Faith, Hope & Charity

A Faith Lehane Mystery

by LancerFourSeven

AKA Lancer47

Chapter Three

A/N: In real life, it could take years to settle a sizable estate when the beneficiaries don't like each other. I cut short the legal procedures just to keep the plot moving along.

"Well Ms. Lehane, I'm sure you're wondering about the reactions of your relatives to your aunt's will. There were hard feeling between your aunt and her sister-in-law."

"Well, yeah, I'd kinda figured that out."

"It was an obvious statement, I do apologize. The fact of the matter is that I am not certain what caused the animosity. Your aunt accepted me as her personal attorney five years ago, upon the retirement of one of the senior partners here at Woodman & Weld, and the hostility predated that event. No one has ever informed me of the root cause, and I decline to speculate, therefore I am unable to satisfy any curiosity you may have on the subject."

I wondered if all lawyers talk in that fucked-up stilted fashion. Actually, my court appointed defense lawyer hadn't, but she was pretty wild, and that relationship was very short, so what do I know? "Okay. Is Florence going to be broke now, or is she fixed all right?"

"You needn't worry about her, she has plenty tucked away. She's just angry because, as she sees it, some of the family fortune, including the Sag Harbor House, is being passed outside of her control. That, and she may not consider you to be truly family, for various reasons. But I wouldn't worry about her."

"Yeah, I think I should reserve my worry for my cuz, Roger. He seemed ready to explode."

"You are correct. Mr. Roger Wilkerson has several bad habits which contributed to his mother cutting him out as much as she could. Men, gambling, and possibly drugs, although the jury is still out on the last."

"Men? You mean grandkids are unlikely?"

"Yes. Helen wasn't particularly prejudiced against homosexuals, as long as they weren't in her family. Actually, even that sentiment is unfair, she loved both her children unreservedly, and that didn't change even when they proved to be, well, not what she expected or hoped. But be that as it may, the lack of grandchildren was a big problem to her – Roger often stated he would not father children under any circumstances, and if Judy ever had children they would be tainted by genes from Judy's current husband, who your aunt considered less than worthwhile. Personally, I think Roger is lucky to have gotten a house out of the deal, and enough money to smooth over a lot of problems. But I think you should be careful, he may have been counting on receiving much more. Worse, if I'm reading between the lines correctly, he may have debts to people that are, shall we say, less than savory."

"Don't worry 'bout me, I teach unarmed combat to cops and I've got a bunch of good friends if needed."

"Oh, I see," he said faintly, then continued, "Actually, more than anything else, I think Roger's problem is that he is utterly unreliable. Helen believed that he would gamble away any inheritance in record-breaking time, and I suspect she was right. And Judy, well, as you heard, Helen didn't think much of Judy's husband. He is, to be blunt, after the family money and doesn't appear to have any redeeming values – god knows what Judy ever saw in him. Helen had me go to great length's to make certain he would be cut out completely. If Judy does jettison the man, Helen would like you to share some of your inheritance with her, but she left it entirely up to you, nothing written, just a verbal request from her, through me, with no conditions attached."

"Seriously, why did Aunt Helen place so much trust in me? I was eleven when I last saw her, and there were precious few letters between us since then."

"She had sources with which I am unfamiliar. Apparently, she followed your progress in the world closer than you knew," he said, as he handed me a large folder. "As it happened, I had to modify her will every year or so – sometimes more often. Each time your circumstances changed I had to include you in or out. You must lead an interesting life to require so many changes."

Did my aunt know about Slayers and the fucking Council? I needed to talk to Giles about that.

Eggers continued, "And call me Bill, please. Now one of the conditions requires you to look for Charity Kellie Lehane – do you know what that's about? Because your aunt never satisfied my curiosity."

"Yeah, see, I had two younger sisters, Hope and Charity."

"Faith, Hope and Charity," he said quietly, "I suppose your mother's name must have been Sophia."

"Howd'ja know that?" I asked.

"Because Faith, Hope and Charity were early Christian martyred saints, and their mother was Sophia."

"Oh, I didn't know that – I never had much use for fuckin' religion. And I guarantee ya mom never took me to church."

"Yes, so, Hope and Charity Lehane?"

I said, "Hope died during the night a few months after she was born – I was about two, I think. I was told later it was Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, but who knows if that was true? Charity came along about four years later and after a visit from Child Protective Services, she was taken away from my mother. I assume she went into the system and was adopted by someone."

"And why didn't CPS remove you from your mother's care?" Eggers asked.

"Beats me, unless maybe they didn't know I existed."

"Mm. Well, I wish you luck, and you can call on the services of this firm to help you."

"And what's that gonna cost?" I snarked.

