W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone Mystery)

to be on the road by eleven.”
    “So you said on the phone. I hope you’re not thinking to cut the discussion short. What if we haven’t reached an agreement?”
    “About what?”
    “Well, I can see you’re already being argumentative.”
    “Let’s just see how it goes,” I said, not wanting to engage. We might end up in a fight but it didn’t have to start right now .
    She led the way down a short side corridor off the lobby in a section of the hotel set aside for trade shows and conventions of a modest sort. The room we entered could have accommodated fifty people, but not many more. Windows ran the length of the room. The carpet was dark blue and the walls were faced with a neutral fabric meant to deaden sound. I could imagine a meeting in progress; coffee carafes arranged on the sideboard with trays of sweet rolls, doughnuts, and other pastries. Maybe a fruit platter if management wanted to make a show of healthy choices. The big conference table would be furnished with a scratch pad and ballpoint pen at each place. There’d be pitchers of ice water with plastic cups stacked nearby. I truly wished I were going to that meeting instead of the one pending.
    This table was bare and the room was empty except for a whiteboard with an instant-erase marker pen. Someone had drawn a “Kilroy Was Here” cartoon in the center. We arranged ourselves at one end of the conference table, Mamie at the head. I took the seat to her right so I was facing the door. Evelyn sat across from me. With the glare from the window at my back, she probably couldn’t see my facial features.
    I glanced at Mamie. “Where do you want to start?”
    She removed a copy of the will from the manila envelope, leafing through the pages like a prosecuting attorney approaching the witness stand. Some of the faux friendliness had faded and we were getting down to brass tacks. “I have to say we’re perplexed. Evelyn and I were talking on the way over and she reminded me that before Terrence went to prison, he drew up a will that was nothing like this one.” She fixed her brown eyes on mine.
    “He rewrote his will after he arrived in Santa Teresa. The date’s probably on there someplace. This was after he and Ethan quarreled and he left Bakersfield. It must have been a hell of a fight if this was the end result. Ethan said you were there. You want to talk about what went on?”
    “The less said about that the better,” Mamie remarked, her expression chaste.
    “Terrence was drunk,” Evelyn said. “No big surprise. He was always drunk.”
    “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you were there or I’d have asked your impression.”
    “I’m telling you what I heard.”
    I turned my attention to Mamie. “Anna says Ethan spit in his father’s face. Is that true?”
    “That was uncalled for. I told Ethan he was way out of line on that score. Even so, I don’t believe it warranted this level of retaliation.”
    Evelyn jumped in. “I’m in total agreement with Mamie. We can’t understand why you’ve been given a role in such an intimate family affair. How in the world did you end up executor of the estate? My husband’s death is distressing enough without this blow on top of it.”
    “Ex-husband,” Mamie said.
    “I was as surprised as anybody else,” I replied.
    “I’ll just bet you were,” Evelyn said, cutting me short.
    Mamie gave Evelyn a warning look.
    “Well, I don’t see why we should shilly-shally around,” Evelyn said, bristling.
    “And I don’t see why I should sit by while you turn this into a big stinking fight,” Mamie snapped back.
    “If you like I can go through the chain of events,” I said.
    Mamie’s gaze flicked to mine. “Please.”
    “First of all, you know who Rebecca Dace was?”
    Evelyn spoke up. “She was Terrence’s aunt. Her brother Randall was Terrence’s father. She had another brother named Sterling, but he died some years ago.”
    “Rebecca Dace married my grandfather Quillen Millhone. He and Rebecca had one child, my father, Randall Terrence Millhone. From what I’ve been able to piece together, he was Terrence’s favorite uncle.”
    “Which doesn’t answer my question,” Evelyn said. “Why did you inherit all that money with such a flimsy blood tie? You’re barely related to us at all. It just doesn’t seem right.”
    “I’ll tell you as much as I know,” I said, and repeated my account, which I rendered in excruciating detail, hoping to dispense with any questions she