A Will and a Way

“She’s dead.”
    “What do you mean she’s dead?” Carlson pushed his way forward. “What kind of game is this? Let’s have a look at her.”
    “No one’s touching her.” Michael effectively blocked his way. “No one’s touching anything or leaving this room until the police get here.”
    “Police?” Pale and shaken, Carlson glanced around. “We don’t want that. We’ll have to handle this ourselves. She’s just fainted.”
    “Her blood’s all over this,” Michael commented gesturing to the bloodstained letter opener.
    “No!” Meg pushed forward until she’d broken through the crowd around the desk. “No one was supposed to be hurt. Only frightened. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Hank.” She reached out, then buried her face against his chest.
    “We were only going to play some tricks,” he murmured.
    “First degree murder isn’t a trick.”
    “We never—” He looked at Michael in shock. “Not murder,” he managed, holding Meg as tightly as she was holding him.
    “You didn’t want to drink the champagne, either, did you, Hank?”
    “That’s when I wanted to stop.” Still sobbing, Meg turned in her husband’s arms. “I even called and tried to warn her. I thought it was wrong all along, just a mean trick, but we needed money. The gym’s drained everything we have. Wethought if we could make the two of you angry enough with each other, you’d break the terms of the will. But that’s all. Hank and I stayed in the cabin and waited. Then he went into Pandora’s shop and turned things upside down. If she thought you did it—”
    “I never thought she would,” Ginger piped up. Two tears rolled down her cheeks. “Really, it all seemed silly and—exciting.”
    Michael looked at his pretty, weeping cousin. “So you were part of it.”
    “Well, I didn’t really do anything. But when Aunt Patience explained it to me…”
    “Patience?” There were patterns and patterns. A new one emerged.
    “Morgan deserved his share.” The old woman wrung her hands and looked everywhere but at the bloodstained letter opener. She’d thought she’d done the right thing. It all sounded so simple. “We thought we could make one of you leave, then it would all be the way it should be.”
    “Telegram,” Morgan said, puffing wide-eyed on his cigar. “Not murder.” He turned to Carlson. “Your idea.”
    “It’s preposterous.” Carlson mopped his brow with a white silk handkerchief. “The lawyers were incompetent. They haven’t been able to do a thing. I was merely protecting my rights.”
    “With murder.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” He nearly sounded staid and stuffy again. “The plan was to get you out of the house. I did nothing more than lock—her—in the cellar. When I heard about the champagne, I had a doubt or two, but after all, it wasn’t fatal.”
    “Heard about the champagne.” It was what Michael had waited for. “From whom?”
    “It was Biff,” Meg told him. “Biff set it all up, promised nothing would go wrong.”
    “Just an organizer.” Biff gauged the odds, then shrugged. “All’s fair, cousin. Everyone in this room had their hand in.” He held his up, examining it. “There’s no blood on mine. I’d vote for you.” He gave Michael a cool smile. “After all, it’s no secret you couldn’t abide each other.”
    “You set it up.” Michael took a step closer. “There’s also a matter of tampering with my car.”
    Biff moved his shoulders again, but Michael saw the sweat bead above his lips. “Everyone in this room had a part in it. Any of you willing to turn yourselves in?” His breath came faster as he backed away. “One of them panicked and did this. You won’t find my fingerprints on that letter opener.”
    “When someone’s attempted murder once,” Michael said calmly. “it’s easier to prove he tried again.”
    “You won’t prove anything. Any of us might have drained the brake lines in your car. You can’t prove I did.”
    “I don’t need to.” In a quick move, Michael caught him cleanly on the jaw and sent him reeling. Before he could fall, Michael had him by the collar. “I never said anything about draining the lines.”
    Feeling the trap close, Biff struck out blindly. Fists swinging, they tumbled to the floor. A Tiffany lamp shattered in a pile of color. They rolled, locked together, into a Belker table that shook from the impact. Shocked and ineffective, the rest stepped back and gave them