The Bequest Read Online Free

Bob
said.
She pulled back and cocked her head, as if she hadn’t heard him
clearly. “You’re firing me?”
“Technically, we’re simply exercising the termination provision in
your contract. It happens all the time in this business.”
She looked at Mike, who still faced the window. “Mike?”
No response.
“Mike, look at me.”
He slowly spun his chair back around. She saw nothing in his eyes.
Not tears, not remorse—nothing but a blank stare.
“Did you know about this?” Teri asked.
“He was sworn to secrecy until I could tell you,” Bob said.
“What did you expect me to do? I’ve got an obligation to the
agency,” Mike said.
“You’ve got an obligation to me. ‘Home is here.’ Isn’t that what you
said?”
“It’s not personal; it’s business.”
“Then I guess sleeping with you makes me a whore.”
Teri felt tears welling in her eyes, but she willed them back to their
ducts. She’d be damned if she was going to cry in front of these two
jackasses. The phone on Mike’s credenza rang, but everyone ignored it. It
stopped on the second ring, and the room went deathly silent. Finally Teri
spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper.
“I’m telling you, all we need is the right script.”
“It’s not about scripts anymore,” Mike said. “I hate to say it, but
Bob’s right. You’re box office poison right now. You just don’t want to
admit it.”
Bob stood and clapped his hands, like a football player breaking the
huddle. “We’ll give you a good referral, Teri. After all, we’ve had a lot of
good years together. Hell, we’ll even make it seem like it’s your idea. It’ll
be better for everyone.”
“You’ll understand if I disagree.”
“Think of it as a new opportunity.”
Before Teri could respond, there was a knock on the door, then it
opened and Philip, Mike’s assistant, stuck his head in. He seemed petrified
of interrupting the meeting.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a call for Ms. Squire. It’s a
lawyer. Something about somebody died.”
The words hit hard at Teri’s heart. Bingo? Had Daddy had him put
down? Then she thought better of that idea. Lawyers didn't call about dead
horses.
She walked behind Mike’s desk and picked up the phone. Her voice
quivered as she spoke. “This is Teri Squire.”
“Ms. Squire, my name is Spencer West. I’m Leland Crowell’s
attorney. I’m sorry to have to tell you that Mr. Crowell has passed away.”
“I don’t know any Lester Crowell.”
“Leland. And he knew you. He’s left you a bequest in his will.”
CHAPTER 5
    Wearing a black
dress
that stopped just above
her
ankles,
Annemarie Crowell stood alone in a broken-down cemetery just outside
of the town limits of Ludlow, California, barely more than a ghost town in
the Mojave Desert. The town had once known better days. Founded as a
water stop for the railroad, it briefly flourished as a tourist stop on Route
66 before the construction of Interstate 40 drove a spike into its heart.
    The cemetery was as sad as the town, brown and barren, devoid of
color. There was a scattering of simple headstones, a few wooden crosses
and, to mark yet other graves, nothing more than indentations in the
ground where the soil had settled over the years. Two elderly Mexican
men—illegals, Annemarie was sure—shoveled dirt into a rectangular
hole. At the bottom of the hole sat an unmarked pine box. Final resting
place for Leland Crowell.
    Annemarie stood rigidly as rocks and dirt clods thudded onto the
casket. A hot wind blew, its touch like a furnace on her face. A trickle of
sweat painted a tiny streak on her left cheek, the only crack in her mask.
Her lips pressed tight, gray hair pulled back in a schoolmarm bun, her face
revealed nary a hint of emotion. There was no crowd, no preacher, no
mourners, no weeping and wailing. Just Annemarie, face painted like a
clown, two Mexicans, and her dead son’s body.
    A helluva send-off into the afterlife.
The last shovel of dirt fell into place, and