The Devil's Chord

Chapter One

“I’ll believe you once I’ve heard the will, Matthew.” Her manicured nails glinted as she settled a designer bag across her lap.

Matthew shifted in his seat and massaged the threadbare elbow of his faded blue jumper. He twisted around and caught John’s eye. “Have you got the score, mate?” A pained smile twisted his mouth. “I’d check myself, but my mobile’s busted.”

“That’s a ruddy shame. I can check,” John said, selecting the sports app on his phone. “Let’s see, Saints just pulled ahead of the Tigers. Twenty-one to sixteen. Eight minutes left on the clock.”

Matthew grimaced. “Do you think the Tigers have-”

The man behind the podium cleared his throat and an anticipatory hush fell across the crowd. Matthew faced forward.

“Ladies and gentleman, you are here today to bear witness to the last will and testament of-”

The conference room door opened. Everyone in the room turned around to stare at the latecomer. A woman, tall, slender, and dressed in stark business attire, walked inside. Her high heels beat a sharp staccato against the marble.

She took the nearest seat available, which happened to be right next to Sherlock. John had never seen anyone with such perfect posture. It was as if a steel rod had been surgically attached to her spine. The woman pushed a button on her mobile then looked up at the lawyer.

“Sorry,” she mouthed, adjusting the Bluetooth device on her ear.

The lawyer shuffled the paperwork on his podium. “As I was saying, you’ve been called here today to bear witness to the last will and testament of Ms. Rebecca Elinore Frost. My name is Edmund Hiddleston. I am the lawyer in charge of Ms. Frost’s estate. Before we begin, I must verify attendance. When you hear your name, please respond.”

He read off a list. Unsurprisingly, a number of people shared the Frost surname.

“Noelle Graves,” the lawyer called.

“That would be my mother,” answered the woman beside Sherlock.

Mr. Hiddleston gave an irritated sniff. “Substitutes are not allowed. The notice I sent out made it clear it was necessary for all listed to be here.”

“I’m afraid that would be rather difficult, as she’s dead.”

“Dead?” The lawyer dropped his pen and gazed at her in consternation. Flipping through the pile of paperwork, he muttered something uncomplimentary about a new secretary. He reached a page at the bottom of the stack and slid it out.

“Your mother is Noelle Graves, born the 13th of March 1952, correct?”

“Yes. She married my father, Jamison Walker, in 1976.”

“Why isn’t your father here then?” Exasperation colored his tone.

“He and my mother were killed in a skiing accident when I was fourteen,” she replied, her tone so matter of fact she could have been discussing the weather. Granted, it had to have been at least fifteen years since the accident. She appeared to be in her late twenties, possibly early thirties.

The lawyer eased his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “Do you have any family members who are not dead? Aunts? Uncles? Siblings?”

She shook her head and a few strands of red hair came loose from a bun secured by a large metal clip. “I had an older brother, but he’s passed on as well. I’m afraid you're stuck with me, Mr. Hiddleston.”

The lawyer gave a small cough. “I see. It appears the information we have regarding your mother is sorely out of date. Did you bring the death certificates and your birth certificate?”