"We aren't inexpensive, but we're worth every dollar and you can afford us now," he said with a sincere smile. "Now here's the paperwork on the house and the keys so that you can take possession. As I said, it will be some time before you can access more than the petty cash fund – a few hundred thousand dollars – and you won't be able to sell any property for now, but you could rent it out if you wish, and apply the rental income towards property taxes and upkeep, which is steeper than you might think. Any income beyond that would have to go into an escrow account, though, pending the outcome of any lawsuits."

"That sounds five by five."

"The house is still staffed: there's a cook and a handyman who live on the premises and are paid from a separate account so you don't have to worry about them until the estate is fully settled. They've been given time off since Helen's death, but they're supposed to be back tomorrow. There's also a cleaning service and a security service, also paid from other accounts."

"Shit, just how big is this place?"

"Here's a map, you can go look it over."

"It's been thirteen years since I was there, but I bet I can find it."

"I'm sure you can. Now, as to the value of your holdings – "

"I'm not sure I want to hear this."

"I know this may seem overwhelming, but you have fiscal responsibilities now, so you need to pay attention. The apartment on Fifth Avenue you own outright, also, through your stock account, you own eight per cent of Wilkerson Interests, Inc., which is a real estate investment syndicate that owns the whole building, and a few others besides. Your 8% yields a generous income, and it would allow you to become involved in the running of the business, if you wish."

"Not fuckin' likely. So, uh, how much am I worth? Total?"

"Somewhere around eighteen million dollars, with the real estate market as down as it is. If you hang on and don't sell, it could be four or five times that amount in a few years."

"What the fuck am I gonna do with that much money!" I exclaimed, horrified.

Eggers smiled as he said, "Mostly, you let your experts handle it. But, you must learn to read financial reports to understand what your finance people are doing, and more importantly, to be able to recognize if you're being scammed."

I held my head in my hands and thought about screaming. I didn't fucking want this, no way, nohow. This just isn't me. I'm Faith the Vampire Slayer, not Faith the fucking Heiress! It was fun when I thought I was getting a nice house and a little money in the bank, but this – stocks and bonds and real estate and accountants and tax lawyers and fuck – it would never end. If I didn't watch out I would be consumed by this shit; eaten alive more thoroughly than any demon could've. Now I really need to kill something.

"I'm gonna go to the house," I said, trying not to shake as I stood up, "and think."

Bill got up from his desk. "I'll walk you to the elevators."

I punched the address into my GPS navigator and pointed the front tire towards Long Island. My Harley was ideal for sliding through city traffic to the expressway, where traffic was still heavy, but it was still less than two hours or so before I got to the village out on Long Island that I remembered. A local cop gave me the evil eye as I passed him, but he didn't stop me. My stomach rumbled so when I spotted a diner I parked and went in for a late lunch. The prices were startling – thirteen fifty for a hamburger? At least it came with fries and it turned out to be a damn good burger. It'd better be for thirteen bucks, right? Between my generous Council pay and my amazing inheritance, I guess I could afford it now.

I'd finished my burger and salad and was in the middle of scarfing down a blueberry pie a la mode when I spotted cousin Roger stalking in the door. Maybe he'd be nice to me now that I controlled the family finances.

He stopped in the middle of the restaurant, and screamed at me, "HOW DID YOU CHEAT ME OUT OF MY MOTHER'S ESTATE YOU FUCKING GOLD-DIGGING BITCH!"

I sighed, guess not. "Join me for lunch?" I asked brightly, since I couldn't very well slay in the middle of the fucking restaurant. "It's on me." I could afford to be generous to him.

He stomped his size twelves closer to my table, anger radiating from every part of his body. "FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING BITCH YOU, YOU, FUCK, YOU! I WOULDN'T TAKE FOOD FROM YOU EVEN IF I WERE STARVING! I WANT MY FUCKING INHERITANCE!"

"And this is your clever plan to win me over? Aunt Helen left you a nice trust fund and a nice house on Cape Cod, why the fuck don't you go there?"

"I HATE the fucking boonies! She knew I hated the fucking place! Why the hell should I go to Massa-fucking-chusetts?"

"Because there's nothing for you here?"

Then he surprised me by snatching a knife right out of the hand of a guy eating a seventeen dollar meatloaf, and threw it at me. I grabbed it out of the air, inches from my left eye. He glared, breathing heavily, and said slowly, "I'm gonna get what's comin' to me, and there ain't a fucking thing you can do about it." Then he turned and left, slamming into a food-laden waiter on the way out. Plates crashed, food splattered, the other patrons stared at me. I could see who they sided with, and it wasn't the tough chick in black leathers. Oh well, story of my life. A waiter quietly replaced the knife with a clean one and took the one that had been thrown at me while two others cleaned the mess. At least he gave me an apologetic smile, even if no one else did.

