Page 72 of The Murder Club

All of it. She didn’t allow the words to leave her lips. Ward was beginning to look uncomfortable.

“Having the will revert if the beneficiary dies within a year of inheriting?” she clarified.

He shrugged. “I can’t say it’s common, but it’s not wholly unusual.”

“Why?”

He took a moment, as if deciding how to explain why Nellie would have deliberately made sure the inheritance was rescinded if Gage died within a year without giving away his confidential conversations with his client.

“Well, for instance, someone might be concerned that their loved one might be taken advantage of because of their inheritance,” he finally explained. “Or perhaps placed in danger when they have a sudden influx of assets.”

It was vague, but Bailey didn’t have any trouble in figuring out that Nellie was worried someone might marry Gage for his inheritance and then get rid of him or, more likely, that the shady people who’d loaned him money might threaten to kill him if he had some extra cash.

“So the money will go to the Donaldsons?” She wanted to make sure her suspicions were right.

“Half the estate, yes.” He studied her, as if trying to analyze her concern. “But I’m the executor and Nellie left concise instructions on how she wanted the money used to improve the lives of the residents,” he added.

“Then I’m sure it will be used wisely.”

The words came out stiffly, and Bailey wasn’t surprised that Ward pressed his lips together, as if offended by the implication that she didn’t trust him.

“Here is your copy of the will.” He handed her the file. “Please feel free to have your own lawyer look it over. Once you’re satisfied it’s all in order, stop by the office and we can finalize the details so you can get your money.”

“No, I don’t need a lawyer,” she assured him, not about to explain that she was more worried at how Nellie and Gage had died and not what was going to happen to the money.

She didn’t doubt for a second that the Donaldsons would find a way to slip a portion of the inheritance into their own pockets.

“Good.” Ward touched the too-tight tie, as if suddenly anxious to be on his way. “I’ll be in Grange today dealing with yet another unexpected death, but if you call my secretary—”

“Kevin Hartford?” Bailey abruptly interrupted.

Ward jerked, as if blindsided by her ability to guess the identity of his client. “How did you know?”

She waved a dismissive hand, smoothing her expression into one of mild sympathy. “Word gets around. Poor Lisa.”

“Yes, well, it’s quite tragic, and with young children, she’ll need the legal work settled as quickly as possible.” He shifted his feet, obviously uncomfortable with the thought that he’d revealed more than he wanted to. “I should be on my way.”

“Thank you for bringing the paperwork.”

Bailey stepped aside, allowing the lawyer room to scurry through the open door and off the porch. Then, as he drove away with a soft purr of his car’s expensive engine, she glanced down at the dogs, still pressed against her legs.

“What are the odds of Ward Bennett being the lawyer for both Nellie and Pauline?” She abruptly moved to drop the file onto the coffee table. She’d deal with her inheritance later. For now, she had more important matters on her mind. “We need to talk to Dorinda,” she muttered. “Come on, boys.”

* * *

Dom parked in a corner of the lot that offered an unobstructed view of the old building next to the nursing home. He hadn’t told Bailey he intended to come here, mainly because he knew it was probably going to be a waste of time. But with nothing better to do, he’d decided to take a chance.

Amazingly, he’d only been there ten minutes or so when he caught sight of the young man in blue scrubs strolling from the nursing home into the side door of the nearby building. A grim smile curved Dom’s lips as he left his Land Rover and jogged across the parking lot.

When he slid into Eric Creswell’s car after catching him spying on Bailey he’d caught the unmistakable stench of cigarette smoke. Which meant that he was probably one of the employees that Bailey had mentioned who used the abandoned building to grab a quick smoke during his work hours.

Reaching the door, he pulled it open, pausing to peek inside. He wasn’t expecting a trap, but right now he wasn’t willing to take any chances. The late-morning sunlight was struggling to penetrate the tall windows, which hadn’t been cleaned in years, but it was enough to reveal a large lobby area that was lined with steel shelves loaded with cleaning supplies. In one corner there were several wheelchairs in various states of disrepair and in another was a stack of old mattresses.

Dom’s attention turned to the slender man standing in the center of the room, puffing on a cigarette. With a grimace, he forced himself to step inside. Between the combustible chemicals and the flammable material, the place felt like a death trap. All it would take was one spark from the cigarette.

He quietly moved to stand directly behind the man, who was obviously lost in his thoughts.

“Hello, Eric.”

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