Pier Pressure by Dorothy Francis Read Free Book Online Page B

“Keely will make four.”
    “Rats,” I blurted. “Just because I found her body? No fair. I liked Margaux. She may not have been my favorite person, but I had no reason to murder her.”
    Punt exchanged a knowing look with Jass, kicked off his sandals, and propped his feet on the coffee table. “If Keely’s going to work with us, we’d better tell her.”
    “Count me in,” I said. “Tell me what?”

Six
    “WE NEED TO discuss Margaux’s will,” Jass said, “and you need to know its contents. The family hasn’t read it in its complete form—too wordy and complicated. Harley Hubble drew it up for Margaux and she wanted the family as well as Otto Koffan to know of its existence, if not its complete contents. Her lawyer read her major bequests to us in her presence. He scheduled an in-depth reading of the will later.”
    “Why did she need a will?” I asked. “Was she ill?”
    “No,” Punt snorted. “She was old. Old people make wills.”
    “Be real, Punt. Her age played no part in her need to draw up a will. Most smart people have wills—at least those do who want their assets to go to people they love and respect rather than to the government, who’ll divvy them according to federal and state laws.”
    “So she had a will,” I said. “Works for me. What did it say, in general, of course?”
    “Margaux wanted to bond with us, with her newly acquired family,” Jass said. “I can understand that. The age difference between her and Dad. The gossip. She knew their marriage caused whispers and raised eyebrows.”
    “Big time,” Punt said. “Really big time.”
    “She worried that Punt and I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tolerate so much negative attention, so to try to win us over, she bequeathed us each a small fortune.”
    “Didn’t hurt my feelings any,” Punt said.
    “I’d heard Margaux rolled in dough even before she married Beau,” I said. “That true?”
    “Right.” Punt grinned. “Family money. My very favorite kind. She managed to whisk it out of Greece and she settled in New York. She was one smart babe. I’m guessing her looks turned heads—the right heads. She made connections, made it big in commercial real estate as well as in the elite literary field.”
    “We won’t know the exact stipulations of the will until the formal reading with lawyers present,” Jass said. “We know who inherits, but not how much.”
    “If we know who inherits, I guess we could make a list of suspects based on that information,” I said.
    “Just remember you’re in her will,” Punt said, “and it couldn’t happen to a nicer person.” Punt smiled at me—a genuine smile, not one of his smirky grins that meant so little to anyone. I began to remember the neat kid I knew in high school.
    Sometimes Punt and I accidentally found ourselves fishing on the same backcountry flats. As good sportsmen and good fishermen, we kept our distance from each other. Recently, I watched him boat his tackle during a run of bonefish while he released a pelican that had become entangled in monofilament line. Only a true sportsman would have taken the time to do that. A bonefish catch makes big-time bragging material for any fisherman.
    “Maybe with Margaux’s bequest you’ll be able to close up shop, Keely,” Jass said, breaking into my thoughts.
    “No way. I like my work, my office. Anyway, I’m not counting my javelinas before they’re caught. That’s an old saying of Gram’s—comes straight from Havana.”
    “Well,” Punt said, “no matter how you feel about Margaux’s will, if the police cry murder, you’ll be suspect along with the rest of us. We’ll have to come up with some good alibis.”
    “Like the truth,” Jass said.
    “I can think of some suspects,” I said. “Shandy Koffan, for instance. If Otto inherits, Shandy’ll get a trickle-down benefit, too. Maybe she’s bitter at seeing Margaux living on easy street while she’s still sporting spike heels and black mesh stockings and