He took another deep breath. “In my considered legal opinion”—his expression was dismal. The man had no talent for subterfuge—“Judge Blackburn will rule that the estate should be apportioned on the basis of intestacy since the proven existence of a new will, notwithstanding its disappearance, effectively voided the previous document. If the estate is distributed on that basis, the heir would be the closest living relative.”
“Oh, Wade”—Peg’s voice rose in excitement—“does that mean Keith inherits even if they never find the new will?”
Wade flushed again.
I hoped a shot of Jack Daniel’s would ease his blood pressure later. Or did whiskey raise blood pressure? I’d always preferred plain club soda.
He avoided looking at them. “That is my judgment.” He spoke slowly, weighting each word evenly. “The determining factor, in my view, will be the testimony of the witness. If Judge Blackburn believes the witness to be credible, I don’t see how he can rule otherwise.”
“Who is this presumably credible witness?” Harrison’s tone was tense. “Why, this could be a sensation-seeking, delusional person off the street.”
Peg turned on Harrison. “How did some unknown person know enough to describe a will that reflects what Susan had already directed Wade to write?”
Harrison ignored her question. “If everything depends upon this unknown witness’s credibility, who is this witness? We have a right to know.”
Wade folded his arms. “The witness is a man you know well, a man who has the respect of Adelaide, a man who spent most of his working life protecting Susan Flynn’s investment in Burnt Creek. Susan Flynn took that new will to Leon Butler’s house Saturday night. Moreover, Susan asked Leon to read the will and sign it as a witness. Leon Butler will swear to the existence of the new will and he will also testify to the contents and that he watched as Susan signed the document. I have arranged for his testimony to be taken here in the morning with a notary public present. As soon as the courthouse opens after the holidays, I will present Leon’s affidavit to Judge Blackburn.”
Harrison pushed back his chair. “There’s still no will. I’ll have my lawyer get in touch. I’m going to fight this trumped-up claim.” His bluster was loud and determined, but his face was slack with shock. He turned on his heel, walked blindly to the door. Charlotte hurried ahead to open it.
The other presumptive heirs filed out of the conference room. Jake moved like an old woman with hunched shoulders and slow steps. Gina burrowed her hands into the pockets of her coat, her face grim. Tucker walked swiftly, leaving the others behind.
Only Peg smiled. She looked back from the doorway. “You’re doing the right thing, Wade.”
He massaged one temple, clearly glad the meeting was over. “I’m doing what I can for Susan.”
Tucker’s pickup gunned out into the street. Harrison and Charlotte passed without a word of farewell.
Peg reached out a hand toward her mother. “Of course you will. We’re going to take care of Keith and—”
Jake swung away, broke into a trot to follow Gina. “I’m going to drive home with Gina. Oh, it won’t be my home. Not anymore.”
Peg stood by her car. All traces of her elation in Farrell’s office drained from her face. She slid into the driver’s seat, sat there in despair. In the light from the lamppost, she looked terribly young and unhappy and alone. One hand reached for her purse. She lifted out her cell phone, held it for a moment, started to slip it into the purse, then, her eyes huge and empty, quickly punched a number.
“Dave, I wanted to let you know—”
I wasn’t certain of her tone. Was she calling in hope or in dread?
“—that I don’t have to decide anything about Susan’s will. Leon Butler witnessed the new will Saturday night and he’s going to make a sworn statement tomorrow and that means Keith will inherit.”
She listened.
I wished I knew what Dave Lewis was saying.
Peg’s face was abruptly resolute. “I’ll call you later.” She clicked off the phone.
It took me ten minutes of scouting to find the silent sentinels, at least a dozen of them, dressed all in black, caps, jackets, trousers, and boots. They were stationed in various places around the house and in the woods near the road. They had blended into the night, shadows among shadows.
Relieved, I popped inside. Since the blinds were closed, no sharpshooter would spot Leon Butler through a window and fire. If an attack came, that attack would have to occur in the house.
My stomach knotted. Kim Weaver had no warning when a rifle shot punctured the front right tire and her car careened into the water-filled pit. Tonight when the doorbell rang or the knock came at the back door, I would be there first. I had no weapon, but I could move without being seen. If a hand lifted with a gun ready to fire the instant the door opened, I would push the barrel to one side, afford time for a rescue to occur. From this moment until the trap either succeeded or failed, Leon Butler was my responsibility. True, he’d agreed to provide a target for an elusive killer, but it was I who had asked him to take that chance.
Water splashed and silverware clinked in the kitchen. Leon stood at the sink, washing his supper dishes. He worked with the sleeves of his red plaid flannel shirt rolled to the elbows. His lined, weathered face was somber. He dried the dishes and silverware and returned them to their proper places. He unrolled his sleeves, buttoned the cuffs, and walked to a door near the refrigerator. He opened it, flicked on the light to reveal basement steps. He closed the door, pushed home a bolt. At the back door, he slid the bolt into the bracket.
