The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(78)

“Miss Fairchild didn’t prevent you from entering the house?”

“No, but Aunt Abigail was dead by then.”

“On earlier visits, Miss Fairchild prevented you from entering?”

“Her? Shit, she couldn’t stop a dog from getting fleas. No, what she did was poison Aunt Abigail’s mind – turn her against her own blood relative. I shouldn’t have been begging for handouts, I was entitled to the money.”

At the far end of the table, Destiny, who’d been forewarned not to say a word, kept twitching and twiddling like a nervous tick. I wanted to whisper in her ear that she ought to relax a bit seeing how Charles McCallum seemed comfortably in control of things, but being dead has a number of disadvantages, not the least of which is the inability to speak your mind.

“In what way did Miss Fairchild poison your aunt’s thoughts?” Charles said.

“Ask her!” Elliott rolled his eyes and waggled a finger at Destiny again. “All I know is that when I asked Aunt Abigail for a drop of the money that rightfully should’ve been mine, she acted like I was trying to pick her pocket.”

“You asked Miss Lannigan for money?”

“I was forced to – financial reverses and such.”

“At that time, did she give you anything?”

“Not much to speak of. The old lady dolled out a measly five hundred bucks every now and again.”

“So, you asked for financial assistance on more than one occasion?”

“Yeah. But I never got more than five hundred bucks. Five hundred! I should’ve had it all! Me! A direct descendant of William Lannigan’s first born. My aunt didn’t deserve one cent of that money, she was the tail end of the line – female, at that!”

“Why would her being a woman affect the inheritance?”

“Are you kidding? I’d have every cent of the money if my grandma’s father hadn’t been hung up on having a son inherit the farm.”

“Then how did Abigail Lannigan get control of the estate?”

“From her twin brother! Him getting it, I could maybe understand. But her?”

“Are you then,” Charles said, “contesting Abigail Lannigan’s right to the estate she inherited from her brother?”

At that point, Mister Hoggman belched up the smell of pastrami and while people were fanning the odor from beneath their nose, he whispered something into Elliott’s ear.

Charles had to repeat the question, then Elliott, who likely as not had been instructed on the way to answer, said, “I don’t question Aunt Abigail’s right to the money, but now that she’s gone it ought to be passed on to a Lannigan descendent.”

“And you are the only descendent?”

“Yes,” Elliott answered.

“Of all those twelve children William Lannigan sired, you alone are the only surviving descendent?”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Elliott said, “that there could be others. Of course, there’s no one who’s close to the Lannigan family like I am.”

“Then I take it your grandmother and your mother maintained an ongoing relationship with William Lannigan Senior?”

“Not exactly. You know women, too busy to stay in touch. I was the one who called Will Lannigan.” Elliott said proudly, “The son, of course. Old man Lannigan was long dead by that time.”

“So after all those years of separation, you suddenly took the initiative and called Will Lannigan?” Charles gave the question the sound of confirming an admirable trait. “What could have prompted such action – a death? Family reunion?”

“Something I saw in the newspaper.”

“What was it?”

“A story about how some development company was gonna build a tract of houses in the valley on what used to be the Lannigan farm. Paid over a million dollars for the property. Part of that was rightfully mine.”

Hoggman erupted like a volcano, hollering how Charles was trying to make it seem that his client had done something unscrupulous, and belching in-between every fifth or sixth word. After the fourth belch, the stenographer requested a fifteen minute break saying that she had to go out for a breath of air.

When they returned to the deposition room, Charles stated that he had every right to question the complainant about his relationship with the Lannigan family and if Mister Hoggman disagreed, he’d seek a ruling from Judge Kensington. Hoggman fumed and fretted a few minutes longer but, knowing the Judge to be a man of short temper, he eventually sat down and allowed Charles to resume the questioning.

Almost immediately, Charles went on the attack and started asking questions that got Elliott squirming around in his seat like a man with hemorrhoids. “Wasn’t money,” he said, “the primary reason for your establishing contact with the Lannigan family?”

“I should’ve been in on it,” Elliott growled. “I’m blood.”

“Isn’t it true that you hardly ever visited Abigail Lannigan?”

“I knew she didn’t want me there!”

“Wasn’t that because you were always asking her for money?”

Elliott turned to Hoggman and asked, “Do I have to answer that?”

“No,” Hoggman answered. “Not unless you’re a mind-reader and knew what Abigail Lannigan was thinking!”