Gray Mountain: A Novel(70)

Donovan was again pressing Samantha to work in his office. The Hammer Valley case and the Ryzer case would soon be all-consuming, and he needed help. She felt strongly that he needed an entire staff of associates, not just a part-time intern. When he verbally settled the Tate case for $1.7 million, he offered her a full-time position with a generous salary. She declined, again. She reminded him that (a) she was still wary of litigation and not looking for a job; (b) she was just passing through, sort of on loan until the dust settled up in New York and she could figure out the next phase of her life, a phase that would have nothing to do with Brady, Virginia; and (c) she had made a commitment to the legal clinic and actually had real clients who needed her. What she didn’t explain was that she was afraid of him and his cowboy style of lawyering. She was convinced that he, or someone working on his behalf, had stolen valuable documents from Krull Mining and that this would inevitably be exposed. He was not afraid to break rules and laws and wouldn’t hesitate to violate court orders. He was driven by hatred and a burning desire for revenge, and, at least in her opinion, was headed for serious trouble. She could hardly admit to herself that she felt vulnerable around him. An affair could flare without much effort, and that would be a dreadful mistake. What she needed was less time with Donovan Gray, not more.

She wasn’t sure how to handle Jeff. He was young, single, sexy; thus a rarity in those parts. He was also hot on her trail, and she knew that dinner, wherever one might find a nice dinner, would lead to something else. After three weeks in Brady, she rather liked that idea.


On November 12, Donovan, with no co-counsel in sight, marched into the federal courthouse in Lexington, Kentucky, home to an eight-hundred-member law firm officially known as Casper, Slate & Hughes, and sued the bastards. He also sued Lonerock Coal, a Nevada corporation. Buddy and Mavis were with him, and, of course, he had alerted the press. They chatted with some reporters. One asked why the lawsuit had been filed in Lexington, and Donovan explained that he wanted to expose Casper Slate to its hometown folks. He was aiming for the scene of the crime, and so on. The press had a grand time with the story, and Donovan collected press clippings.

Two weeks earlier, he had filed the Hammer Valley lawsuit against Krull Mining in Charleston and received regional coverage.

Two weeks before that, he had won the Tate case with a spectacular verdict and got his name in a few newspapers.

On November 24, three days before Thanksgiving, they found him dead.





23


The nightmare began in the middle of Monday morning, as all the lawyers were working quietly at their desks, not a client in sight. The silence was shattered when Mattie screamed, a painful, piercing cry that Samantha was certain she would remember forever. They raced to her office. “He’s dead!” she wailed. “He’s dead! Donovan’s dead!” She was standing with one hand on her forehead; the other hand held the phone in midair. Her mouth was open, her eyes filled with terror. “What!” Annette shrieked. “They just found him. His plane crashed. He’s dead.”

Annette fell into a chair and began sobbing. Samantha stared into Mattie’s eyes, both unable to speak for a second. Barb was in the door, both hands over her mouth. Samantha finally walked over and took the phone. “Who is it?” she asked.

“Jeff,” Mattie said as she slowly sat down and buried her face in her hands. Samantha spoke into the receiver but the line was dead. Her knees were weak and she backed into a chair. Barb collapsed into another one. A moment passed, a moment laden with fear, shock, and uncertainty. Could there be a mistake? No, not if Donovan’s only sibling called his beloved aunt to deliver the worst possible news. No, it was not a mistake or a joke or prank; it was the unbelievable truth. The phone was ringing again, all three incoming lines blinking as the word was spreading rapidly through the town.

Mattie swallowed hard and managed to say, “Jeff said Donovan flew to Charleston yesterday to meet with some lawyers. Jeff was out of town over the weekend and Donovan was by himself. Air traffic control lost contact with him around eleven last night. Somebody on the ground heard a noise, and they found his plane this morning in some woods a few miles south of Pikeville, Kentucky.” Her quivering voice finally gave out and she lowered her head.

Annette was mumbling, “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this.” Samantha was speechless. Barb was a blubbering mess. More time passed as they cried and tried to come to grips with what was happening. They calmed a bit as the first hint of reality settled in. After a while, Samantha left the room and locked the front door. She moved quietly around the offices, closing curtains and blinds. Darkness engulfed the clinic.

They sat with Mattie as the phones rang and rang in the distance and all the clocks seemed to stop. Chester, with his own key, entered through the rear door and joined the mourning. He sat on the edge of the desk with one hand on his wife’s shoulder and patted gently as she sobbed and whispered to herself.

Softly, Chester asked, “Have you talked to Judy?”

Mattie shook her head and said, “No. Jeff said he would call her.”

“Poor Jeff. Where is he?”

“He was in Pikeville, taking care of things, whatever that means. He was not doing too well.”

A few minutes later, Chester said, “Let’s go home, Mattie. You need to lie down, and no one’s working around here today.”