The Death of Jeopard Dupont

Prologue

“He was a good man, a kind man. A man who would stop to help a homeless person on the street, always aware of those less fortunate than he…” the priest continued his praise of the departed dead, lying cold and lifeless in the casket before the congregation. The open casket showed the oddly relaxed countenance of a man well past his autumn years, his full head of white hair perfectly coiffed in death as it had been in life, with never a hair out of place. An odd twist to his lips conveyed a sense of dry amusement, as if he were laughing at them, all these people who had turned up to his funeral to see if he had finally bitten the dust, just to see if this day had really come. But his stiff smile hinted at a joke only he was in on.

The priest finished his rendition, saying a prayer for the man’s soul. “…name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

The congregation made the sign of the cross, intoning, “Amen,” after the priest.

As people started to get up, preparing to leave, a small, spindly man whose face had a noticeable likeness to some rodent species, tucked his discreet compact camera inside his bulky jacket, slipping outside without no one the wiser.

“It’s just such a shame the poor thing carked it on his birthday…” a nasal, southern accented white-haired woman said, fluttering her dry handkerchief for effect, on the steps of the church building.

“I heard he had spent it all alone in that big ol’ mansion of his,” another southern woman added in a falsely sympathetic tone.

“I heard he didn’t die in his sleep like they said, had a heart attack at the dinner table, fell face first into his soup, I heard! High cholesterol, you know,” came an undisguised malicious voice, giving the other two a knowing nod.

A middle-aged man strolled down the steps, past the gossiping trio, leading a significantly younger woman on his arm.

“‘A man who would stop to help a homeless person on the street…’” the man scoffed, mimicking the priest’s words. “Well the priest got one thing right, Dupont was always aware of those less fortunate than himself…only to rub it in their faces! Let’s get out of here, Shelley, I’m just glad he’s gone for good. Out of my life forever,” he said with a relieved sigh.

“Does that mean you’re going to leave your wife, Davey?” the brunette asked naively.

The man glared at her. “Not in public, Shelley,” he said through gritted teeth.

Another young woman made her way down the church steps, alone this time, head downcast, totally unaware that her every step was being watched by more than one source.

As soon as she passed one of the old crones whispered, “That’s his great-niece. He was her only living relative. Poor dear is all alone in the world now.”

“At least she has his fortune to keep her warm at night,” another cackled maliciously.

“That’s the thing! I heard he left her nothing!”

The other women gasped.

“Then who did he leave it to?”

“His wife.”

“But - but…he wasn’t married!”

“Apparently he was.”

“To who?”

“No one knows. That’s the big mystery.”

“Well, we’ll see soon enough. Once news spreads wide enough we’ll see evidence of his so-called ‘wife’. Because really, who would ignore inheriting a global empire?”