Beach Thriller(33)

She was nervous as she took a seat across from him.

This will go better than expected, she told herself as she shook Allen’s hand.

“Holly, Holly Sinclair,” he said brightly. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the voice.”

Holly’s spirits lifted. He wouldn’t be Mr. Chipper if he were about to share doomy, gloomy news.

“I was so sorry to hear about your mother’s passing,” he began. “We didn’t know each other well—I took over the firm after she had set up her will. But she gave me power of attorney over the account used to maintain the beach cottage, and as you know, I’m also the executor of her will. I’ve been busy working through all the probate issues before the remaining funds pass to you.”

Holly added her own narration: You are a lazy daughter who should have been more involved in your mother’s finances, but you left it all to an expensive stranger.

Shit. She really wasn’t the best daughter. But her mother had checked out of life after Anna’s death, so neither of them deserved the Family Member of the Year award.

It took a moment for Allen’s words to click: Probate issues … double shit. That doesn’t sound good.

“I know money was tight for your mom,” Allen continued, “and I want you to know I did a lot of the work for a reduced fee.”

“I appreciate that,” Holly said, omitting that she, too, was in desperate straits. “The house needs some serious attention, especially now that I’ll be living there full time.”

Allen’s face lit up. “Oh, you’re going to be a local again. That’s great—welcome back!”

Holly managed a strained smile. “Thanks, I, uh … I really need to fix up the cottage to make it livable. Publishing is a fickle business, and money is a little tight. This probate thing won’t take long, will it?”

Allen coddled her with his eyes like she was a naive child. “The good news is you can live in the house even while it’s in probate, and you can legally make the necessary repairs. You’ve lived there in the past and there are no remaining relatives to contest the will. But unfortunately, I can’t legally distribute assets until the statutory period for creditors to make a claim has expired, which is one year in Massachusetts. Since the assets weren’t in a trust, I’m afraid that’s the law.”

Holly’s face fell. She thought there had been a trust. She heard the voice again—loud, clear, and quite cutting: Why weren’t you on top of things, Hol? Why did you neglect your mother’s affairs? You’ve been so self-involved—obsessed over words and characters that nobody cares about, lamenting over reviews and paltry sales. Now it’s come back to bite you in the ass like a cartoon dog.

Holly’s heart began palpitating. “Allen, I’m really short on cash. I’ve got a handyman ready to do the work, and I can’t pay him in tuna casseroles, not that I’m much of a cook. Can’t I get some money for repairs? I could use a little for myself, too, until my ship comes in.” Or sinks to the bottom of the sea.

Again, Allen cleared his throat in that “sucks to be you” way. “Holly, I’m sorry. The law is the law. When your mother was alive, we could distribute funds for home maintenance. Now that she’s gone, those funds are frozen.”

Holly’s blink-and-make-it-all-better trick didn’t work. “Wait, you’re telling me that I can’t get any money—not a dime—until a year from now?”

“Well, less,” said Allen. “More like eight months. It’s been some time since your mother passed.”

Holly hadn’t thought to check on the will because her mother had no money or assets other than the house and the fund established to pay for it. She thought her mother had put the money into a trust, but she never followed through. How careless she had been.

Holly tried to avoid clichés in her writing, but sometimes they said it best: She was up shit creek without a paddle.

“The good news is you have plenty of money in the account to take care of the property. Here, I’ll show you.”

A moment later, Holly was scanning a printout of several months’ worth of statements. Indeed, there was enough money to do the repairs and more, but she noticed something else. There were regular monthly transfers to unknown recipients—not utilities, taxes, or legal expenses—and always for the same amounts.

She pointed them out to Spellman. “What are these?” Holly sifted through the pile, confirming that, as she suspected, the transfers went back years.

Allen studied them for a moment. “Honestly, I’m not sure. Those were in place before I began managing the accounts. I recall asking your mother about them. Her explanation was vague, but she was adamant that they be kept in place. And that’s my job—to see that things are handled according to your mother’s wishes.”

Holly nodded. The transfers hadn’t drained the account, and now those were likely frozen as well. “Is there any way I can draw money for a short period—you know, like take out a loan against myself?” She imagined the cold of October when temperatures plummeted and winds tore off the ocean.

“Holly, I wish I could help you, I really do. But there’s no way around this probate stipulation. I do understand your conundrum…” His voice trailed off, and he leaned his head on his hand. A smile spread across his face.