The deathly regents

Chapter Twelve

The box

Hope

To stick to the issue at hand was harder than I'd expected. Ralody had been secretive all the time, avoiding any mentions of our conversation at the massage parlor. I had no eyes to spy, and my enhanced senses were useless when you weren't allowed into the leader's office or had never been invited to her house, what couldn't facilitate the task.

I would be ruminating about it later.

The notary had called me three days ago to make an appointment for announcing Lewis's testament. Why the hell would a thirty-three-year-old man in his prime ever make a will? Was it somehow linked with Raoldy's words that day? I hadn't been certain whether I'd wanted to know it. It'd seemed like I still had been waiting for him to step over the threshold of our flat, confessing that his goofy wicked prank had spined out of control. But it hadn't happened. And would never happen in the future we'd lost. I thought that was why I didn't feel like getting wind of any of my husband's hidden secrets. I wanted to remember him as an attentive loving man, not a person I'd spent a third of life with and had never known him at all.

Yet, I'd agreed. There was too much I couldn't understand and handle, and all it was about him or Ralody and I needed to straighten this out.

The door of the notary office swung open, and the unisex notes of citrus and bergamot flew in before the owner of the perfume. Judging by noisy heavy slaps of rubber soles against the tile and slight shortness of breath, it was a chubby man.

"Good morning," he had a friendly tenor voice, "I'm sorry for your loss. My name is Johnathan Willow. I'm an authorized representative of your husband–Lewis Branon Hill. I asked you to come to my office to disclose his last will."

I stood up and pivoted toward him, extending my right hand to greet Johnathan Willow. It was met by his calloused big palm. So, the notary was probably going to the gym or doing sport at home. A subtle scent of sweetish protein cocktail proved my theory. Lewis had always bought salted caramel flavor and had shared with me sometimes when I'd lacked time to eat normally between my clients in the parlor.

"Hope Nataly Hill."

"Well," he shook and then revealed my hand, "Let's not waste our time. I think we can start."

That quick? The notary went to his table and pushed his chair back with a creaking of the four legs.

"Excuse me," I cut in, "shouldn't we wait for Lewis's parents? Laura and Jacob Hill?"

A thick pile of paper hit the surface of the wooden varnished table.

"They've already heard the part of Lewis's testament, designed for them. This one is supposed to be read only for you. This is his will."

Why wasn't I happy to hear it? It was getting shadier and shadier. What was there not to be read in the presence of his own parents?

I nodded, "Fine. Okay, yeah."

"Have a seat, please."

I landed back on the soft seat of the chair I'd been taking before Johnathan had come. The tremor inside shook my body. I put my palms on the laps, trying to wipe sweat off unnoticeably.

The melody of the paper foreshadowed the reading to start.

"I, Lewis Branon Hill, being of full age and sound mind and memory, do make, publish and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament.

All of the rest and residue of my property, real and personal, of every kind and description and whosesoever situate, which I may own or have the right to dispose of at the time of my death, I give, devise, and bequeath to my wife, Hope Nataly Hill."