JOE WILEN TOOK the elevator up to Eleanor Keeler’s apartment, accompanied by his associate, Lee Hight. Eleanor met him as he stepped directly into the foyer. “Thank you so much for coming to San Francisco, Joe,” Eleanor said, shaking his hand warmly and ushering him into the living room. “I don’t even have a car. Walter was going to ship his two cars up here along with his household goods, but none of that has arrived yet.”

“Eleanor, may I introduce my associate, Lee Hight?”

The two women shook hands, then Eleanor sat down on the living room sofa and offered them the facing chairs. “Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

“Thank you, no,” Wilen said. “I’d rather get directly down to business.”

“Of course. I must say, Joe, that you look a little grim this morning.”

Wilen didn’t respond to that. “Much has transpired since we met on your wedding day,” he said, avoiding using her name.

“Well, yes, you’re right about that.”

“Including some events you don’t yet know about. That’s why I’m here.” Wilen set his briefcase on the coffee table, opened it and placed the copy of the doctored Keeler will before her. “This is the will that Walter executed an hour or so before his death in the accident,” he said. “It makes very specific bequests to you, and I want to tell you about the bequests and the conditions attached to them.”

“Conditions?” Eleanor was looking wary now.

Wilen ignored the question. “Walter took me aside on your wedding day and gave me some notes for a new will. When I returned to the office, I gave the notes to Lee, here, along with my instructions, and asked her to draft the will while I was away for a couple of days in Santa Fe.”

Eleanor’s expression changed ever so slightly at the mention of Santa Fe.

“I played in a golf tournament in Santa Fe, and my partner was your former husband, Ed Eagle.”

Eleanor’s face became stony. “A very untruthful man,” she said. “I hope you didn’t believe anything he told you about me.”

“Mr. Eagle wrote a letter to Walter and asked me to deliver it. He did not tell me of its contents but said Walter could, if he wished to.”

“A letter?”

“This letter,” Wilen said, handing her the copy from Eagle.

She glanced through it. “This is preposterous,” she said.

“No, it is not,” Wilen replied. “I took the precaution of having the state police check it out, and they confirmed all of the major assertions.”

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter whether I understand. Walter was at the point of signing his new will when I gave him the letter. When he had finished reading it, he showed me the letter and told me that he wished to make some changes in the will before he signed it. He dictated some new instructions to me, and I asked Lee to make the changes. When Walter had read the new draft, he signed it in the presence of three witnesses, as you will see on the final page.”

“Just give me the short version,” Eleanor said, her face hard.

“Walter has left you a stipend of fifty thousand dollars a month for life, to be paid from a trust that now also owns this apartment. He has also given you lifetime occupancy of the apartment but not ownership. You may neither sell or rent the apartment or use it for any other purpose than your residence. You will be held liable for any damage to the apartment. Both the stipend and your residency in the apartment are contingent on noncriminal behavior on your part. Should you be convicted of any felony, the stipend will stop immediately, and you will be given thirty days notice to vacate the apartment.”

Barbara had gone pale. “That was not what he gave me to believe,” she said. “I was to get everything after his charitable bequests.”

“He changed his mind after reading Mr. Eagle’s letter,” Wilen replied.

“This will not stand. I will break this will.”

“I should point out that Walter also dictated a clause stating that, if any of his heirs contest the will or complain about its terms to the press, his or her inheritance will be reduced to one dollar.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Eleanor spat.

“I assure you that it is perfectly legal, as is everything else in this will, and I can assure you, as Walter’s executor, that, if necessary, I will expend whatever funds are necessary to uphold the will. I don’t think you would be able to find a lawyer anywhere who would contest the will under these circumstances.”

“What about Walter’s airplane?”

“He sold it the day he signed his will. He planned to buy a better one but never had the chance.”

“What about the vineyard we bought?”

“I spoke with Emilio Galiano, and he has released the estate from the sale and returned Walter’s check.”

“But that was to be mine!”

“A great deal might have been yours but for your dishonesty.” Wilen closed his briefcase and stood up. “I want to make it perfectly clear that I in no way represent you legally. I do not wish to speak to you again. If you have any need to communicate with me, put it in writing and send it to my office. Do you understand?”

Eleanor stood up. “Get out.”

Wilen turned to go, then stopped. “Oh, by the way, you have about ninety thousand dollars in your checking account, and you may keep that. Walter’s household goods and cars will not be shipped here; they are now part of his estate. You will receive your payments on the first of each month, wired to your checking account. Good day.” Wilen stalked out of the apartment, followed by Lee Hight.

They were out of the building before either of them spoke. “That was very good, Joe,” Hight said.

“It was very satisfying,” Wilen replied.

“I’m very glad that we acted as we did with regard to the will.”

“If I had any doubts, they have all been resolved,” Wilen said.

BARBARA PACED THE living room of her apartment, crying and swearing, cursing Walter Keeler, Ed Eagle and Joe Wilen aloud. “I will make you pay, Ed Eagle!” she cried. “And you, Joe Wilen, will eat dirt before I’m done with you!”

DOWNSTAIRS, the superintendent of the apartment building opened an envelope in his mail and found five one-hundred-dollar bills. A note told him that he would receive another five hundred each time he reported on the movements of Mrs. Walter Keeler. He put the money in his pocket, smiling. His wife didn’t need to know anything about this.

BARBARA FELL ASLEEP on the living room sofa, and it was late afternoon before she woke. She was calm, now, and resigned to the terms of the will. At least she got six hundred thousand a year out of that fucking Walter, she thought, and the use of this apartment.

But while she was calm, her anger at Ed Eagle and Joe Wilen had shrunk into a cold, hard lump in her breast. She would deal with both of them.

CUPIE SAT AT his table in the garden at Spago Beverly Hills and waited for Jeff Bender to arrive. He had known Bender since he was a rookie detective in Beverly Hills, when Cupie was an LAPD detective, and they had always been friendly. Bender liked chic restaurants, and Cupie was happy to entertain him at one, especially since Ed Eagle was buying.

Cupie’s cell phone rang, and he answered. “Cupie Dalton.”

“Mr. Dalton, this is the superintendent at Mrs. Keeler’s apartment building.”

“Yes, what’s up?”

“Mrs. Keeler left for the airport a few minutes ago. She said something to the doorman about being in Los Angeles for a few days.”

“Right. Your money will be in the mail today.” He hung up.

Cupie saw Bender enter the restaurant and work his way across the garden toward their table, waving at acquaintances and occasionally stopping to shake hands and chat for a moment. Finally, he reached the table, shook Cupie’s hand and sat down.