I finished my pie and paid my check (a hamburger, fries, salad, pie, milk shake and coffee: thirty-four dollars! Okay, it was a Chef's Salad, but still. On top of that, I to leave six bucks for a tip. I couldn't get over paying forty dollars for lunch – apparently this was a very tony area of Long Island and I was a long ways from the streets of Boston) and strolled out to my ride. I stroked the Harley gently while I fired up the navigator and double checked my route to the house. It was all vaguely familiar, so I didn't have a problem finding the old place.

I drove through the open gates – there was a small gatehouse but no guard that I could see – and stopped where the driveway came around a corner high on the ridge overlooking the house and grounds. I stopped to study the scene around me. The sky was a deep blue with some large fluffy white clouds drifting across. There was a delightful breeze coming from the ocean and I could hear seagulls squawking down near the shore where the waves were gently rolling in. The land around the house was a brilliant green, apparently spring had been good to this area and the grass and bushes and trees were blooming and healthy. I could see a couple of deer munching on the scenery in the distance, and more kinds of birds than I knew flitting around. Damn, this place felt good. Then I looked towards the house. Even though it looked smaller than I had remembered – I'm sure everything seemed bigger at eleven – it was still a very large house, two stories plus generous attic space and a widow's walk on the roof. It was a good distance back from the edge of a bluff, but there was a boardwalk from the house to the edge and I remembered there was a set of wooden stairs going down to a sizable boathouse on the beach. I wondered if there were still any boats in the boathouse. There was a detached garage in a style similar to the house not far from the back door, probably had cars in it plus there was a pair of apartments above for the staff. I got out my paperwork and found a survey plan which I studied intently. My house was right in the middle of a twenty acre plot.

So much for fuckin' hooptedoodle. I put my bike in gear and drove on down to the house. I could see the back bumper of a car parked around the house in front of the garage, and in front of the house was a snappy Mercedes two-seater convertible. It looked expensive, so I had the idea that maybe my dear cousin got here ahead of me.

I stopped in front of the wide stone steps to the front door of – my – house. I was delighted to have a place I could call home, if I wanted, and amazed that it was such an incredible house. Of course, that good feeling would last right up to when I'd have to pay the property tax (or replace the roof – I could see from here that some of the slate shingles were loose), although I suppose the rest of my inheritance would cover it. Hmm, rent it to the Council, maybe? Could be a good 'Slayers, East' headquarters. I'd have to do something with the place, it was way too big for one Slayer, though I guess Aunt Helen had found it comfortable.

Looking at the broad stone steps gave me an idea, and there wasn't anyone who could tell me I couldn't do it. I rocked my foot to select first gear, and gently released the clutch and that big bike, all seven hundred pounds worth plus me, bumped slowly and steadily up the steps to the front porch where there was plenty of room to turn around and park. I shut her off, kicked the stand down, and swung my leg over with a silly grin plastered on my face. I took my helmet off and shook out my hair.

The front door was locked, but whoever was here could've used the back door I supposed. I unlocked it and walked through, looking around, feeling good. The place was old, but well cared for. Of course it was full of bric-a-brac and fussy old furniture, but the rooms were large and had big windows that looked out over the ocean. Fuckin' amazin', maybe my luck really was changing for the better. This must be the living room, unless Helen called it the 'parlor'. To the right was an opening that led to a massive library. I wandered in, not to look at books – frankly I didn't read much since getting out of prison – but to see if this would do for a scooby meeting room. As I studied the dark woodwork, I thought that Xander and Giles would both love this room, each for different reasons. I looked down at the large table in the middle and idly picked up a book that was lying there. I glanced at the cover, did a double take and read the title again: A Delineative Compendium of Canonical Demonology, by Lewellyn G. Staunton, PhD, OBE. What the fuck!

But then something that had been faintly tickling my senses burst through to my head: it was the smell of gunpowder, overlaid with the coppery scent of blood. Oh shit, so much for good luck.

I followed my nose back through the living room, the central hall, and into the kitchen at the rear of the house. Aunt Helen must have modernized it recently, it had every convenience known to cooks and was extraordinarily beautiful besides. I stepped around the island and there was cousin Roger, lying face-up on the floor in front of the huge Viking range in an expanding pool of blood with what looked to me like a couple of 9mm holes in his chest. "Fuck!" I said as I kneeled down to see if he was alive; he wasn't. I leaned back on my heels. I heard steps behind me so I stood up fast, ready to defend myself if needed.

"FREEZE!" shouted a young guy in a cop uniform shakily pointing a gun at me, "HANDS UP!"

Well fuck me.

TBC