A Convenient Affair. Leigh Michaels
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quality—for costume jewelry.”
“It was fake?” Hannah whispered.
For a moment the attorney looked almost sympathetic. “I have to admit it fooled me, too, Ms. Lowe.” He turned his attention to the folder which lay open on his desk blotter. “Isobel’s income consisted of a pension which ends with her death. And she apparently spent the full amount every month, because her bank accounts—checking, savings, and money market—total just under a thousand dollars, which is almost exactly the amount of the bills outstanding at the time of her death. There are no brokerage accounts, no stocks, no money owed to her.”
“I hope you’re not expecting much in the way of a fee for settling the estate, Stephens.” Cooper raised a hand to rub his jaw. “But I guess if you knew Isobel for a while, you should have expected that she’d want something for nothing. How about furs? She had a mink once, and an ermine stole—”
“Now who’s taking inventory?” Hannah muttered.
“She got rid of those a few years back,” Ken said, “when it became politically incorrect to wear them.”
Cooper made a sound which might have been a snort. “More likely it’s because they were too heavy to carry around but she didn’t want to admit she was getting weak in her declining years.”
The attorney shuffled his papers. “Isobel made a provision in her will for the rest of her clothing to be donated to a community theater group.”
“A theater?” Cooper asked. “One might almost conclude the woman had a sense of humor after all. In short, it looks as if you get nothing but the towels, Ms. Lowe. Too bad about all your expectations.”
“I didn’t have any,” Hannah said tightly.
“You can’t think I’ll believe that. You talk about me taking inventory, but the way you recited that list of possible assets a minute ago, it sounded as if you’d rehearsed it. You’ve probably been putting yourself to sleep with it every night since Isobel died, counting bonds and jewels and chairs and silver flatware instead of sheep.”
Ignore him, Hannah ordered herself. “About the condo, Mr. Stephens—you did say, after Isobel died, that I could stay on for a while. I’m planning to move, of course, but how long—?”
“I don’t see any problem in you staying until all the contents have been moved out. But you know as well as anyone, Ms. Lowe, that condos in Barron’s Court are in great demand, and I’m sure the trust would like to settle the matter as quickly as possible.”
“I understand.” Hannah slid to the edge of her chair. “In that case, I’d better get busy looking for a place to live.”
Ken Stephens extracted a page and closed the folder. “There is just one more thing. In fact, it’s actually the most valuable item mentioned in Isobel’s will.”
Under any other circumstances, Hannah would have been too preoccupied with her own troubles to notice the way Cooper’s muscles tensed. But because she had perched on the edge of her chair, her arm was almost against his, and she could feel the sudden tautness in his body. “In that case,” she said dryly, “I think I’ll stick around till the bitter end.”
“No one would expect you to do anything else,” Cooper agreed.
The senior partner turned his chair so he could reach into the credenza behind his desk. A moment later, he set a wooden box in the middle of his desk blotter and settled back in his chair.
Cooper’s hand went out as if to touch it, and then paused in mid-air as if he was having trouble restraining himself.
Hannah stared at the box in puzzlement. It looked like a small jewelry box, about eight inches square, made of some sort of dark wood which had been heavily carved on every surface she could see. It was pretty enough, she supposed. But what could possibly make it the most valuable thing Isobel had owned?
Not that it has much competition for the honor.
“So what did Isobel say about the box?” Cooper asked.
Was it her imagination, Hannah wondered, or was his voice really just a trifle hoarse?
“Let me get it exactly right.” Ken Stephens flipped through the document in front of him. “Here it is. ‘I am well aware that Cooper Winston feels the Lovers’ Box should be his. But since it is the thing I treasure most, and since it was freely given to me and thus is mine to do with as I choose, I leave it to my young cousin, Hannah Lowe. I hope that for my sake Hannah will take good care of it.”’
Cooper leaped to his feet. “The old biddy! She was obstructionist and opportunistic to the end!”
“The Lovers’ Box?” Hannah leaned forward. “Why is it called that?”
“Long story,” Cooper said. “I doubt you’d be interested.”
Ken Stephens paused, his mouth hanging open, and stared at Cooper. Then he seemed to change his mind about whatever he’d intended to say and pushed the box toward Hannah. “It’s yours now, Ms. Lowe.”
Hannah’s fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the box. It was heavier than she’d expected, and it felt bulky in her hands. The pattern on top was geometric rather than scenic—she’d half expected to find a picture of a couple portrayed there. But in that case, she supposed, the reason behind the name wouldn’t have been a long story.
Hannah pressed the button-like brass knob with her thumb and slowly lifted the lid.
The box was empty, and because the sides and top were quite thick to allow for the depth of the carving, the interior was smaller than she’d expected. The inside of the box didn’t even boast a velvet lining; it was only raw wood, sanded smooth—though it was an exotic, fine-grained variety that Hannah didn’t recognize. Wasn’t there a species called ironwood? The denseness of that type of wood, along with the thickness of the walls, certainly accounted for the box’s weight.
But nothing she could see explained why Cooper would be even vaguely interested in owning it.
“That’s everything.” Ken brushed his hands together as if he was clearing dust off his fingertips. “Ms. Lowe, if you move before all of Isobel’s possessions are reclaimed, you’ll let me know, I’m sure.”
There was no question about the dismissive note in the attorney’s voice. Hannah tucked the Lovers’ Box under her arm and picked up her handbag.
Cooper was suddenly between her and the door. “Ms. Lowe, I think perhaps if we could talk about this, we could come to an agreement.”
Hannah looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “So—now that I have something you want, you’ll be nice to me? No, thanks, Mr. Winston. I’m going to go off by myself somewhere and see if I can figure out why this box is so important to you.”
She stepped around him to let herself out of the office, trying to ignore the fact that he was following her so closely she could feel his warmth.
As she opened the door, Ken Stephens said heartily, “No need to hurry away, Winston. I thought my daughter and I would take you to lunch.”
From the secretary’s desk, Kitty smiled brilliantly. “Do say yes, Mr. Winston. I’d so like to get to know you better.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. She was almost disappointed; she’d have expected a little more subtlety from Ken Stephens’s daughter. But it was clear there was no need for Hannah to hurry in order to avoid Cooper—he’d be tied up for hours if Kitty had anything to say about it.
Hannah glanced at her watch. She might as well get a sandwich and start looking at the ads for apartments before she went back to work.
Traffic was heavy, and Hannah had to wait for a bus to move before she could cross the street to the deli. Finally, with a whoosh of exhaust, the monster pulled away from the stop, and she darted across.
She was stepping