Chapter 18
At 9 o’clock the next morning, my mother and I were in the offices of Jackson Conner, a man who had been a lawyer in Levi longer than I could remember. Among his clients were numbered the school board, bank, and the biggest farmers and ranchers within a hundred miles. He drew up wills for every one of Levi’s citizens who owned enough property or had enough children to need estate direction. I felt comfortable in talking to him. More importantly, my mother trusted him.
As soon as she had those aspirins yesterday, Mom phoned Mr. Conner. Then, she and I had a long discussion about what might happen if Ben’s handwritten will became public knowledge. My, oh my, how tongues would wag! I could hear the gossips having a field day: “Did you know that Flora Tucker got all of Ben Ventris’s money and land? That looks to me like they were a little closer than just friends.”
This future gossip was another thing for which I could thank Ben. I was beginning to think that I liked Ben Ventris a whole lot better before I knew about that gold.
More deadly than malicious gossip was the trouble the will would stir up for us from those who wanted Ben’s gold. Somebody had committed murder, not once, but three times, to be rid of anyone who stood between him and a fortune. Perhaps he thought he had pretty much cleared the field. After our local newspaper printed the notice of Ben’s will, I could only imagine the rage that would fill the heart of that unknown killer.
First, though, we would need to determine whether a court would conclude that Ben’s will, handwritten on a sheet of notebook paper, was valid. My mother assured me that anybody would recognize Ben’s strong, backward-slanted writing. It was certainly distinctive but I doubted that Ben had written many letters. My mother could not be the one to verify that his will and signature were authentic, since she was the person who would gain from it.
How did one go about the process of validating a handwritten will? Were other samples of Ben’s handwriting available? Most wills were certified by two witnesses. This will had no witness at all, so did that make it invalid?
Looking around at the walls of Jackson Conner’s office, I saw that it was truly a man’s room. Cedar paneling, two brown leather sofas, and a large chair were evidence of the owner’s taste. Photographs of local scenes hung on the walls: two deer among a stand of winter-bare trees, someone in hip boots (Mr. Conner, perhaps) standing in the river with a rod and reel in his hands, a lovely picture of a plain, white church with a bell at the top and several people going into its wide open doors. I had seen that little church many times on my way to Granny Grace’s land.
A pretty receptionist sat behind an oak desk in this outer room. As we were about to sit down, Jackson Conner opened the door to his office. The aroma of cherry-flavored pipe tobacco wafted out. I always associated that scent with this big, attractive man.
Holding wide his door, Mr. Conner smiled and boomed, “Come in, come in. Two of my favorite ladies. Have a seat, please.”
Mom and I sat facing the lawyer’s desk, in leather chairs similar to those in the outer office. Conner’s swivel chair creaked as he returned to it.
“I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays, Flora. And Darcy, it has been a long time since we’ve talked. I heard you moved back to Levi. Mighty sorry about your husband.”
Swallowing a lump in my throat, I smiled and said, “Thanks. I’m back home for a while, at least, maybe a long time.”
“Do you ladies mind if I smoke?”
We said, “No” at the same time. In fact, I would have been disappointed if he had put away his pipe. For some reason, that cherry scent was relaxing.
Jackson Conner rearranged some papers on his desk and got his pipe going to his satisfaction. Next, he gave us his full attention.
“Now, ladies, what can I do for the two of you?” he asked.
As a young man, he must have been quite handsome, and now, with his white hair and handlebar mustache, he was not only attractive but distinguished-looking too. He flashed a roguish grin.
“You didn’t hang out in a bar last night and get yourselves arrested on the way home, did you?”
My mother snorted. “You know better than that, Jackson Conner. No, our problem is not what we have done but rather, what we should do. And, I don’t know if you can solve it or if anybody can, for that matter.”
Mr. Conner’s white bushy eyebrows rose. “It may not be as bad as you think,” he said.
For the first time, I noticed the plaque on the wall behind him: “If God brought you to it, He will take you through it.”
“I’ve cleared my schedule for the next couple of hours, Flora. They are all yours, if you need them. I’m prepared to listen to whatever is disturbing you,” he said.
Mom sat twisting the straps of her handbag for several seconds, then she blurted out the question that had kept her awake most of the night. “Why does all that stuff about a will being probated have to be published in the paper?”
Mr. Conner’s eyes registered surprise. He knocked a fragrant chunk of charcoal from his pipe, cleared his throat, and said, “It’s the law, Flora.” Reaching into the glass canister on his desk, he pulled out fresh tobacco and began tamping it into his pipe.
