Gray Mountain: A Novel(81)

“Less income taxes of course,” Mattie said.

“Of course. And, as I said, it’s just a verbal deal. I guess the lawyers for Strayhorn can back out, right Mattie?”

“Oh yes, and don’t be surprised if they do. With Donovan out of the picture, they could easily change their strategy and flip us the bird.”

Samantha was shaking her head. “Wait a minute. If they agreed to settle the case, how can they change their minds?”

“There’s nothing in writing,” Mattie explained. “Or at least nothing we’ve found so far. Typically, in a case like this, the two sides sign a brief settlement agreement and get it approved by the court.”

Jeff said, “According to the secretary, there is a rough draft of one in the computer, but it was never signed.”

“So we’re screwed,” Samantha said, allowing the word “we” to slip out unintentionally.

“Not necessarily,” Mattie replied. “If they renege on the settlement, the case moves forward on appeal, something Donovan was not worried about. It was a clean trial with no reversible error, at least in his opinion. In about eighteen months the verdict should be affirmed on appeal. If the Supreme Court reverses, it comes back for another trial.”

“Who’ll try it?” Samantha asked.

“Let’s worry about that when it happens.”

“What else is in the estate?” Annette asked.

Jeff was looking at his handwritten notes. “Well, first of all, Donovan had a life insurance policy to the tune of half a million bucks. Judy is the beneficiary, and, according to the accountant, that money will pass outside his estate. So she’s in pretty good shape. He had 40,000 in a personal bank account, 100,000 in his law firm checking account, 300,000 in a mutual fund, and he had a litigation expense fund with 200,000 in it. His other assets are the Cessna, which of course is now worth nothing but insured at 60,000. His house and acreage are appraised by the county at one-forty and he wants that to be sold. His office building is appraised by the city of Brady at one-ninety, and I get that, according to his will. The house has a small mortgage; the office does not. Beyond that it’s all personal assets—his Jeep, his truck, his office furniture, etc.”

“What about the family farm?” Annette asked.

“No, Gray Mountain is still owned by our father and we have not spoken in years. I don’t have to remind you that he didn’t make it to his son’s funeral last week. Besides, the land is not worth much. I suppose I’ll inherit it one day, but I’m not counting my money.”

Samantha said, “I really don’t think I should be included in this conversation. It’s personal and private and right now I know more than his wife does.”

Jeff shrugged and said, “Come on, Samantha.”

She grabbed the doorknob and said, “You guys talk all the business you want. I’ve had enough. I’ll walk home.” Before they could respond, she was gone, outside the room and hustling across the gravel parking lot. The motel was on the edge of town, not far from the jail where Romey had taken her barely two months earlier. She needed the cool air and the walk, and she needed to get away from the Gray boys and their troubles. She had great sympathy for Jeff and the loss of his brother, she felt an emptiness herself, but she was also appalled at his recklessness. Tampering with the computers would guarantee more trouble from the FBI. Jeff was cocky enough to think he could outfox the Feds and disappear whenever he wanted, but she doubted it.

She passed some houses on Main Street and smiled at the scenes inside. Most families were either having dinner or clearing the table. Televisions were on; kids were at the tables. She passed Donovan’s office and felt her throat tighten. He’d been dead for a week and she missed him greatly. Had he been single, there was no doubt some manner of romantic and physical relationship would have sprung to life not long after she arrived in Brady. Two young single lawyers in a small town, enjoying each other’s company, both flirting and maneuvering; it would have been inevitable. She remembered Annette’s warnings about Donovan and his fondness for the ladies, and wondered again if she had been truthful. Or was she simply protecting her own interests? Was she getting Donovan all to herself and didn’t want to share? Jeff was convinced he was murdered; her father was not. How much did it really matter when Samantha considered what was obvious—he was gone forever?

She turned around and walked back to the Brady Grill, where she ordered a salad and coffee and tried to kill time. She did not want to return to the office, nor did she want to go sit in her apartment. After two months in Brady, she was feeling the boredom. She enjoyed the work and the daily drama around the clinic, but the lack of anything to do at night was getting monotonous. She ate quickly and paid her check to Sarge, the grumpy old man who owned the café, wished him a good night and pleasant dreams, and left. It was 7:30, still too early to turn in, so she marched on, taking in the brisk air and stretching her legs. She had walked every street in Brady and knew they were all safe. A dog might growl and a teenager might whistle, but she was a tough city girl who had endured far worse.

On a dark street behind the high school, she heard footsteps behind her, heavy sounds of someone who was not trying to follow in silence. She turned at a corner, and the footsteps did the same. She picked a street lined with homes, almost all with porch lights on, and turned onto it. The same footsteps followed. At an intersection, and at a place where she could scream and people would hear her, she stopped and turned around. The man kept walking until he was only five feet away.