Gray Mountain: A Novel(32)

“Any idea what the land is worth?” Samantha asked.

Mrs. Crump crunched her dentures and said, “A lot more than anybody knows. You see, the coal company came out last year and tried to buy the land, been trying for some time, but I ran ’em off again. Ain’t selling to no coal company, no ma’am. They’re blasting away not far from my land, taking down Cat Mountain, and it’s a real shame. Ain’t got no use for no coal company.”

“How much did they offer?”

“A lot, and I ain’t told my kids either. Won’t tell them. I’m in bad health, you see, and I’ll be gone pretty soon. If my kids get the land, they’ll sell to the coal company before I’m cold in the ground. That’s exactly what they’ll do. I know ’em.” She reached into her purse and pulled out some folded papers. “Here’s a will I signed five years ago. My kids took me down to a lawyer’s office, just down the street, and they made me sign it.”

Samantha slowly unfolded the papers and read the last will and testament of Francine Cooper Crump. The third paragraph left everything to her five children in equal shares. Samantha scribbled some useless notes and said, “Okay, Mrs. Crump, for estate tax purposes, I need to know the approximate value of this land.”

“The what?”

“How much did the coal company offer you?”

She looked as if she’d been insulted, then leaned in low and whispered. “Two hundred thousand and change, but it’s worth double that. Maybe triple. You can’t trust a coal company. They low ball everybody, then figure out ways to steal from you at the end.”

Suddenly the simple will was not so simple. Samantha proceeded cautiously, asking, “All right, so who gets the eighty acres under a new will?”

“I want to give it to my neighbor, Jolene. She lives across the creek on her own land and she ain’t selling either. I trust her and she’s already promised to take care of my land.”

“You’ve discussed this with her?”

“Talk about it all the time. She and her husband, Hank, say they’ll make new wills too, and leave their land to me in case they go first. But they’re in better health, you know? I figure I’ll pass first.”

“But what if they pass first?”

“I doubt it. I got high blood pressure and a bad heart, plus bursitis.”

“Sure, but what if they pass first, and you inherit their land to go along with your land, and then you die, who gets all this land?”

“Not my kids, and not their kids either. God help us. You think mine are bad.”

“Got that, but someone has to inherit the land. Who do you have in mind?”

“That’s what I came here for, to talk to a lawyer. I need some advice on what to do.”

Suddenly, with assets on the line, there were different scenarios. The new will would certainly be contested by the five children, and other than what she had just skimmed in the seminar materials, Samantha knew nothing about will contests. She vaguely recalled a case or two from a class in law school, but that seemed like so long ago. She managed to stall, take notes, and ask semi-relevant questions for half an hour, and succeeded in convincing Mrs. Crump that she should return in a few days after the firm had reviewed her situation. Barb was back, and she proved skillful in helping to ease the new client out the front door.

“What was that all about?” Barb asked when Mrs. Crump was gone.

“I’m not sure. I’ll be in my room.”


Donovan’s office was in much better shape than the legal aid clinic’s. Leather chairs, thick rugs, hardwood floors with a nice finish. A funky chandelier hung in the center of the foyer. Samantha’s first thought was that, finally, there was someone in Brady who might be making a buck or two. His receptionist, Dawn, greeted her politely and said the boss was waiting upstairs. She was off to lunch. As she climbed the circular staircase, Samantha heard the front door close and lock. There was no sign of anyone else.

Donovan was on the phone behind a large wooden desk that appeared to be very old. He waved her in, pointed to a bulky chair, and said, “Gotta go.” He slammed the phone down and said, “Welcome to my domain. This is where all the long balls are hit.”

“Nice,” she said, looking around. The room was large and opened onto the balcony. The walls were covered with handsome bookcases, all packed with the usual assortment of treatises and thick tomes meant to impress. In one corner was a gun rack displaying at least eight deadly weapons. Samantha didn’t know a shotgun from a deer rifle, but the collection appeared to be primed and ready.

“Guns everywhere,” she observed.

“I hunt a lot, always have. When you grow up in these mountains, you grow up in the woods. I killed my first deer at the age of six, with a bow.”

“Congratulations. And why do you want to have lunch?”

“You promised, remember? Last week, just after you were arrested and I rescued you from jail.”

“But we agreed on lunch at the diner down the street.”

“I thought we might have more privacy here. Plus, I try and avoid the local spots. As I told you, there are a lot of people around here who don’t like me. Sometimes they say things and make a scene in public. It can really ruin a good lunch.”

“I don’t see any food.”