“Yes, but Gigi would have had no claim on that.”
“Not then,” Stone said, “but she was planning ahead, and now things are different. I haven’t read your will, but I’m just guessing that Gigi is the principal benefi ciary.”
Evan stared at him. “She’s the only benefi ciary,” he said.
“When your father tried to have you killed she must have been very angry.”
“She was. Very.”
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“So she called Manny White and arranged for Warren to be killed.”
Evan was looking at his feet and shaking his head.
“And when the two of you were married and you signed that will …”
“Where is the will?” Evan asked.
Stone got up, went inside, got the will from his pocket, came back to the porch and handed Evan the envelope.
Evan stared at it but said nothing.
“I know how hard this is,” Stone said.
“No, you don’t,” Evan snapped. “I wish you’d never told me this. I would rather have …” He trailed off.
“You’d rather have remained fat, dumb and happy and let her have you killed?”
“It would have been easier,” Evan said.
“No, it wouldn’t have. You’d have figured it out eventually, but with that shooter still in Key West, he might have gotten to you before you did.”
“She couldn’t have done this,” Evan said.
“Evan, how many people knew where you were having your wedding lunch today?” Dino asked.
Evan thought about it. “Just the people at the table and the JP,” he replied.
“And whose idea was it to have the lunch at the Marquesa restaurant?”
“Gigi’s.”
“And who chose the table by the Simonton Street window?”
“Gigi,” he replied.
“I think you’ve just narrowed the list of suspects,” Stone said. Evan tore the will into small pieces.
“I’m afraid the will doesn’t matter anymore,” Stone said.
“Why not?” Evan asked.
“Because there’s a marriage certificate. The JP would have fi led it, 2 41
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