“I’m here to see my lawyer,” Antonia informed her. “A. S. Hardy.”
“I’m A. S. Hardy.” The woman on the floor had the darkest eyes imaginable, nearly black. You could fall into them if you weren’t careful. She had a reputation among other attorneys for her fierce presence both in a courtroom and in her practice. It was said that any client who looked at her directly would be unable to tell a lie. She arose from the carpet and reached out her hand. “Ariel,” she introduced herself. “Ariel Samantha Hardy.”
“I thought I would be seeing the old man.” Antonia was so matter-of-fact she was often perceived as rude, as her aunt Franny was. Be a forthright woman and all hell could break loose. Still, she assumed that lawyers were used to blunt conversation, and, in fact, her tone didn’t seem to faze Ariel Hardy in the least.
“My grandfather,” Ariel said. “He passed away five years ago. This is my father’s office. Mine is down the hall, but it’s a mess. When I heard you had set up an appointment, I thought you’d be more comfortable here.”
Ariel gestured for her to take a seat in one of the worn leather chairs. Antonia, who’d been sleepy for months and had been impatient about getting home so that she could take a long nap, bad dreams or not, was suddenly wide awake.
“I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather.” She wasn’t really, she barely knew him, but Antonia knew well enough to be polite.
There were twenty-three overstuffed files on the desk and even more in the basement; that was how long the families had been doing business. “Grandpop was ninety-seven and he passed in his sleep. Not a bad way to go. Now I’m following in his footsteps.” Ariel handed over the most recent folder. “Your aunts owned all the real property jointly, therefore Miss Frances owns everything now. The house is in a trust that pays for itself, regarding taxes and expenses. Once Miss Frances is deceased the property can never go outside of the family. If no one chooses to live there, it is to remain empty.”
Antonia was stunned by the mention of her aunt Franny’s eventual demise. She certainly wouldn’t think about that now.
Ariel Hardy dropped her voice. “I hear the house is haunted.”
“Not at all. That’s the local people’s nonsense.” Antonia found that she was dying of thirst. “Do you have any water?”
Ariel fetched a glass of tepid, cloudy water. “If you don’t mind, this is supposed to be a reading of the will, so I’ll just get on with it.”
Since Antonia was the only member of the family available, she would have to do, and of course she agreed. “Read away.”
“There’s a trust for the house, as I said, and another trust will continue to support the library. As for Bridget Owens’s personal belongings, your aunt wanted everything to go to your mother and your aunt Gillian, except for her personal library, which is to be sent to Rafael Correa. She also left him a packet of letters that can be found in her night-table drawer. If you deliver them to me, I’ll have them sent on.”
Antonia was baffled. “Who is Rafael Correa?”
“Apparently someone she was quite close to. I suspect they were separated by the curse.”
“There is no curse,” Antonia was quick to say. She wondered if this Rafael Correa was the handsome older man she and Kylie had spotted lingering around the edges of the funeral and the luncheon afterward, leaving with the little lost dog Jet had brought home.
“I’m just repeating what my grandfather told me.” Ariel clearly meant no offense, but when she had information, she felt it only right to share it with a client. “Maria was said to be a witch.”
“There are no witches,” Antonia said. “Only people who want to burn them.”
Ariel grinned and handed over a small tarnished key. “Although you might want to see Maria Owens’s papers. They’re in a locked box in the basement. As far as I know no one’s gone through them, but you’re welcome to take a look.”