“If you’re talking about your will,” he said, putting a match to the pipe’s bowl, “it probably won’t be necessary to run it through probate since practically all your property is in your and Darcy’s names, jointly.”
Mom was about to twist her purse straps off. “But what if there’s no close family and the—what do you call it—the major heir in the will isn’t even related to the person who died?”
“It doesn’t really matter if the heir is related to the deceased or not. If the will is prepared correctly, nobody should object to its being made public. There’s a good reason for the law being written that way. For instance, suppose a person dies after borrowing money from a relative and hasn’t paid it back. In that case, filing a notice of probate alerts the person who made the loan. He could then appear before the court and present the signed document and be re-paid by the deceased’s estate.”
Mr. Conner paused, glanced at Mom, and realized he hadn’t yet quite answered the question she hadn’t quite asked.
“Also, Flora, it’s just to let all the relatives and other possible heirs know about the probate of the estate. There could be a person who thinks he should have been given something but wasn’t mentioned in the will. In that case, he or she might decide to file a claim against the estate.”
Mom leaned forward. “Do you mean that sometimes a person who isn’t mentioned in a will can file a claim and collect?”
Jackson thoughtfully replaced the lid on the tobacco canister. “Only if that person you’re talking about has a legitimate document that proves the deceased owes him some money. Or if that person can otherwise prove he had a vested interest in the estate. Is there some reason you wouldn’t want your will made public, Flora?”
Mom shook her head. “We’re not talking about my will, Jackson. It’s just sort of a theoretical question.”
“I see.” The lawyer blew a perfect smoke ring toward the ceiling.
I had some questions of my own. “Is it always necessary to have two witnesses to a will to prove that it really belongs to the person who signs it?”
Mr. Conner shifted his attention to me. “Not necessarily. That’s the usual way it’s done but there are other ways of verifying that a will was actually written by the deceased. Are we talking about a problem with your husband’s estate, Darcy? If that’s the case, I might need to do a little research since Texas law may vary some from Oklahoma law.”
Shaking my head, I said, “No. It’s not my husband’s estate that is in question. It’s just —”
He raised his hand. “I know. I know. It’s just sort of a theoretical question. Now, ladies, let me ask you a sort of theoretical question.”
Mom and I waited.
“Are the two of you actually undercover investigators from the state bar, here to determine
whether I still know all I need to know about wills and estates and probate? Or are you asking these theoretical questions just in case you might need to know the answers in the future? Or, far more likely it seems to me, is there a problem that involves a will and you’re a little reluctant to tell me about it?”
Mom and I looked at each other. I could see that we were going to have to tell this lawyer everything if we proceeded with the probate. Starting with just the bare facts might be a good idea.
Taking a deep breath, I faced Jackson Conner. “I guess one of the things we really want to know, and this isn’t just theoretical, is this: suppose there is a handwritten will that’s proved valid and it gives all the deceased’s property to a person who isn’t a relative. Suppose there’s somebody else who isn’t mentioned in the will but is trying to file a claim. This last person is doing his best to establish himself as the sole heir and executor of the estate. In that case, which person has the sounder claim?”
I tried not to feel like a child who has just asked her teacher a silly question as Mr. Conner scrutinized me silently for a few seconds. His reply was to the point and probably straight from a law book.
“A valid will always takes precedence over anything else except in the case of property that’s owned jointly with the right of survivorship.”
Drawing a deep breath, I relaxed. “That’s what I thought, but it’s good to hear it from an authority. Here are the facts, Mr. Conner: my mother is the sole heir under a will that is not quite the usual textbook case. In fact, she didn’t even know about it until the person who made the will died.”
Jackson Conner nodded, probably thinking he had it all figured out at last.
Glancing at Mom, I said, “Then we discovered there is someone who claims there isn’t any will and he should inherit everything because—um—he was assured of this.”
I now had Conner’s full attention. He took the pipe out of his mouth, put it into the ashtray, and asked, “Is there a large amount of money involved?”
Carefully choosing my words, I said, “There may be, but as yet we don’t know the amount or value of all the assets.”
Mom frowned. “First of all,” she said, “I don’t care a flip about the money I might get if we probate the will. There are people who need it more than I do. In fact, I’m not sure who it rightfully belongs to.”
