| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted March 24, 2024 | Chapters: |
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An unexpected inheritance and murder
A chapter in the book The Unwilling Heir
The Unwilling Heir - Chap 1
by Begin Again
Ryan sighed, looking up at the ominous clouds in the distance. "You know, a person as sweet as me could melt if those clouds decide to open up. Any of you clowns bring an umbrella?"
A tall, distinguished-looking gentleman in the group rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Ryan. You're not made of sugar. And no, none of us brought an umbrella. So, let's get this over with."
'You know what I think?" Benny wore a plaid flannel over a white T-shirt and jeans, unlike the others who wore suits.
"No one cares what you think," Ryan snarled. "You probably think we should just pop her and put her in the casket, too."
Benny sneered, "You're nuts! I wouldn't put that bag of bones in the same box as Noah. He was my friend, remember?"
James stood still, his eyes transfixed on the towering iron gates marking the entrance to Willow Creek Cemetery. As he waited, a solemn procession of long, black limousines slowly emerged from behind the gates and began to wind their way up the hill toward the burial grounds. The quiet hum of the engines echoed through the stillness of the air, adding to the eerie ambiance of the scene.
"I'm thinking we should walk right up to the widow, real official-like, and express our condolences for her loss —"
"Yeah, and then drop it on her." Benny chuckled. "Madeline Wakefield, we're here to investigate the death of your late husband. We suspect foul play."
Judge Parker stepped forward, trying to sound authoritative. "Listen, we've already decided, so just shut your mouths, and let's get this over with."
A tall, distinguished-looking gentleman in the group rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Ryan. You're not made of sugar. And no, none of us brought an umbrella. So, let's get this over with."
'You know what I think?" Benny wore a plaid flannel over a white T-shirt and jeans, unlike the others who wore suits.
"No one cares what you think," Ryan snarled. "You probably think we should just pop her and put her in the casket, too."
Benny sneered, "You're nuts! I wouldn't put that bag of bones in the same box as Noah. He was my friend, remember?"
James stood still, his eyes transfixed on the towering iron gates marking the entrance to Willow Creek Cemetery. As he waited, a solemn procession of long, black limousines slowly emerged from behind the gates and began to wind their way up the hill toward the burial grounds. The quiet hum of the engines echoed through the stillness of the air, adding to the eerie ambiance of the scene.
"I'm thinking we should walk right up to the widow, real official-like, and express our condolences for her loss —"
"Yeah, and then drop it on her." Benny chuckled. "Madeline Wakefield, we're here to investigate the death of your late husband. We suspect foul play."
Judge Parker stepped forward, trying to sound authoritative. "Listen, we've already decided, so just shut your mouths, and let's get this over with."
"Always have to have the last word, don't you?" Benny sniffed and turned away.
"The Judge is right. We stick to the plan." James sighed. "The procession is coming up the hill."
"I'm telling you, James, this is a bad idea." Ryan paced back and forth near the gravesite as he watched the line of cars.
"It's the only way," Judge Parker's eyes narrowed as the grieving widow exited the car. "Unless one of you has a better idea. Save your breath because I already know you don't."
James shook his head. "We've been through this, guys. The girl is the key to Noah's death. Show a little respect, will you?"
Benny's eyes had a strange gleam as he smiled, a sly smirk on his face. "I could have easily taken her out." He pointed his finger at the widow and mimicked the sound of a gun, holding up his finger.
Ryan's left eyebrow arched in disbelief. "Benny, it's your crazy ideas that got you in this mess," he said, shaking his head.
"I'm not the only one in this mess, Detective." Benny sneered at Ryan, his voice laced with sarcasm. "You're no better than me. Weren't you the one sitting in your car outside the mansion with blood all over your clothes and hands?" Turning to the Judge, he added, "And I got the scoop on you too."
"Shut up, both of you. Your arguing could wake the dead," the Judge interjected, his voice stern.
Benny's eyes widened at the Judge's remark. "God forbid! I might have put some of these people six feet under." He looked upward and whispered, "Forgive me, Father," while signing the cross. He shrugged. "But trust me, most of them deserved it," he assured the Lord.
*****
Six somber-looking men dressed in dark suits and ties were carefully carrying a silver casket up the steep and winding hill toward the burial site of Noah Wakefield. The recently widowed woman, dressed in a long black dress, wore a wide-brimmed black hat and a veil that obscured her face from curious onlookers. She dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes with a white lace handkerchief and a faint smile on her lips as if relishing the attention she was about to receive at her deceased husband's graveside.
James let out a deep and audible sigh, his eyes scanning the grounds before he spoke in a low and urgent tone. "They're almost here. You three need to leave right now before they see you."
"See us?" The three men disappeared, leaving James to greet the widow.
*****
The six men carefully positioned the casket on the stand. At the same time, the soft melody of "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" played in the background, filling the chapel tent with a mournful atmosphere. James greeted the widow as Madeline entered the tent and led her toward a seat. "Was this song your choice or Noah's?"
"It was mine. It reminds me how Noah would do anything for me." Madeline smiled.
James chuckled. "You were down and out when he rescued you from the streets."
