Page 11 of Drawing Home
“I’m on my way to work, so if you can just tell me what this is about.”
“Mrs. Mapson, trust me, this is worth a few minutes of your time.”
Emma stepped aside and let the man walk into the house. Only then did she remember Penny lingering behind her. “Penny, go to your room for a few minutes.”
Penny sighed dramatically and retreated up the stairs.
Emma asked the man to follow her to the kitchen, but she found Angus at the table reading the paper, so she turned around and led Mr. Bonivent back to the living room. The small house suddenly felt much smaller.
Emma sat in Angus’s armchair and the lawyer sat on the couch and set his briefcase on the scarred wooden trunk that served as a coffee table. He opened it and pulled out a sheaf of papers.
“I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I only had this address. No e-mail, no phone number. You’re the parent and legal guardian of Penelope Mapson?”
Emma squared her shoulders. “What exactly is this about, Mr. Bonivent?”
“My client was a man named Henry Wyatt. Did you know Mr. Wyatt?”
Emma leaned forward. “He was a regular at the hotel where I work.”
The lawyer glanced down at the papers, then up at Emma. “Are you aware that Mr. Wyatt died recently?”
Emma nodded. “I am. I was at the hotel when it happened. A shame.”
“Indeed.” The man adjusted his glasses and handed the papers to Emma. “This is a copy of Mr. Wyatt’s last will and testament. When you read it, you will see that he left his house on Actors Colony Road to your minor child, Penelope Mapson.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Emma didn’t bother looking at the papers.
Actors Colony Road was a private stretch of homes on the waterfront. She remembered reading in the paper last summer that the actor Richard Gere had sold his home there for thirty-six million dollars.
The lawyer repeated the bit about the house, and Emma knew that no matter how many times the man said the words, they still wouldn’t make sense.
“There’s been a mistake,” Emma said. “I mean, he gave her art lessons and they had a nice little friendship, but this is…this is crazy!”
The lawyer, clearly unmoved by Emma’s declaration, nodded toward the paperwork. “It’s all spelled out in the documents.”
Emma shook her head. “This doesn’t make any sense. Do I need a lawyer?”
“You do not need a lawyer to take possession of the house.”
“Do I pay taxes on this? I can’t afford it. I can’t even afford the utilities on a house like that.”
“You don’t pay taxes on the house unless you sell it. But the house is not yours to sell. As the child’s legal guardian, you will hold the property until she reaches the age of majority. At that time, she can decide to sell it.”
Emma’s mind raced. Maybe Penny had mentioned to the old man that they had money problems? But no, she was grasping at straws here. There was no way that this made sense.
“Like I said, I can’t afford the upkeep of the house.”
“Money has been set aside for the care of the house and property. Just come to me when you need funds to manage lawn care, pool maintenance, that sort of thing. Mr. Wyatt also left your daughter the contents of the house.”
“You mean the furniture?”
“The furniture, the books, his wine collection. But, most significant, his artwork. Aside from a few paintings he bequeathed to a museum in Texas.” Mr. Bonivent flipped through his copy of the paperwork he’d handed her. “Again, the works of art in the house cannot be sold until the beneficiary reaches majority, and even then, there are some stipulations.”
Emma nervously pulled her hair into a ponytail and then released it. She would have to talk to someone about this. Were any of the happy-hour regulars at the bar attorneys?
“Look, I’m sure Mr. Wyatt’s family will contest this.” But even as Emma said it, she realized that Henry Wyatt had never spoken of family. He’d never even spoken of friends. The guy was a loner.
“There is no family.” Mr. Bonivent handed Emma a document and his business card. “This spells out the handling of his artwork. I’ll need your signature in a few places. I’d be happy to answer any questions that arise.”
