going well. So they’ve blown right past annoyed into screaming mad.
“No mistake, sir. You can read it for yourself right here,” Sheridan says, lowering his glasses on his nose. “Jonah’s will is remarkably straightforward. Every asset, every account, every penny, every stake in North Earhart Oil, and every earthly possession all goes to his granddaughter, Ms. Bella Reed.” He gives me a pointed gaze over the rim of his glasses. “Annabelle Amelia Reed, to be technical.”
Eep. That’s me. Annabelle Amelia Reed.
Named after the famous Amelia Earhart, who Gramps always swore was a distant relative. He was the only one who combined Annabelle and Amelia into Bella and called me that. For that reason alone, that the will says Bella, I have to ask, “Wait. What?”
“Jonah Reed was senile!” Mom retorts. “Ever since the first day I met him. I don’t believe it’s a mistake at all, Gary.”
Her eyes flash to my father. He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounds like here we go.
“It’s a sick joke. One last way for that old fool to toy with us beyond the grave. Listen, Mr. Sheridan, and listen good. No way. There’s no earthly way Annabelle gets everything. She’s too young.”
I try not to snort at how ridiculous she sounds. Worse, her latest Botox rounds still don’t allow her to make proper facial expressions. But she doesn’t need to.
It’s in her tone. She’s always been petty and jealous over my relationship with Gramps.
Never when it benefited her, of course, but when it didn’t. Whenever she had something to lose by Gramps flying me out to Dallas, or in her words, 'sticking his wretched beak where it doesn’t belong.'
It wasn’t pretty. Like now.
“She’s over twenty-one,” Sheridan says. “So legally, under federal and North Dakota law, she inherits it per Mr. Reed’s wishes. All of it.” He almost cracks a smile when he looks at me. “Including Mr. Edison.”
Edison! My heart skips a beat. “Oh my...he’s still alive?”
“Alive and more trouble than ever,” Sheridan tells me with a sly grin.
Edison might be the smartest horse on earth. He has to be over thirty, which is ancient for a horse.
I smile, seeing him like it was just yesterday. Coal-black with a white streak on his forehead, the horse is practically Houdini – a born escape artist.
Gramps hadn’t mentioned Edison in any of our last phone conversations. I’d been afraid to ask, didn’t want to know if he’d died.
He loved that horse, the same as me. How else would a grown woman ever feel about her favorite playmate growing up?
“Ridiculous! What’s she going to do with a ranch and an oil company out here in the middle of nowhere?” Mother snaps.
Sheridan lifts a grey brow. “Whatever she pleases, Mrs. Reed.”
“Well, she can’t. The girl has commitments in California.” Mother’s dagger eyes drift in my direction, her lips pursed sourly, expecting me to fly to her rescue. Say something, damn it, I can almost hear her beaming.
“Actually...no, I don’t. I had obligations until last week, when I submitted the papers to dissolve my latest company.” I flinch, knowing I shouldn’t have spoken.
This is already bad enough. But Gramps would want me to have a little fun, wouldn’t he?
Dad just shakes his head and averts his eyes. He’s drained, in disbelief, thoroughly done with all of this.
“Ms. Reed, you should know there are a few stipulations, which you and I will address privately.” Sheridan then casts his stoic and somewhat tired gaze back at my parents. “That, too, is in the will.”
“I’ll stipulate you,” Mom whispers under her breath, sniffing loudly. “And after all we’ve done for her, too.”
Then she snatches her blue and white dimpled Gucci purse off the floor. It’s a perfect match for her outfit, as always. “Enough! I’ve never been so insulted in my life.” Standing, she snaps, “Come on, Gary.”
That’s Dad’s signal to follow, and he will.
The look he gives me as he stands up is almost sympathetic. For the briefest second, I see a resemblance to Gramps, mainly in the eyes. Lush green, just like mine.
He turns to the lawyer. “I’m assuming you want us to wait outside?”
Sheridan stands up, a movement that seems to take forever since he’s nearly as tall as a telephone pole and almost as skinny.
“That’s up to you,” the lawyer says. “You’re perfectly welcome to return to your hotel, or visit the cemetery.”
For a second, they freeze.
He knows they didn’t go to the grave this afternoon to watch that little bean-pot-looking