“Stone, if you don’t tell me what this is about…”
“The first Mrs. Manning has just checked into the Shipwright’s Arms.”
Allison’s face fell. “Libby?”
“Yes.”
“That bitch!” Allison hissed. “What the hell is she doing here?”
“She says she’s come to claim Paul’s estate.”
“Hah! That’s a laugh! She’s not getting a penny.”
“Allison, let me see Paul’s will.”
“She’s not in it.”
“I want to see the will. It’s in Paul’s briefcase, isn’t it?”
“How would you know that?”
“I’m just guessing. Is it in the briefcase?”
“Yes.”
“You?
?d better let me see it right now.”
“Oh, all right.” She got up, went into the aft cabin, and came back a couple of minutes later with a document. “Here,” she said ill-humoredly, handing it to him.
Stone read through it quickly. There were a number of small bequests to organizations—the Author’s Guild Fund and PEN—and to two clubs to which Manning had belonged, and the rest was left to Allison. No mention of his first wife.
“See?” Allison said. “I told you he left her nothing.”
“Did you know he had been sending her monthly checks?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Three thousand dollars a month.”
“Alimony?”
“I suppose.”
“Was it dictated by a divorce decree?”
“I don’t know; Paul called it alimony, though.”
“It’s not a lot of money for someone in Paul’s income bracket.”
“Paul didn’t make any real money until after they were divorced; he was just a newspaper reporter.”
“Let’s see, if they were divorced ten years ago—do you know if there was any time limit on the payments?”
“No, I don’t. Is this really going to be a problem?”