“Holy shit!” Max said. “I’ve got thirty thousand dollars a month in income, just like that?”
“Thirty-one thousand dollars. Your aunt didn’t use a rental agent, so that’s all yours. Oh, there’ll be some estate tax to pay.”
“How much?”
“Ballpark, ten to fifteen million.”
“Jesus, why so much?”
“Well, the two Duval Street properties are probably worth a lot, together, maybe twenty-five million; the two rental houses, maybe three million; and your aunt’s house another three million. Oh, and there’s another eleven million in her brokerage account. You’ll need to talk with her accountant, William Kemp, about filing a final tax return, and an estate tax return.”
“I had no idea she had that kind of money!”
Jack poured her a glass of ice water from a pitcher on his desk. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “You don’t look so good.”
Max sipped the water and felt better. “I think I had a moment of depression when you mentioned the taxes. I’m better now that I’ve got the whole picture.” She drank the rest of the water. “That is the whole picture, isn’t it?”
“Well, she’s got that old Mercedes that she was driven around in, and the furnishings of her house. I’ve no idea what that’s all worth. You’re going to need some cash to pay the taxes, of course. I’d suggest you sell the larger of the two Duval properties. The renter of the larger one is a client of this office, and I’m sure he’d like to buy it. Shall I see what he’s willing to offer?”
“Yes, sure. Do that.”
“Oh, and your aunt’s body is down at the funeral home. You might want to give them a call about arrangements — a funeral, and all.”
“She has a cemetery plot,” Max said. “The whole family is there. As for a funeral, all her family and everybody she knows is dead, so who’d come?”
“Talk to the funeral director.” Jack handed her a card. “And you ought to call William Kemp to get him started on the tax returns.” He gave her another card.
“Thanks, Jack, I’ll do that. Oh, I almost forgot. You hear about the plane crash out at Fort Jefferson?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “I heard somebody took away the wreckage, too.”
“We think we might know where it is, but we need a search warrant, and for that we need probable cause to think a crime has been committed. Any ideas on what crime could be involved?”
“Was the airplane stolen?”
“Good question. I’ll have to find the answer.”
“Get the owner to report it stolen and your problem will be solved.”
Max stood up. “Thank you, Jack. I’ll give William a call, and the funeral director, too.”
She walked outside into the sunshine and took a few deep breaths. Life has just changed, she thought.
16
Max drove to the station and parked in a detective’s slot. Tommy was at his desk, feet up, reading the Key West Citizen.
“I see your native sloth has emerged again,” Max said.
“Call it research. I’m seeing if there are any local stories about the airplane.”
“Go ahead, I’ve got a couple of calls to make.” She sat down, pulled out the cards Jack Spottswood had given her, and called the funeral director. It took ten minutes to convince him that he should choose the best coffin he had for less than $7,500, dress her aunt in a shroud, and that, no, she didn’t wish to view the corpse. He could advertise a graveside service for a couple of days hence, clear the date with her aunt’s pastor, then send her a bill. Next call was to William Kemp, her aunt’s accountant and someone she knew, as she did almost everyone else in Key West.
“Jack sent me the file,” William said, “and I have all her tax returns in my files. I reckon the large building on Duval is worth at least six million dollars and the smaller one half that.”
“Jack says he thinks the renter might want to buy it.”
“He’ll offer you a million, hoping you’ll bite. Hold out for six.”
“I’ll consider that.”
“I guess you want to know what your new net worth is and how much the taxes are.”
“Right.”
“Let’s see what you decide to keep and to sell, then we’ll talk. Have you checked out your aunt’s house?”
“Not for a couple of years.”
“Well, she spent the last six months or so renovating the place. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. There’s a key under the flowerpot to the right of the front door.”
“I’ll take a look at it,” she said, “and I’ll call you later.” She hung up, and her cell rang. “Yes?”
“It’s Jack Spottswood. The tenant has offered a million dollars for the larger of the two buildings and half that for the smaller one, all cash, quick closing.”
“I want six million for the big one and three for the little one, and that’s firm.”
“I’ll call you back.”
“What’s going on?” Tommy said from behind his paper. “Why are you talking millions?”
“My aunt Maxine died and left everything to me. You want to take a ride with me and see her house?”
“Why not? There’s nothing in the paper about an airplane.”
Aunt Maxine’s house was a large Victorian in Old Town, not far from where Jack Spottswood lived, and Max thought his house was probably the best in town. They got out of the car and looked at the place. It was newly painted, and the landscaping was copious and well cared for. They walked up the front steps, and Max noted that the old wicker furniture on the front porch had new seat covers. She found the key, but the door was unlocked.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice called. “Who that?”
“Are you sure she’s dead?” Tommy asked.
“That’s her housekeeper. Birdie?” she called back.
A plump, elderly African-American woman bustled into the room. “Miss Maxine!” she cried and enveloped her in a bear hug. “We haven’t seen you for a long time.”
“I’ve been real busy, Birdie. I’m sorry I didn’t get by before she was gone.”
“She had an easy death,” Birdie said. “I brought her lunch in bed, and when I came back for the tray, she had left us. She had been real tired for a couple of weeks, and I thought it might be coming. I had the doctor in, and he seemed to think pretty much the same. She was ninety-seven years old.”
Max looked around. “Well, you’ve certainly kept the place well.”
“She got in a redecoration fever a few months back, and she spent a small fortune on the place. It was like she knew you’d be moving in.”
“Let’s look around,” Max said. “You lead the way.”
Aunt Maxine, Max thought, had either had a real flair for interior design or a first-rate decorator. The place was ready to sell.
“I’ve taken all her clothes out,” Birdie said. “Nothing fit me, so I took the liberty of giving it all to my church for their sale.”
“That’s perfectly all right, Birdie.”
“Her jewelry is still in the safe.” She produced a slip of paper. “That there is the combination. She bought all new linens for the whole house.”
“How many bedrooms?”
“Her master suite and four more,” Birdie said. “I live in what used to be the guesthouse out back.”
“Well, you go right on living there, Birdie,” Max said.
“When will you move in?”
“Just as soon as I legally own the place,” Max said. “I’d love it if you stayed on.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Birdie cried.
Max inspected every room in the place, then she and Tommy went back to the car.
“Well,” Tommy said. “All of a sudden, you’re a grande dame!”
Max took a sheet of paper from her purse. “We’ve got two more houses to look at,” she said. They went and took a look at the two rentals and met the tenants. They had been renovated, too, but one of the tenants gave notice and said she was leaving town shortly.