Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 04 - Vicksburg by Kent Conwell Page A

that Mr. Edney donated the funds for this building. You see, he and Wilson-”
She hesitated, and a slight blush covered her cheeks. “I
mean he and Mr. Jenkins had known each other for years.
Mr. Edney was one of our most generous benefactors. Then
yesterday, I learned that the offer of land he had promised
the society fora preserve had been withdrawn.”
    “Promised?”
    She nodded.
    “Verbal or in writing?”
    “In writing.”
    “What’s the problem then? If it’s in writing, take it to
court”
    She arched an eyebrow. “Yes, but that’s another problem.
It was in his will. He gave us a copy of his will several years
ago just after he promised us the land.”
    I frowned. “He what? Did you say he gave you a copy of
his will?”
    “Yes.
    “Why would he do that?”
    She shrugged. “I had just started working here, and I
asked Mr. Jenkins that very question. He said Mr. Edney
wanted the society to know he was serious about his promise.” A crooked smile played over her lips. “It didn’t really
make much sense to me, but I didn’t worry about it. Then
yesterday, I learned he had changed the will. All the land is
going to his children.”
    The hair on the back of my neck bristled. Land. Children. “Are you talking about the riverside land south of
Vicksburg?”

    She looked at me in surprise. “Why yes. How did you
know?”
    “I read the will also.”
    She grimaced. “It was to be a bird sanctuary. It’s the home
of three birds on the endangered lists, the Limnothlypis
swainsonii-” She hesitated when she spotted the confused
look on my face. “Sorry,” she said with a sheepish grin. “I
should have said a Swainson’s Warbler, Kentucky Warbler,
and Prothonotary Warbler. The Prothonotary is also known
as Golden Swamp Warbler.” She shook her head. “It is one
of the most beautiful birds I have ever seen. And,” she
added, “the land is also a stopover in the northern and southern flyways for a sanctuary like that. I was stunned when I
read the new will.”
    “That was one of the big surprises in the will,” I replied.
“The boys, WR and Stewart, wanted Mr. Edney to sell the
property. He refused. No one knew exactly why, but his
housekeeper told us that she had the feeling he was going to
give it to someone.”
    Abby frowned. “That would be us. But, why did he
change his mind?”
    All I could do was shrug. I pulled out my copy of the new
will. “Here’s the new one. According to it, your organization
is included for a sum of ten thousand dollars.”
    “Ten thou-” She clamped her lips shut. Tears brimmed
in her eyes. Fighting the emotion threatening to sweep over
her, she sighed. “I suppose I should be happy for that, but the
preserve would have been a tremendous environmental asset
to the area, helping to preserve part of the ecology as well as
American wildlife.”
    “And you say he gave the society a copy of the will?”
    “Yes. Would you care to see it?”
    “If you don’t mind.” To me, it was a little more than odd.
The old man must have not only been eccentric, but eccentric with a capital E. On the other hand, anyone worth $23 million could, like the six-hundred-pound gorilla, do just
about whatever he wanted to do.

    Retrieving it from a desk drawer, she handed the document to me. “The date on it is in his hand.”
    At an upward slant across the top left corner of the will
was the date, July 11, 1993. Eleven years ago. I skimmed the
will. It was identical to the new one with two exceptions.
Madison Parish Ornithological Society was beneficiary of
the thousand and ten acres, and Annebelle Edney’s name
was not mentioned.
    I glanced at the new will and date on which it had been
signed, July 24, 2004.
    “July twenty-fourth,” I muttered. “And the fire was on
the twenty-sixth.” I pursed my lips and studied the will,
hoping for some revelation, which never came. “Two days
later.”
    “My secretary said you were here in