stood in one corner of the room and settled himself, leaning his powerful shoulders against
the richly paneled wall and folding his arms across his chest.
For a bodyguard, April was thinking, this guy was pretty damn persistent. Whom was he protecting now?
He caught her eye and smiled. He didn’t appear to be actively hostile. Implacable, yes. Relentless, undoubtedly. She remembered
his vow to learn everything there was to know about her. By now he must know that she was truly Rina’s daughter.
What else had he found out?
Arthur Stanley, Esq., loudly cleared his throat. “I hope to get on with this as quickly as possible, but I’ve been asked to
wait until the authorities arrive.”
“What authorities?” Isobelle asked.
“Well, a representative of the local bureau of the FBI, I believe.”
There was a stir in the room. Isobelle laughed, Christian frowned, and Armand gave a classic Gallic shrug. Only Blackthorn,
April noted, did not seem surprised.
“Is that really necessary?” Armand asked. “Surely, considering all we’ve been through during the past few days, they will
grant us some privacy?”
“I know this is a difficult occasion for all of you,” the lawyer said. “Believe me, it is difficult for us as well. Madame
de Sevigny was not only a valued client, but a personal friend.”
She had had a lot of personal friends, thought April, if the impressive turnout at the funeral was a reliable indication.
But so far no one had stepped forward admitting to be her deadly enemy.
“But her death is a police matter,” the attorney continued, “and I’m afraid the authorities do indeed have the right to the
information contained in the will…”
He was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. A tall, lanky, middle-aged man entered the room. He held up a wallet and a
shield. “Agent Martin Clemente, FBI. I hope you’ll all excuse the intrusion, but our Manhattan division has taken charge of
this investigation.”
“Well,” said Stanley, “let me say that this is most unusual, at what would normally be a private reading of the decedent’s
will, but I do understand that when a death is a police matter—”
“Just so,” Agent Clemente said.
“I’m sure the FBI have every right to be here,” Christian de Sevigny said. “Why don’t we get on with it?”
Stanley nodded and began.
The will was the usual instrument, filled with legalistic phrases and long passages that were of no particular interest. He
finally began reading the bequests, which apparently began with the small ones, to friends and distant relations, which seemed
to April an unreasonable method of heightening everyone’s suspense. Charles Ripley received a legacy of $20,000 which was
earmarked for him to “return to college, should he desire to do so.” Blackthorn also received a bequest (so that’s why he
was here) of a landscape painting, “in memory of his wife and life partner, Jessica.”
He’d had a wife who had died? April watched his face and noted that his face appeared drawn and weary. She felt a brief rush
of sympathy.
“As you know,” Stanley said, looking up from the document, “many of Madame de Sevigny’s financial interests were jointly held
with her husband. This includes real estate and securities. However, she maintained separate ownership of her business, Power
Perspectives, Inc., and, as the sole proprietor, she was entitled to determine the deposition of that property.”
He paused. There was a collective shifting in the room as everybody waited. April glanced again at Isobelle. She was leaning
forward eagerly. April had heard that during the last couple of years Isobelle had been a creative partner with Rina in building
Power Perspectives into a successful business. Would she be as charismatic a leader as Rina had proved to be?
“Mme. de Sevigny made an alteration in her will just a few weeks ago,” said Stanley. “There is no evidence that she was
the richly paneled wall and folding his arms across his chest.
For a bodyguard, April was thinking, this guy was pretty damn persistent. Whom was he protecting now?
He caught her eye and smiled. He didn’t appear to be actively hostile. Implacable, yes. Relentless, undoubtedly. She remembered
his vow to learn everything there was to know about her. By now he must know that she was truly Rina’s daughter.
What else had he found out?
Arthur Stanley, Esq., loudly cleared his throat. “I hope to get on with this as quickly as possible, but I’ve been asked to
wait until the authorities arrive.”
“What authorities?” Isobelle asked.
“Well, a representative of the local bureau of the FBI, I believe.”
There was a stir in the room. Isobelle laughed, Christian frowned, and Armand gave a classic Gallic shrug. Only Blackthorn,
April noted, did not seem surprised.
“Is that really necessary?” Armand asked. “Surely, considering all we’ve been through during the past few days, they will
grant us some privacy?”
“I know this is a difficult occasion for all of you,” the lawyer said. “Believe me, it is difficult for us as well. Madame
de Sevigny was not only a valued client, but a personal friend.”
She had had a lot of personal friends, thought April, if the impressive turnout at the funeral was a reliable indication.
But so far no one had stepped forward admitting to be her deadly enemy.
“But her death is a police matter,” the attorney continued, “and I’m afraid the authorities do indeed have the right to the
information contained in the will…”
He was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. A tall, lanky, middle-aged man entered the room. He held up a wallet and a
shield. “Agent Martin Clemente, FBI. I hope you’ll all excuse the intrusion, but our Manhattan division has taken charge of
this investigation.”
“Well,” said Stanley, “let me say that this is most unusual, at what would normally be a private reading of the decedent’s
will, but I do understand that when a death is a police matter—”
“Just so,” Agent Clemente said.
“I’m sure the FBI have every right to be here,” Christian de Sevigny said. “Why don’t we get on with it?”
Stanley nodded and began.
The will was the usual instrument, filled with legalistic phrases and long passages that were of no particular interest. He
finally began reading the bequests, which apparently began with the small ones, to friends and distant relations, which seemed
to April an unreasonable method of heightening everyone’s suspense. Charles Ripley received a legacy of $20,000 which was
earmarked for him to “return to college, should he desire to do so.” Blackthorn also received a bequest (so that’s why he
was here) of a landscape painting, “in memory of his wife and life partner, Jessica.”
He’d had a wife who had died? April watched his face and noted that his face appeared drawn and weary. She felt a brief rush
of sympathy.
“As you know,” Stanley said, looking up from the document, “many of Madame de Sevigny’s financial interests were jointly held
with her husband. This includes real estate and securities. However, she maintained separate ownership of her business, Power
Perspectives, Inc., and, as the sole proprietor, she was entitled to determine the deposition of that property.”
He paused. There was a collective shifting in the room as everybody waited. April glanced again at Isobelle. She was leaning
forward eagerly. April had heard that during the last couple of years Isobelle had been a creative partner with Rina in building
Power Perspectives into a successful business. Would she be as charismatic a leader as Rina had proved to be?
“Mme. de Sevigny made an alteration in her will just a few weeks ago,” said Stanley. “There is no evidence that she was
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