Unlike Wally, the greedy little bastard, Simon would not be getting a direct payment of cash upon Eleanor’s death. In the depths of the densest and most convoluted paragraph of that will, Wally included an outright gift of $485,000 to himself. A magnifying glass was needed to find the language. The payment was for “accrued services,” a vague and unique category of testamentary gifts that, not surprisingly, went undefined. It was absurd to think that Eleanor owed that much money to Wally.
But never mind. It wouldn’t matter. Wally wasn’t getting squat from the will he drafted or the one dear Netty was signing now in the presence of her two attesting witnesses.
As always, Simon choreographed the execution and asked Tony and Mary Beth Larson if they understood that they were vouching for the mental acuity of Ms. Eleanor Barnett. With enthusiasm, both said yes and eagerly signed their names. There were smiles and even giggles all around. Simon notarized both signatures, and in doing so sealed the fate of the most valuable last will and testament he would ever prepare.
As his way of saying thanks to the Larsons, he usually took them to lunch, and today he insisted that Eleanor join them. The invitation seemed harmless, and though it was made in good faith there was an ulterior motive. Simon, now with one distant eye on future litigation, wanted the Larsons to spend even more time with his client. They had no way of knowing that they were quite likely to be called as witnesses if the whole mess blew up. The more time they spent with Eleanor, and especially on the same morning she signed her will, the more credibility their testimony would have.
Of course Simon did not mention their possible involvement in a will contest. The Larsons had been witnessing wills for years and there had never been a problem. Why bother them now? He did have a twinge of guilt because he couldn’t warn them that one day they might get subpoenas, but he forced those thoughts out of his mind for the moment.
Simon pondered these things over chicken salad in a deli two blocks off Main, a hole-in-the-wall seldom frequented by lawyers and the courthouse gang. He did not want Wally to see him out and about with Eleanor Barnett, who was having a delightful time chatting with Tony and Mary Beth. The Larsons were friendly people, they sold insurance, and Eleanor warmed up to them considerably. She seemed to thrive on the interaction and hardly touched her salad.
After an hour of listening, Simon broke up the party with a fib about being needed in court.
The will was done. Properly signed and witnessed and notarized. He had deliberately ignored the matter of the $250 fee, simply because he did not want a check that Matilda might see. Eleanor could keep her money. He had big plans to get it back later, in spades.
Back at the office, Eleanor was saying goodbye when she thought of something. “Can we talk for a moment?”
“Of course,” Simon said. Whatever she wanted.
“Well, I’m not sure how these things work, but what happens to Wally at this point?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do we tell him that I have a new will and the one he prepared is no longer valid?”
That was the last thing Simon wanted. Wally might react badly and become unpredictable. He might press Eleanor to change her mind yet again. He would certainly come after Simon with all manner of threats, though he probably wouldn’t follow through. Sticking his name in her will to the tune of $485,000 cash outright would probably get his license suspended for a year or two, if not revoked. Simon simply did not want to deal with Wally at this point. Their disagreements would erupt later, after her funeral.
He said, “The law does not require one lawyer to inform another lawyer that a client has signed a new will that invalidates a prior one. It’s simply not done.”
“It seems like we should tell him.”
“Not now. Maybe later. The reason it’s not done is because a client, you, has the right to change your mind anytime you want. You may decide next month to change something in your new will. You many even decide to have another lawyer prepare a new one.” Simon couldn’t believe he was uttering such foolishness.
Eleanor grinned and touched his arm. “I would never do that, Simon. I’m in such good hands now. I didn’t feel this way with Wally Thackerman. I still can’t believe he tried to take my money.”
“Let’s forget about that. It’s history now. I’ll keep the original will here in my safe and you take a copy home and hide it somewhere. No one should ever see your will, Netty, do you understand? Friends, stepsons, housekeepers — no one sees your will.”
“I understand.”
“There’s one last thing we have not discussed, and that’s your final arrangements. It’s a very delicate matter and I think we should do it over lunch in the near future.”
“You mean, funeral, things like that?”
“I’m afraid so. You live alone, and there’s no family nearby, or anywhere else. Who makes decisions about your health care? Who gets the phone call when you’re sick? And, yes, the funeral and burial. Do you have a burial policy?”
“Yes, Harry and I bought one years ago. I’ll be put to rest next to him in the Eternal Springs Cemetery. It’s a lovely spot.”
“I’m sure. I’m happy to help with these decisions, Netty, and some of them could be legal in nature.”
“Gobbledygook.”
“I know. Let’s put this conversation off a couple of weeks and meet for lunch.”
“I really enjoy getting out for lunch, Simon. And the Larsons are such nice people.”
“Then let’s do lunch,” he said with a smile. The Larsons would not be invited.
Chapter 9
That night, a Friday, was the second round of the Sweet Sixteen. Simon had the bright idea to make a friendly call to Paula and suggest the family dine on pizza and watch basketball. She was lukewarm, but that was a big improvement in their relationship. The kids could stay up late. Simon could sleep on the sofa, and if by chance he was discovered there, he and Paula would laugh and say his snoring was keeping her awake.
They ordered pizza and ate on TV trays in the den in front of the big screen. Simon had prepared brackets for the Sweet Sixteen and each family member had picked winners through the Final Four. Simon had skillfully played the Vegas line and used a few tips he’d picked up hanging around Chub’s. Danny and Buck had also done some homework and were already trash-talking about their brilliant picks. Janie, age nine, had chosen her teams based on the school mascots and uniform colors and was undefeated through the first-round games the day before. Paula couldn’t have cared less but gamely hung on as if she wanted to win. She picked her winners based on the head coaches’ appearances — fitness, good looks, nice suit, well-coordinated necktie. So far she had won three and lost one. Each member put up five dollars for the winning pot, to be determined by who picked the most teams to reach the Final Four.
Simon desperately wanted a beer to go with his pizza, but alcohol had been banned. A year earlier, the school had been rocked by a scandalous party that went off the rails. A group of freshmen had been left unsupervised in a nice home and proceeded to clean out the liquor cabinet. One boy and one girl passed out and could not be revived. An ambulance was called and the kids spent the night in a hospital. They survived but the families were mortified. The school panicked and held meetings for a month. Some of the parents vowed to keep booze out of their homes. Paula, a light drinker to begin with, took a hard line. Simon had no choice but to agree. It was another good reason to live at the office.