Black Cat Weekly #51

Chapter 6

byAs Sheriff Becky Thornton entered the study of the Villier estate, she was assaulted by a cacophony of loud voices and a group of people pointing fingers and waving arms chaotically. Her good friend Norma Villier had begged her to come over because she feared that trouble was brewing owing to a family dispute.

“Becky,” shouted a petite woman dodging an accusing finger aimed in her direction, “thanks for getting here so quickly.”

“What seems to be the problem, Norma?” Becky said, trying to remain calm in the storm.

“It’s my cousin Herbert. Everything was going so smoothly before he showed up. Now all our plans for Uncle Simon’s legacy are shattered.”

“Just slow down a bit,” said Becky, “and tell me what’s going on.”

Looking in the direction of the two men engaged in heated confrontation at the center of the room, Norma said, “You know about the new museum being built downtown.”

Becky nodded.

“That museum could be a game changer for Connorsville, especially if it had something special to attract people to this part of the state.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” said Becky, keeping an eye on the battling duo.

“As you know, Uncle Simon recently passed after a long battle with the disease that left him bedridden and hardly able to lift his head for weeks. Austin and I made plans to donate his collection of rare books and documents to the museum. Then Herbert showed up, claiming that Uncle Simon wanted him to have the collection and that he had no desire to donate the materials.”

Becky studied the heavyset man whose face seemed growing redder by the minute. “Does your cousin have any proof that your uncle wanted him to have the collection? I know Mr. Villier was civic-minded, and I can’t imagine his wanting such a valuable collection to leave Connorsville.”

“Just before Uncle Simon passed, he touched my cheek with his trembling hand and told me he wanted his collection to serve as a legacy by providing the new museum with a strong foundation exhibit.” Norma let out a troubled sigh. “But Herbert has a letter that Uncle Simon sent him that clearly states my uncle’s desire that Herbert have the materials.”

“Are you sure the letter is genuine?”

“I’m quite familiar with Uncle Simon’s handwriting,” said Norma, “and the letter is definitely from him. It’s even on his stationery complete with the family crest.”

Moving toward the two men who seemed almost at the point of physical combat, Becky cleared her throat. “Gentlemen, if you could just tone it down for a minute, perhaps we can come to some sort of resolution.”

“Becky,” said the bearded man she knew as Austin Villier, “I wish Norma hadn’t bothered you. We can settle this ourselves.”

Becky raised an eyebrow.

“Who are you?” said Herbert Villier gruffly.

Not resorting to a show of authority at the moment, Becky said simply, “Just a friend of the family.”

“Well, friend of the family,” said Herbert, “I didn’t fly all the way from St. Louis to have my cousins take what is mine.”

“Would you mind if I looked at the letter your uncle sent you?” said Becky.

“I certainly would mind,” said Herbert, glancing at the open letter lying on the table next to a parchment-colored envelope.

Becky flashed her badge and identified herself before saying, “I must insist.” Then she scooped up the single sheet and read the elegant script aloud: “Herbert, since you have always been the scholar in the family, I’d like you to have my collection of books and documents after I’m gone. Regards, Uncle Simon.”

“That seems pretty straightforward to me,” said Herbert.

“When did you receive this letter?” said Becky.

“Three weeks ago,” said Herbert. “I guess Uncle Simon knew the end was near.”

As they talked, Becky’s eyes caught something on the envelope near the address. “Herbert, I think you’ll be flying home to St. Louis emptyhanded.”

When Becky saw the elegantly-scripted words in the letter, she knew that Simon Villier couldn’t have written it in his weakened condition. Her suspicions were confirmed by the 37-cent stamp on the envelope. Closer inspection revealed a 2006 postmark beneath a smudge. Confronted, Herbert admitted that his uncle had sent him the letter when he was working on his doctorate in American Literature, long before Simon’s illness and the new museum.