"We were in love." People were milling around, and Madeline didn't like the conversation. She lowered her voice and spoke, "I'm surprised to see you here, James, since you rarely leave the carriage house." She smiled, but it wasn't a warm one. "Lucky for you, Noah left the run-down place to you. I would have torn it down."
His eyes narrowed. "I'm here for Noah and no other reason, Madeline. We were friends."
She snarled, "Friends! Almost a couple, I'd say. My husband spent more time in the carriage house garden with you than with me."
"He found peace there. He wasn't one to enjoy all the parties and your wild friends." James scanned the mourners. "Not too many of them made it to the services, I see."
"They'll be at the house, I am sure." Madeline smiled. "It's a catered affair."
"The last big blowout before you are forced to move." James couldn't hide his satisfaction.
"Don't start celebrating because I'm not going anywhere. That woman will not force me out of my home."
"That woman has a name!" He fought to control the anger building inside him. "Sandra Monroe isn't doing anything, Madeline. It was Noah's decision."
"The man was sick. His mind was confused." Madeline stared at the casket. "He — he loved me. He wanted me to have the best of everything." She sneered, "When we were married, he promised me the mansion. And it's mine, now."
"You and I know your marriage was a sham. He believed your lies, and his soft heart rescued you from the life you were living. Regretfully, he learned the truth." James leaned toward her. "Admit it! You were a prostitute working out of a brothel, and Noah was your sucker."
Madeline's eyes flared with fury as she slapped James's face. "Liar! How dare you defame me?" She moved toward Noah's casket and sobbed. "Noah, darling, do you see his cruelty now?"
James walked away, leaving her so-called friends to comfort her.
*****
Sandra felt uncomfortable attending Noah Wakefield's funeral, a request from a stranger. She had parked her car further away from the procession, giving herself time to observe the gathering from a distance. Standing outside her car, she fought the urge to climb back inside and drive away. Sandra asked herself the same questions she'd been asking since receiving the letter. "Who are you? And why am I here?"
She'd chosen a black pantsuit and a string of pearls, a gift from her fiance, Michael. As she stood in the cemetery, surrounded by the headstones, memories of her own flooded her thoughts, and she couldn't help but shiver. It felt like it had been just yesterday, not three years ago. She'd understood Michael's illness was terminal. They'd even had long conversations about it. However, when the time finally came, she realized she was unprepared to face the reality of it all. She wondered if she'd ever be able to love again.
The music drifted across the rows of gravestones, reaching Sandra's ears. When she recognized the song, Sandra smiled, asking, "Are you sending me a sign, Michael?" She remembered he had requested the same song to be played at his funeral, reassuring her of his eternal presence.
She adjusted her jacket, brushing away a few cookie crumbs. Another thing she'd shared with Michael. She was ready. "Well, Sandra, it's now or never."
Her confidence faded as she weaved through the rows of headstones. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she remembered what had brought her to a stranger's funeral — the letter!
Yesterday, she received a letter from a judge saying she'd inherited a mansion in Willow Creek, a place she'd never heard of before, from someone she didn't know. There was only one condition: she was to attend Noah Wakefield's funeral. She'd tossed the letter in the trash, thinking it was a hoax. Still, her curiosity got the best of her after reading Noah's obituary.
She decided to make an appearance and then leave. Nobody would even know she was there if she remained in the back.
As she approached the gathering at the gravesite, Sandra noticed Madeline, the widow, standing at the head of the casket. Anguish was written on her face, and streaks of mascara dotted her face. She clutched a tissue in her trembling hand, holding back the tears. Sandra's heart went out to her. She knew all too well the pain of losing a loved one.
Sandra stepped forward, extending her hand to offer her condolences. "Mrs. Wakefield —"
*****
Sandra felt uncomfortable attending Noah Wakefield's funeral, a request from a stranger. She had parked her car further away from the procession, giving herself time to observe the gathering from a distance. Standing outside her car, she fought the urge to climb back inside and drive away. Sandra asked herself the same questions she'd been asking since receiving the letter. "Who are you? And why am I here?"
She'd chosen a black pantsuit and a string of pearls, a gift from her fiance, Michael. As she stood in the cemetery, surrounded by the headstones, memories of her own flooded her thoughts, and she couldn't help but shiver. It felt like it had been just yesterday, not three years ago. She'd understood Michael's illness was terminal. They'd even had long conversations about it. However, when the time finally came, she realized she was unprepared to face the reality of it all. She wondered if she'd ever be able to love again.
The music drifted across the rows of gravestones, reaching Sandra's ears. When she recognized the song, Sandra smiled, asking, "Are you sending me a sign, Michael?" She remembered he had requested the same song to be played at his funeral, reassuring her of his eternal presence.
She adjusted her jacket, brushing away a few cookie crumbs. Another thing she'd shared with Michael. She was ready. "Well, Sandra, it's now or never."
Her confidence faded as she weaved through the rows of headstones. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she remembered what had brought her to a stranger's funeral — the letter!
