eight. Every single seat was taken.
At the head was Arthur Kincaid, whose briefcase was closed on the table in front of him. To his left sat Philip and Ethel Hurley, dressed as game-show hosts, and fidgety as game-show contestants. Today, Philip’s sports jacket was wildly yellow, perhaps out of deference to Ethel’s puce dress. Taken together, they reminded Sherry of a salamander.
Across from Philip sat Phyllis Hurley Applegate. Severe, in a prim gray dress, she could have passed for the warden of a women’s prison. Though not smiling, she still managed to appear smug and gloating.
Her husband, Morty, sitting next to her, was doing a remarkable job of appearing insignificant.
Next to Philip and Ethel Hurley sat an elderly man with bad teeth. He had other features—a bald head, big ears, and a hook nose chief among them—but the teeth were the first thing Sherry noticed. They were remarkably bad—black, broken, twisted, or simply missing. One of his front teeth was gone. The other looked as if the dentist had filed it down for a cap, and then neglected to put the cap on. The end result was wholly unattrac Vg themtive.
The ugly man was dressed like a lumberjack. In spite of the heat, he wore a flannel shirt and overalls, the type with a bib and shoulder straps. The pockets in the bib bulged with assorted junk—Sherry noted a paint-smeared screwdriver handle, a twisted pipe cleaner, a gnarled pencil, and a broken straw.
Across from the old man sat a woman who looked like she’d been kicked in the face by a horse. Her nose was flat, not the way a boxer’s broken nose might be flattened, but simply in that it did not protrude from her face. It was not broad, either, just a flat little nose that sat above thin lips, and a bulldog jaw. The woman looked as if she’d just sucked a lemon.
At the end of the table, opposite the lawyer’s chair, slumped Daniel Hurley, who had obviously not cleaned himself up for the occasion. The young man was still dressed in boots, jeans, and leather jacket.
In addition to those seated at the table there were several people standing, including Aaron Grant, who was at Sherry’s side; Becky Baldwin, who was standing behind the Hurleys; a teenage boy who didn’t seem connected to anyone at the table and who looked exquisitely unhappy to be there; and a gaunt woman, inexpensively yet impeccably dressed, whom Sherry immediately pegged as a spinster, then chided herself for doing so.
Arthur Kincaid looked at his watch, rose, and cleared his throat. The room fell instantly silent.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Arthur Kincaid said. “The time has come for the reading of the will. It is my responsibility—”
Before the heirs could learn what the lawyer’s responsibility was, however, footsteps pounded up the stairs and Chief Harper walked into the room.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. Sorry to interrupt. Police business. I’ll try to be brief. Arthur, if I could have a moment …”
Chief Harper pushed to the front of the room and led the lawyer off into a corner, where the two men proceeded to converse in low tones. Neither looked happy.
Neither did the heirs. All watched Chief Harper and Arthur Kincaid with deepening distrust and suspicion.
Arthur Kincaid returned to the head of the table, stood with his hands resting on the back of his chair. He cleared his throat again. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. Before we get to the reading of the will, Chief Harper has another matter he needs to address. He has promised to be brief. I ask you all to give him your cooperation so we can get the matter out of the way as quickly as possible.”
All eyes were glued to Chief Harper.
“Thank you,” the Chief said. “Some of you are aware there was a break-in at the Hurley mansion the night before last. A man by the name of Jeff Beasley was apprehended on the premises—”
“Is that the man last night said I owed him a drink?” Philip Hurley interrupted.
“That’s him,”
At the head was Arthur Kincaid, whose briefcase was closed on the table in front of him. To his left sat Philip and Ethel Hurley, dressed as game-show hosts, and fidgety as game-show contestants. Today, Philip’s sports jacket was wildly yellow, perhaps out of deference to Ethel’s puce dress. Taken together, they reminded Sherry of a salamander.
Across from Philip sat Phyllis Hurley Applegate. Severe, in a prim gray dress, she could have passed for the warden of a women’s prison. Though not smiling, she still managed to appear smug and gloating.
Her husband, Morty, sitting next to her, was doing a remarkable job of appearing insignificant.
Next to Philip and Ethel Hurley sat an elderly man with bad teeth. He had other features—a bald head, big ears, and a hook nose chief among them—but the teeth were the first thing Sherry noticed. They were remarkably bad—black, broken, twisted, or simply missing. One of his front teeth was gone. The other looked as if the dentist had filed it down for a cap, and then neglected to put the cap on. The end result was wholly unattrac Vg themtive.
The ugly man was dressed like a lumberjack. In spite of the heat, he wore a flannel shirt and overalls, the type with a bib and shoulder straps. The pockets in the bib bulged with assorted junk—Sherry noted a paint-smeared screwdriver handle, a twisted pipe cleaner, a gnarled pencil, and a broken straw.
Across from the old man sat a woman who looked like she’d been kicked in the face by a horse. Her nose was flat, not the way a boxer’s broken nose might be flattened, but simply in that it did not protrude from her face. It was not broad, either, just a flat little nose that sat above thin lips, and a bulldog jaw. The woman looked as if she’d just sucked a lemon.
At the end of the table, opposite the lawyer’s chair, slumped Daniel Hurley, who had obviously not cleaned himself up for the occasion. The young man was still dressed in boots, jeans, and leather jacket.
In addition to those seated at the table there were several people standing, including Aaron Grant, who was at Sherry’s side; Becky Baldwin, who was standing behind the Hurleys; a teenage boy who didn’t seem connected to anyone at the table and who looked exquisitely unhappy to be there; and a gaunt woman, inexpensively yet impeccably dressed, whom Sherry immediately pegged as a spinster, then chided herself for doing so.
Arthur Kincaid looked at his watch, rose, and cleared his throat. The room fell instantly silent.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Arthur Kincaid said. “The time has come for the reading of the will. It is my responsibility—”
Before the heirs could learn what the lawyer’s responsibility was, however, footsteps pounded up the stairs and Chief Harper walked into the room.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. Sorry to interrupt. Police business. I’ll try to be brief. Arthur, if I could have a moment …”
Chief Harper pushed to the front of the room and led the lawyer off into a corner, where the two men proceeded to converse in low tones. Neither looked happy.
Neither did the heirs. All watched Chief Harper and Arthur Kincaid with deepening distrust and suspicion.
Arthur Kincaid returned to the head of the table, stood with his hands resting on the back of his chair. He cleared his throat again. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. Before we get to the reading of the will, Chief Harper has another matter he needs to address. He has promised to be brief. I ask you all to give him your cooperation so we can get the matter out of the way as quickly as possible.”
All eyes were glued to Chief Harper.
“Thank you,” the Chief said. “Some of you are aware there was a break-in at the Hurley mansion the night before last. A man by the name of Jeff Beasley was apprehended on the premises—”
“Is that the man last night said I owed him a drink?” Philip Hurley interrupted.
“That’s him,”
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