Page 67 of Never Been Gargoyled
“We'll be there.”
After I hung up, I stared at the phone. New evidence that significantly impacted Dazy's case? That couldn't be good.
Dazy appeared in the bathroom doorway, fully dressed, her hair still damp from the shower. “Who was that?”
“Rebecca's lawyer. He wants to meet this afternoon. Says they have new evidence.”
The happiness drained from her face. “What kind of evidence?”
“He wouldn't say over the phone.”
She sank onto the edge of the bed, her shoulders sagging. “I was hoping we'd have more time to search for those letters.”
“We still might find them. This could be a bluff.”
But even as I said it, I didn't believe it. The lawyer had sounded too confident, too pleased with himself.
Hours later, we sat across from David Kingsley in Harmony Tea Shop, the same table where we'd first met with Rebecca. The lawyer was younger than I'd expected, probably in his late twenties, with perfectly styled hairand a suit that cost more than most people made in a month.
“Thank you for meeting on such short notice.” He pulled a leather folder from his briefcase. “I think you'll find what I have to show you very interesting.”
He slid a photocopied document across the table. “Helga Morrison's personal diary, dated forty-nine years ago.”
My blood ran cold. Dazy picked up the pages with trembling hands.
As she read, her face paled. When she finished, she set the pages down with shaking hands.
“What does it say?” I asked, though I was afraid I already knew.
“It's all there,” Kingsley said smugly. “Helga's pregnancy, her decision to give the baby up for adoption, even her regrets about not being able to keep the child. She clearly states that she hopes someday Rebecca will understand why she made the choice she did.”
“This could be forged,” I said.
“We had it authenticated by a handwriting expert. It's genuine.”
Dazy was staring at the table, not speaking. I could see her retreating into herself, the joy from this morning completely erased.
“Where did you find her diary?” I asked.
“Among her belongings in the nursing home.”
“I collected them,” Dazy said sharply. “There was no diary there.”
“Rebecca visited her mother not long before her death.” His slick smile grew.
“She went through Helga’s things?”
“Hermother’sthings.”
Dazy crossed her arms on her chest. “She shouldn’t have touched anything.”
He shrugged.
“Diary entries don’t invalidate her will,” I said.
“Perhaps not. But it certainly raises questions about her mental state and her motivations.” He gathered the papers back into his folder. “I think you'll find that the judge will be very interested in why a mother would ignore her biological child and leave her entire estate to a distant relative.”
“I wasn’t a distant relative,” Dazy said. “I visited her all the time in the nursing home. We played cards. Talked about all sorts of things.”
