Gray Mountain: A Novel(65)

Samantha had never seen the inside of a mobile home, had never really thought about doing so, but two miles east of the city limits, at the end of a gravel road, she had her first experience. It was a nice trailer, furnished and clean and only $550 a month. Pamela confessed that she had grown up in a trailer, like so many of her friends, and was fond of the privacy. To Samantha, the place at first seemed incredibly cramped, but as she walked around it she had to confess she’d seen much tighter quarters in Manhattan.

There was a duplex on a hill above the town, nice views and all, but the folks next door gave all appearances of being insufferable. There was a vacant house in a shady part of town. They looked at it from the street and did not get out of the car. From there the search fizzled, and they decided to have coffee downtown, not far from the courthouse. Samantha resisted the temptation to walk over, sneak into the back row, and watch Donovan perform for the jury. A couple of locals in a booth nearby talked of nothing but the trial. One said he had gone by at 8:30 and the courtroom was already packed. In his windy opinion, it was the “biggest trial ever in Colton.”

“What’s it about?” Samantha asked pleasantly.

“You don’t know about the Tate trial?” the man asked incredulously.

“Sorry, not from around here.”

“Oh boy.” He shook his head and sort of waved her off. His pancakes arrived and he lost interest in holding court. He knew far too much to share in such a short time.

Pamela had a friend in Colton she needed to check on. Samantha left her at the café and drove back to Brady. As soon as she walked into her office, Mattie was right behind her with “Just got a text from Jeff. Donovan wouldn’t settle and the jury has the case. Let’s grab a sandwich, eat in the car, and drive over.”

“I just left there,” Samantha said. “Besides, you can’t get a seat.”

“And how do you know this?”

“I have sources.” Instead, they ate sandwiches in the conference room with Claudelle and waited nervously for the next text. When it did not arrive, they drifted back to their offices, puttering, still waiting.

At 1:00 p.m., Mrs. Francine Crump arrived on schedule for the formal signing of her free will. It seemed odd that a woman who owned land worth at least $200,000 would pinch pennies so tightly, but the truth was that she had nothing but the land (and the coal beneath it). Samantha had corresponded with the Mountain Trust, a well-established conservation group that specialized in taking title to land and preserving it. In Francine’s simple will, she bequeathed her eighty acres to the Mountain Trust, and to the exclusion of her five adult children. As Samantha read the will to her and explained everything carefully, Francine began crying. It was one thing to get mad and “cut out the kids,” but it was quite another when she saw the words on paper. Samantha began to worry about the signing. For the will to be valid, Francine had to be “legally competent” and certain of what she was doing. Instead, for the moment anyway, she was emotional and uncertain. At eighty, and in declining health, she would not be around much longer. Her children would certainly contest the will. Since they would not be able to argue that the Mountain Trust unduly influenced their mother, they would be forced to attack the will on the grounds that she was mentally unfit when she signed it. Samantha would be smack in the middle of an ugly family brawl.

For reinforcements, she summoned both Annette and Mattie. The two veterans had seen it before and spent a few minutes with Francine, chatting about this and that until the tears stopped. Annette asked about her children and grandchildren, but this did not brighten her mood. She said she rarely saw them. They had forgotten about her. The grandkids were growing up so fast, and she was missing it all. Mattie explained that once she died, and once the family learned about the gift of the land to the Mountain Trust, there would be trouble. They would likely hire a lawyer and contest the will. Was that what she wanted?

Francine held her ground. She was bitter at her neighbors for selling out to a coal company, and she was determined to protect her land. She didn’t trust her children and knew they would grab the cash as quickly as possible. With her emotions in check, she signed the will, and the three lawyers witnessed it. They also signed affidavits attesting to their client’s mental stability. After she left, Mattie said, “We’ll see that one again.”

At 2:00 p.m., and with no word from the courtroom, Samantha informed Mattie that she needed to return to Colton to pick up the Bookers. Mattie jumped to her feet and they left in a hurry.





Donovan was killing time in a gazebo behind the hideous courthouse. He was sitting on a bench and chatting with Lisa Tate, the boys’ mother and his plaintiff. Jeff was nearby, on the phone, smoking a cigar and looking nervous.

Donovan introduced Mattie and Samantha to Lisa, and said nice things about the way she had held up during the five-day trial. The jury was still deliberating, he said as he pointed to a second-floor window in the courthouse. “That’s their room,” he said. “They’ve had the case about three hours.”

Mattie said, “I’m so sorry about your boys, Lisa. Such a senseless tragedy.”

“Thank you,” she replied softly but had no interest in pursuing the conversation.

“So how was your closing argument?” Samantha asked after an awkward pause.

Donovan smiled the victor’s smile and said, “Probably top three of all time. Had ’em in tears, didn’t I, Lisa?”