"Here you're going to play on grass?" Sandy asked.
If Tracy McLaughlin had a sense of humor, it wasn't apparent in the dead seriousness of his responses. "That's right. The game is prepared by placing all the markers ten feet from the edge of the grid. The judges will place the starting pieces in position. They are marked with an International Orange adhesive tag and may not be moved for the duration of the round. The remainder of the pieces will remain untouched and on the sidelines until the starter's signal. Markers may be moved at will during the round, but doing so more than once will slow the competitor. Markers may be carried or rolled. Speed is essential. So is accuracy."
Listening to him drone on, outlining the rules, it occurred to Ali that she was listening to an engineer masquerading as a bodybuilder. Sandy's attention seemed to be wandering, too.
"So how will today's match work?"
"What's all this?" Victor Angeleri demanded. His sotto voce greeting to Ali provoked an angry frown and an exaggerated shushing motion from a woman on the sidelines with more tattoos and piercings than clothing.
Ali rose to her feet and hurried inside with her attorney on her heels. "Mr. McLaughlin is outlining the rules for Sumo Sudoku," she said, once in the living room. "It's supposed to be the next big thing."
Victor stopped and looked back out on the terrace. "Really? Next to what?"
"Beach volleyball, for all I know," Ali answered. "But from what I'm hearing, I'm guessing the world is safe from Sumo Sudoku. What about the will?"
"Les just got here," Victor told her. "It's time."
Victor ushered her into Paul's studywhat used to be Paul's study. An unfamiliar man was seated behind Paul's ultramodern mirrored glass and stainless steel desk. He rose when Ali entered the room. "Les Jordan," he said. "You must be Ms. Reynolds."
Ali nodded.
"Sorry to be meeting under such unfortunate circumstances."
Ali nodded again. She looked around. Usually there were only three extra chairs in the roomtwo captain's chairs and a leather sling-backed contraption that was supposedly ergonomically superior to any other chair in the house. It was also Ali's least favorite. Helga was seated next to the wall in that one. It would probably soon be Helga's least favorite as well since her feet barely touched the floor. But today, with four lawyers already present, three extra swivel chairs from the game table in the family room had been crammed into the study as well.
Ali took one of those while Victor and Ted Grantham settled into the two captain's chairs. "I expect Ms. Gaddis should be joining us any moment," Mr. Jordan said seriously. "If you don't mind waiting amp;"
It wasn't lost on Ali that, while they waited for April to put in her appearance, Ali was sitting in a roomful of attorneys, all of them chalking up billable hours at an astonishing rate.
And it's all Paul's fault, she thought. If he hadn't gone and gotten himself killed, if he'd tended to business, if he'd kept his pants zipped amp;
"Would you care for some coffee?" Mr. Jordan asked.
There was something about being in her former home and being offered coffee by a visitor, especially a visiting attorney, that rubbed Ali the wrong way. "No thanks," she said. "April and I had coffee together out on the terrace a few minutes ago."
It was worth the price of admissionwhatever that might beto see four attorneys watching her in drop-jawed amazement. Before any of them replied, however, two newcomers showed up in the library doorway. One was a relatively attractive woman of indeterminate age. Her face was a tight-skinned mask that spoke of too many dollars spent on a high-priced plastic surgeon. Ali recognized the typea Hollywood socialite wifeor more likely ex-wifewith more nerve than money. The bow tiewearing man at the woman's side was, Ali realized at once, yet another attorneymaking the grand total five in all. Five too many.
"Good morning, Mrs. Ragsdale," Les Jordan said smoothly, rising to his feet. "Come in, please. I didn't realize you would be here or that you'd be bringing someone with you. I'll send out for more chairs."
"We'll only need one," the woman said. "My daughter won't be attending this meeting after all. She's not feeling up to it."
"Well then," Les said, "with all due respect, you probably shouldn't be here, either, Mrs. Ragsdale. Client confidentiality rules and all that."
Dismissing him with a look, Mrs. Ragsdale turned away from Les Jordan and addressed the other people in the room. "My name's Monique Ragsdale," she said. "April Gaddis is my daughter. And this," she added, indicating the man beside her, "is Harlan Anderson. I've retained him to be here on the baby's behalfon Sonia Marie's behalf. Regardless of whether or not we're dealing with an old will or a new one, Mr. Anderson and I are here to make sure that my granddaughter's interests are protected."
Leaving Harlan standing, she strode into the room, settled her designer-clad self into one of the game room chairs, crossed her long high-heeled legs, and then gave Les a cool appraisal. "Shall we get started then?" she asked.
Ali knew at once that Monique was one tough cookie. Short of someone bodily throwing her out of the room, she and her attorney weren't leaving.
Les looked questioningly at Ali. "By all means," Ali said. "Let's get on with it."
Les Jordan sighed. First he went around the room, making all the necessary introductions, saving Ali for last.
"I know who she is," Monique said shortly. "I've seen her before. On TV. Now tell us about the will."
"The truth is, a new will was prepared," Jordan continued. "It's been drawn up, but it was never signed. We expected to finalize this after the divorce hearing yesterday. Obviously that didn't happen, so the most recent last will and testament, the one that's still in effect, is the one that was drawn up eight years ago shortly after Paul's marriage to Ms. Reynolds here."
A file folder had been lying on the table in front of him. He opened it now and began to read. Ali only half listened. She was familiar with the provisions. Shortly after the wedding, she and Paul had signed similar documents. Ali had left behind a trust for Chris. Paul had named some charitable bequests. Other than those, they had left everything to each other. Ali remembered that they had signed the wills in some other attorney's office. At the time, it had seemed that Paul was going out of his way to protect Ali's interests. Now, though, under these changed circumstances, being Paul's sole beneficiary opened several cans of worms, not the least of which, Ali realized, would be Monique Ragsdale.
As Les Jordan read through the provisionsthe charitable bequests as well as the personal onesMonique became more and more agitated. The bottom line was clear. Ali Reynolds was still Paul Grayson's wife, and since much of what they owned was community property, it went to Ali.
"You mean to tell me that April and her baby get nothing?" Monique demanded. "How can that be? You drew up the new will. Why wasn't it signed?"
Les Jordan was exceedingly patient. "Paul and I had an appointment to sign the will yesterday afternoon after the divorce was final. He wanted to do it that way. Thought it would be cleaner somehow. We were scheduled to meet here at the house so he and April could both sign new documents. Obviously that didn't happen."
"I knew Paul Grayson," Monique declared. "He was an honorable man. I can't believe he meant to leave either his intended bride or his child unprovided for."
Honorable? Ali thought to herself. With Paul Grayson's legal widow sitting right there in the room and with his pregnant not-bride sitting somewhere upstairs, that seemed an odd thing to say. You could call Paul any number of things, but honorable certainly wasn't one of them.