Yesterday, she received a letter from a judge saying she'd inherited a mansion in Willow Creek, a place she'd never heard of before, from someone she didn't know. There was only one condition: she was to attend Noah Wakefield's funeral. She'd tossed the letter in the trash, thinking it was a hoax. Still, her curiosity got the best of her after reading Noah's obituary.
She decided to make an appearance and then leave. Nobody would even know she was there if she remained in the back.
As she approached the gathering at the gravesite, Sandra noticed Madeline, the widow, standing at the head of the casket. Anguish was written on her face, and streaks of mascara dotted her face. She clutched a tissue in her trembling hand, holding back the tears. Sandra's heart went out to her. She knew all too well the pain of losing a loved one.
Sandra stepped forward, extending her hand to offer her condolences. "Mrs. Wakefield —"
Madeline turned her head towards the voice, her swollen eyes filled with anger and pain. Her face twisted into a scowl as she recognized Sandra. The private investigator she'd hired had provided a picture that left no doubt who the woman standing there was.
"YOU!" she screamed, pointing at Sandra, her voice trembling with emotion. "How dare you come here?" she shrieked, her voice thick with hatred. The venom in Madeline's voice shocked Sandra. She had no idea what she had done to deserve such hostility.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. What have I done?" Sandra's voice was barely above a whisper.
Madeline curled her lip in disgust as she glared at Sandra. "You know exactly what you've done. You're the one Noah chose to inherit the Willow Creek mansion, right? First my husband, then my home."
Sandra's eyes widened, and she stammered, "I — I didn't know."
Sandra reached out to touch the distraught woman's arm but was met with fury. Madeline snarled, "Don't touch me! Wasn't stealing my husband enough? Now you want to humiliate me in front of our friends."
Sobbing hysterically, Madeline delivered the lines she'd practiced repeatedly in her mirror. "This woman was Noah's mistress!"
Gasps and murmuring flowed throughout the crowd, adding fuel to the fire. Madeline smiled inwardly, but her voice said something different.
"She has inherited everything, leaving me penniless." Madeline turned toward the casket, draping herself over it, moaning in despair, "Why Noah? Why?" before collapsing to the ground. Her friends rushed to lift her up.
Sandra's confusion only deepened. "No, none of that is true. I received a letter and was asked to attend the funeral. Other than that, I don't know anything else. I'm not his mistress."
"Liar! Leave! You're not welcome here or at the mansion. It's mine! I won't let you take it."
*****
Fighting back her tears, a stunned Sandra hurried away from the gathering, desperate to put it all behind her.
"Why did I come here? Why? Who would play such a hoax on me?" Sandra continued to berate herself until she heard someone calling her name. She stopped, partially because she was out of breath and partially to see who was calling her name.
"Sandra." A distinguished-looking man followed close behind her. "Sandra, please wait."
"Please, I'm sorry I upset the widow. I had no idea." Sandra swatted a tear off of her cheek.
His voice was pleasant, and his smile warm. "I know you didn't, and I'm sorry."
"I had no right to come to a funeral and upset anyone. I don't know why I'm here."
"I do!" He extended his hand toward Sandra. "May I introduce myself?" He didn't wait for an answer but continued, "I'm James Matthews. I live in the carriage house in the mansion gardens."
His kindness shattered the shield she'd put between herself and the people staring at her. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she stammered, "She's mistaken. I've never met her husband, and I have no idea why he left the mansion to me."
James smiled, reassuring her. "I know. Perhaps we should walk."
Sandra glanced down the hill at the group hovering around Madeline Wakefield. "But the widow —shouldn't I explain."
"I assure you, she will be fine. She's one for the dramatics, possibly a characteristic from earlier days." James smiled, taking her arm in his. "Some friends of mine wish to meet you."
"Meet me?" Sandra's eyebrows furrowed. "But why?"
"I'll let them explain." James slipped his arm around hers and walked across the cemetery, pointing out historic headstones. The tension eased from Sandra as he chatted about the gardens, naming each flower or butterfly.
Soon, they entered a secluded area in the cemetery. The garden was an oasis of tranquility, with blossoming Roses of Sharon and various shades of purple lilacs filling the air with a sweet fragrance. James pointed across the garden, "There they are."
Three men were lounging on cement benches. As James and Sandra approached, they stood and waved, excited to meet Sandra Monroe, the woman who inherited the mansion.
The Judge warned his friends, "The two of you need to behave. Don't scare her away unless —Well, you know the other alternative."
"No jokes about popping someone, Benny." Ryan jabbed his elbow into his friend's side.
"Me? You're the one with all the dead bodies." Benny chuckled. "Or at least ones anyone talks about."
The Judge glared at them. "Enough!"
Each assessed the woman who held their futures in her hands as they waited to be introduced.
 Recognized |
Detective Ryan Hamilton
Judge William Parker
Benny Gonzales - currently unemployed
James Matthews - writer living in the mansion's carriage house
Noah Wakefield - deceased
Madeline Wakefield - widow
Sandra Monroe - small time investigative reporter
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Judge William Parker
Benny Gonzales - currently unemployed
James Matthews - writer living in the mansion's carriage house
Noah Wakefield - deceased
Madeline Wakefield - widow
Sandra Monroe - small time investigative reporter
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