the richest, most powerful person.
He had to admit it was possible, but chances were equally good that she had a plan. Josephine Coldiron-Lazarow would not go down without a fight—even if it meant marrying someone she didn’t love in order to obtain the money she needed. Keith could imagine her grooming her new beau, the Australian she’d met in first class, to help her retain her holdings and save face. “How do you know so much about her finances?”
“The second I started digging, I found nothing other than bills and fines and levies and trouble with the IRS,” Underwood replied. “The resort is sucking all the money away. You’ll probably have to file for bankruptcy.”
“No,” Keith began, but she talked over him.
“You’ll soon find out for yourself, since you’re the executor of her estate.”
Another surprise. Keith brought a hand to his chest. “I am? Is that a recent development?”
She scanned a document inside the file. “Not according to the date I see, which is almost five years ago. That was when the will was modified to include Roxanne. You were to get the flower store and Coldiron House. Maisey was to get Smuggler’s Cove. Roxanne was to inherit a chunk of land near the lighthouse. The rest of the estate the three of you were to hold jointly. Your mother’s diamond ring was supposed to go to Laney on her eighteenth birthday, by the way.”
She threw that aside to Maisey, who gasped a little when she heard it. “She left her ring to Laney? She loved my sweet child. That always came as such a shock to me.”
Chief Underwood winced at the pleasure in Maisey’s voice. “Only it’ll probably have to be sold. That’s why I hesitated to go into this today. I didn’t see any reason to upset you even more.”
“Why didn’t she disown me, like she swore she would?” Keith asked Maisey.
“That part doesn’t surprise me,” Maisey murmured. “Even when you two were fighting, she loved you best.”
Josephine had a funny way of showing it. Although Keith couldn’t say his mother had abused him by burning him with cigarettes, shutting him up in a cage or depriving him of food, she’d always been highly impatient, quick to anger and far too harsh. “I would’ve preferred to be Dad’s favorite, like you were,” he grumbled but directed his next remark to Chief Underwood. “Where did you find her will?”
“In her desk. I’m sorry if it seems like an invasion of privacy.” She pushed the file closer so Maisey could see for herself. “But if she was murdered, it could’ve been a key piece of evidence. I grabbed it, just in case. Besides, once a testator has died, the will becomes public record. I’m not the only one who’ll be able to read it, or get a copy, for that matter. Anyone who goes to the trouble of visiting the courthouse to request the probate file can do the same—once probate has been started, of course.”
“Who starts probate?” Maisey murmured as she read.
“That’ll be Keith, as the executor.”
Maisey glanced over at him before returning her gaze to Chief Underwood. “But...how will the businesses and the estate run in the meantime? The flower shop needs to remain open. Nancy and Marlene, not to mention Pippa and Tyrone, rely on their paychecks.”
“Keith will have the power to act on your mother’s behalf until the court can make the appropriate distributions.” Underwood spoke in a smooth, businesslike tone. “But, as I indicated, there won’t be much to distribute—maybe a little personal property, which will go to the individuals named. Even then, I’m guessing your mother’s debtors will force you to sell her furniture and her jewelry, since it’s worth more than an average person’s would be.”
“Those are keepsakes and family heirlooms!” Maisey said.
“I’m sorry.” At least she seemed genuinely sympathetic. “It must come as a blow.”
“It’s a shock, I’ll admit. But this won’t change my life. I’ll still have what I have now—I just won’t be getting any more. Losing everything would’ve been very difficult for our mother.” Maisey nudged him. “Mom must’ve been distraught. And yet I had no idea.”
“None?” Keith asked.
Maisey shook her head. “None.”
Keith closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He hadn’t planned on staying on Fairham for long. He’d hoped to get his mother’s affairs organized so he could return within a couple of weeks, put some distance between himself and the man he used to be, get back on his regular schedule. But there was so much to try to save here, and it would be far more difficult to manage from across the country.
Almost as if she could read his thoughts, Maisey touched his sleeve. “Keith, this must be beyond upsetting to you. If you’d rather turn everything over to me, I...I’ll do what I can.”
His sister was a children’s book author, and she was married and trying to focus on raising her kids, one of whom was blind and required extra care. She had Rafe’s support, of course, but Rafe wouldn’t be able to help with this. He had his hands full running his own business.
“No. I’ve got it.” His grandfather would expect more of him than to dump Josephine’s death onto Maisey or Roxanne.
“What about your company?” she asked.
“It’ll be fine.” He’d have to stop acquiring for the time being—unless he decided to juggle that with everything else. But there was no need to do that. He could rely on his employees and focus on his own pursuits later.
Maisey turned back to Chief Underwood. “That’s it? That’s the answer? She was going bankrupt, so she killed herself?”
“Going bankrupt would be no small thing to someone like Josephine,” Chief Underwood pointed out. “You said that yourself.”
“True,” Keith allowed. “But you don’t know our mother if you think she’d wimp out that easily.”
Underwood tucked several strands of her honey-colored hair behind one ear. “From what I’ve seen, she’s been battling financial problems for at least three years, ever since I got here. That was when she first bought into the resort.”
“Still,” Keith said.
The police chief scooted her chair closer to the desk. “Look, Mr. Lazarow. I can see how hard this is for you.” She shifted those pretty eyes to Maisey. “For both of you. If she were my mother, I’d be just as convinced she’d never take her own life. But...we can’t overlook the facts.”
“What facts?” Keith asked. “The autopsy hasn’t even been done yet.”
“At this point, the coroner and I believe the autopsy is merely a formality.”
“Which is what makes me uncomfortable,” Keith said.
“That’s why we’re permitting you to select a qualified pathologist from a list of doctors we recognize as having the proper credentials and experience—to compensate for any prejudice you feel we might have. Didn’t Maisey tell you? We spoke about it this morning.”
“Maisey told me, and I appreciate
