search must be conducted to locate immediate survivors-family members-if such exist. In addition, I wish to review the statutes of the State of Florida dealing with holographic wills."
That last, of course, was complete nonsense. My father knew Florida law as well or better than any attorney practicing in the State. He knew the music, knew the lyrics, and could sing you verse and refrain. He was simply stalling this would-be client.
"How long will you need?" Irma asked. "I know that probating a will takes months, so I want to get it started as soon as possible."
"Very understandable," he said. "And I shall attempt to expedite the process as much as possible. Where are the originals of these documents now?"
"In my safe deposit box."
He nodded. "And do you have any evidence, Mrs. Gloriana-personal letters from Mr. Gillsworth, for instance-that might attest to your friendship with the testator?"
"Why should that be necessary?" she asked indignantly. "Take my word for it, we were close friends."
"Oh, I do take your word," he said. "But sometimes probate judges make inquiries to establish to their own satisfaction the relationship between testator and beneficiary."
"Well, yes," she admitted, "I do have some letters from Rod. And a few unpublished poems he sent to me. And autographed copies of two of his books."
"Excellent. And where is this material at present?"
"Also in my safe deposit box."
"I suggest you have photocopies made of anything that relates to your friendship with Mr. Gillsworth and have the copies delivered to my office."
"Must I do all that?"
"I strongly urge it. It is my duty to anticipate any questions the presiding judge might have and be prepared to answer them. Do you have any notion of the size of Mr. Gillsworth's estate, madam?"
That last was asked suddenly in a sharp voice, and I could see it flustered her for a brief moment.
"Why, no," she said. "Not exactly. At the time Rod wrote out his will, he said he didn't have much."
That at least, I acknowledged, was the truth.
"And did he give you any reason why he was making a holographic will rather than coming to me, his attorney of record, to have his last testament revised?"
She was obviously ready for that query; her answer was immediate and glib: "He said that because you also represented his wife, he didn't want to run the risk of Lydia learning he had changed his will."
That implied Prescott McNally might be guilty of unethical conduct, but father voiced no objection. He stood and waited until she had gathered up handbag and suede envelope.
"Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Gloriana," he said cordially. "If you will supply me with copies of the personal correspondence in your safe deposit box, I will start preparing an application for probate as well as initiating those other inquiries I mentioned. Please feel free to phone me if you have any further questions or desire a progress report."
She nodded coolly. I wondered if they would shake hands on parting. They didn't. He opened the office door for her and she swept through, head high, indomitable.
Father returned to his swivel chair, and I collapsed onto the couch, weary from standing erect for so long.
"As you said, Archy," the sire remarked with a wry smile, "a disturbing woman."
"Sir," I said, "is a handwritten will legal in Florida?"
"Oh yes," he said, "if it is properly prepared, as this one apparently is. In addition, the attached affidavit serves as self-proof of the authenticity of the will."
"And is a witness allowed to inherit?"
"Yes, a witness to a last will and testament may also be a beneficiary, under Florida law. Archy, me-thinks the lady and Gillsworth had the assistance of an attorney in preparing this will and the accompanying affidavit. Some of the language she used was legalese, borrowed from the lawyer I'm certain she consulted. The question then arises: Why did she come to me? The will I prepared for Gillsworth has been superseded by this holographic will. And, in effect, I have been superseded. Mrs. Gloriana could just as easily have retained the attorney who assisted her and asked him to file for probate. But she came to me. Why?"
"Father, I think she figured that by retaining you she would eliminate the possibility of your asking embarrassing questions, causing trouble, delaying her receiving what she considers her rightful due. And if you raise too many objections, she'll offer to cut you in on her inheritance."
He looked at me thoughtfully. "Yes," he said, "I do believe you may be correct. The lady is using me, and I don't relish it."
We sat in a moody silence awhile, chewing our mental cud, and then my father drew a deep breath.
"Archy," he said, "yesterday you told me you thought the Glorianas were involved in the murders of Lydia and Roderick Gillsworth but you had no idea as to their motive." He held up the copy of the holographic will. "Now you have a motive."
I rose to my feet. "I better call Sergeant Rogoff," I said. "Interesting morning, sir."