1955
"Well Mrs. Davidson you husband has left you a sizable amount. However out of his millions, twenty-five has been left to his daughter. There is also a clause that is binding that may cause you some grief." Mr. Goldblum looked over at the young lady across the table. This had all the makings of a bad detective movie he thought. He didn't like his client but his widow seemed genuinely upset that the old bastard had died. Jeffery M. Davidson the Third would cheat an orphan out of a penny. Still he had to admit that he had an eye for the beautiful and an even better eye for the eccentric. His wife was a black woman.
Margaret Davidson was also one of the most beautiful women he had every seen. She was tall, elegant and almost unreal in her beauty. Her eyes where pretty and a honey color when she wasn't crying, full lips and long pretty hair. He clenched his teeth; she was also one of his richest clients, now being one of two sole heirs to the Davidson toy fortune of fifty million dollars. Twenty-five going to her and the other half going to his flighty daughter, Isabella. She was on all the reels nowadays; jet setting and yachting. He mentally groaned; the life of the young rich and idle. She was a year younger then Margaret at twenty four. She should be married but she wasn't, instead she was as spoiled as they came. He remembered her at her first meeting. An eighteen year old debutante on the arms of some Spanish playboy named Arturo. God she was condescending and rude, more interested in the booze then in her father. He swore up and down that as long as he lived he would never under stand the young infatuation with the stuff.
He looked over at Margaret and patted her hand. He wondered what she had seen in the sixty year old tycoon. Maybe he should ask a different question, what did the tycoon see in her? Besides her beauty she had nothing else to offer. According to his investigators she was a cook's daughter and she and Isabella had once been best friends, but something mysterious had severed that friendship. Probably her marrying Isabella's father. That would do it. He closed his eyes and looked at her she was crying softly and he reached out to touch her. Whatever he was, the old recluse cared for her. "In order to gain you halve of the fortune you have to stay with you step daughter for one month in Jeffery's county estate."
She stiffened "But I hate her!"
Mr. Goldblum continued on as if he hadn't been interrupted by the sudden outburst. "Food will be supplied weekly by his butler James and the house will be cleaned twice a week by Maria. Mr. Davidson also made allowances all clothes should be brought with you and you are not to leave the house for anything. Unless there is a death in your family or sickness. Even then you are to have supervised visits by Isabella. You are also not allowed to have any visitors family or otherwise."
"But that is insane! I am perfectly capable ofโ"
"I assure you Mrs. Davidson, that your husband was legally sound when he constructed this will. He was coherent up until his death. I am sorry for this." And he was genuinely. He knew how unstable Isabella was and how much grief Margaret was in. This was not going to be an easy condition. He sighed and patted her hand again "I am sorry for your lost." He stood and packed up the legal papers and snapped shut his briefcase. Earlier that week he had broke the news of Jeffrey's death to Isabella. She hadn't smiled and she hadn't cried, instead she just nodded and went back into her suite in the hotel she was staying in. Later that week he had heard that she didn't attend the party she was throwing. Such a small show of emotion for such a generous man.
One week later.
I stood at the door waiting for my step I sneered the word mom. God Margaret had always been such a wet blanket. Punctual, polite and so damn nice that she could almost make bile rise. I sighed and adjusted my hat. I had finally got the look I wanted; my dress and my pearls had to be just right. She probably would be mad that in one of the suitcases I carried was full of gin and brandy instead of church clothes. Jeez, I needed a drink, ever since prohibition had come into this burg, twenty years ago; it was drier then the Sahara desert. I rang the door bell and thought what a sorry place this was. No pool boy and no man. What was a girl to do? I guess I had to make my self have fun, what a bore. To my annoyance Maria, that fifty year old biddy opened the door. She left as soon as I came in. She didn't even bother to get my bags or tell me where my old playmate was. I figured she meant for me to search for her. I tried the office near the foyer. Why am I not surprised that she was setting there behind the desk. I walk over. "Isabella, have a seat."
"Be glad to." I walk over and flop on the cherry wood desk. I took out a cigarette and lit it. I didn't care for them but anything to make her mad. "How are ya Marge?"
I hadn't called her that and years and she shows no emotion. "Or should I call you ma?"
She scowled at me and color crept into her skin. I had no idea she could blush. "I guess that was warranted."
I lifted a red eyebrow. "You think."
"Isabella we have to talk."
"Call me Belle I believe you were once an intimate."
I could hear her teeth grinding. "Yes I believe we where. Well Belle, we are here under strange circumstances."
"What's so strange about it? You are here for money and I am here to make sure the old fucker's dead."