Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(11)

“My sister worked for Mrs. Hale for sixty years,” Marcus said.

“Sixty-four,” Marianne corrected. “I was in service to a fine woman for sixty-four years.” She righted herself, standing. “And I know what you think, brother, but I will not sit here and hear her good name slandered.”

“So then don’t sit. Don’t listen,” Marcus said. “But that won’t change what happened.”

“What did happen, Marcus?” Kat asked.

“Mrs. Hale always told my sister that she would provide for her—that she would never have to worry about caring for herself because Marianne would be included in her will.”

“Aren’t they reading the will right now?” Kat asked.

Marcus gave a solemn nod. “Exactly. Yesterday, we received word that there would be no reason for Marianne to attend the reading—that only those who were mentioned in the will were invited.”

“Don’t be silly, Marcus,” Marianne said, summoning her pride. “Who was I to think I’d be included? I’m a ladies’ maid. No more. No less.”

“Hazel was your best friend, Marianne, and if—”

“It was Mrs. Hale’s fortune,” the maid said, special emphasis on the words as if her brother had grown too comfortable and needed to be reminded of his place. “And Mrs. Hale could do with it what she wanted.”

“This is what she wanted?” Marcus snapped. “For her oldest friend to be left with nothing? I don’t believe it. I do not.”

“Marcus,” Kat said, her voice low. “Marcus, are you saying…”

“These aren’t Mrs. Hale’s wishes, I’m sure of it. Her family is gathered at the big house today to hear a will, miss. But I do not believe that it is her will.”

“So you think there’s…what? Another will out there someplace?”

“I do.” Marcus nodded. “And I’d like to hire you to find it.”





It wasn’t like Kat knew what she was doing. She hadn’t had time to form a plan, to even know if Marcus was right and Marianne had been wronged. All she knew for certain was that Marcus was still arguing with his sister and, outside, it was a beautiful day. And, besides, her rides—both of them—were either gone or otherwise engaged, so Kat stepped out into the fresh air to collect her thoughts. It wasn’t her fault her footsteps kept drawing her through the woods and closer to the big house, one word on her mind.

Hale.

Kat had to talk to Hale. That was the beginning to any possible plan: explain Marcus’s theory and find out what—if anything—Hale might know about his grandmother’s final wishes and anyone who might want to circumvent them.

For a moment, Kat had to laugh. It all seemed so outlandish, so extreme. But then the big house came into view, and Kat had to remind herself that nothing about Hale’s world was ordinary. So she walked across the grounds without another thought. It felt good to have a job. A purpose. And her footsteps felt more certain as she went through the back door and up the stairs.

She threw open one door and moved on to the next. And so on and so on. She kept going until she saw a closed set of double doors, light streaming through the cracks beneath them, and Kat pressed her ear against the wood and listened.

“‘To Cousin Isabel,’” a man said, “‘I leave the dia-mond broach that had once belonged to her great-great- grandmother.’”

Kat eased open one door just in time to see a woman throw her hands to her chest. She looked like someone had just named her Miss America.

“So that concludes the issue of the Hale family gems,” said the man behind the podium. He had a dark suit and eyes so black there was no doubt in Kat’s mind that she was looking at Natalie’s father.

He brought his hands together and stood quietly at the front of the room like a preacher at a wedding, waiting for someone to object.

“What about the company?” Hale’s father asked.

“Yes, yes.” The lawyer shuffled his papers and a few fluttered to the floor. “We are about to that point now, I believe.”

“Well, get on with it, Garrett.” The Hollywood uncle glanced at his wife. “We have a jet reserved for eight o’clock, and I don’t intend to miss it. We’ve already spent three days on this.”

“How rude of Hazel not to die on your schedule,” Hale said. His family ignored him.

At the back of the room, Kat dared to open the door a little wider, but no one noticed. The collective gaze of the entire Hale family was locked on Natalie’s father. They sat, straight-backed, on folding chairs, waiting. European cousins lined the right wall; distant nieces and nephews gathered on the left. And, at the front of the room, sat two sons, two daughters, and the various offspring and in-laws who had come with them.

It felt like a scene straight out of Agatha Christie, with the country manor’s drawing room full of greedy heirs. So Kat peeked inside, staring at the usual suspects.

“Mrs. Hale discussed this moment with me many times, and, before me, she discussed it with my late father. You should rest assured that Mrs. Hale knew the gravity of what she held and the responsibility it was up to her to bestow. She watched her husband accept the mantle of sole control of Hale Industries when his brother passed. She herself took it up after the death of Mr. Hale the Third.”