Mom had never chased after the mighty dollar. She owned a beautiful old house now only because my father had seen it and the surrounding land as a good investment, many years ago. My parents had never done much to the house except paint it and update the kitchen. Mom had an income that allowed her to live well enough to suit her. Once again, this was due to my father’s foresight in purchasing a life insurance policy through his job. In fact, it was my father’s example that persuaded Jake to buy a similar policy.
Conner nodded. “Indeed. I know you’ve never been interested in money, Flora. That’s one of the many things I’ve always admired about you, but sometimes the deceased wants a certain heir to have control of his property because he knows that person will follow his intent exactly. It’s actually quite a large responsibility, the inheritance of wealth.”
The lawyer’s shrewd blue eyes narrowed. “We’re talking about one Mr. Ben Ventris and his will, aren’t we?”
She nodded toward me. “You lay it out for him, Darcy. You can do it a lot better than I can. Tell him about the visitor we had yesterday.”
So, I did. I began with finding Ben’s body in the cemetery, its subsequent disappearance, the death of the Oklahoma City antiques dealer, Ben’s daughter’s death, and the arrival of Ben’s letter containing his handwritten will several weeks after his death. I finish by recounting that unforgettable visit from the lawyer representing an unknown heir who had not actually threatened us, but certainly implied that things would be better if we went along with his proposal. I placed the affidavit that J. Smith Rowley left with us on Mr. Conner’s desk.
Jackson Conner grew very still as he scanned this document. When he looked at us, the twinkle was entirely gone from his eyes. “I know J. Smith Rowley,” he said. “What a disgrace to the bar.”
As soon as Mr. Conner said this, a bell rang in my memory. Rowley had looked familiar and I realized I knew him too. That is, I knew of him. He had gotten a lot of publicity a couple of years earlier when he defended three people who bilked a big Oklahoma City corporation out of millions. No wonder he could afford Gucci loafers.
Mr. Conner forgot to draw on his pipe. “I know Rowley better than I’d like to know him,” he said. “Among the state bar, he’s best known for his representation of a big-time drug cartel.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry you two had any contact with him.”
Mom made a “tsking” sound. “So you don’t believe I’d have any trouble probating Ben’s handwritten will even though I’m not related to him?”
“No, I don’t. I feel certain any judge in the state would rule that will is valid, especially after I submit an affidavit saying I know the handwriting is Ben’s. Did you bring the will with you?”
Mom drew the envelope with the will in it out of her purse and handed it to Conner. The map was folded on the inside of the will.
Conner’s bushy brows v’d down over his nose. I could almost see the circuits connecting in his mind.
Looking up at us again, he said, “Before we go any further, I need to tell you something. Ben called me the week before he was killed. He wanted to come into the office to talk to me. He said he needed to have a will made. I believe his words were, ‘I’ve got a bad feeling.’ But I was leaving town the next day for a long trial in federal court. I told him I’d get back to him the first thing on the following Monday. I remember that I reminded him that I was aware he owned a lot of land and making a will was the wise thing to do. He said a strange thing. ‘It’s not the land he’s after, it’s the gold. But he’ll have some trouble finding it.’ Of course, by Monday, Ben was dead.”
Jackson Conner sighed and gazed out of his window. “I wish I had asked him what he meant but I didn’t. And you told me that Ben believed somebody was trying to kill him, Flora?”
“I don’t know if he thought somebody was trying to kill him,” Mom said slowly. “He told me he had a feeling that something was going to happen to him.”
Conner smoothed the will on his desk. “This is most certainly valid.”
“But how can we prove that is Ben’s handwriting?” I asked.
Conner rose and went to a cabinet behind his desk, returning with a manila folder. “I can prove that right here. I represented Ben’s interests when he bought that western property a long time ago. I’ve got several examples of his handwriting on these documents. I can prepare an affidavit certifying that this is the handwriting of Mr. Ben Ventris.”
Perching on the edge of his desk, Jackson held the papers so we could see the similarity in the writing with Ben’s name on them. “Proving the will is no problem at all,” he said, “however, we do have a problem and it is a real whopper.”
He handed the map back to Mom. With Ben’s will in one hand and the folder in the other, he walked toward the outer office. “Let me get my secretary started on this so we can file it today. It may be important to act quickly.”
Returning to his chair, he settled back and regarded us gravely. “You may both be in immediate danger. If somebody wanted Ben’s assets enough to eliminate everyone who might lay claim to them, that person is sure enough not going to stop now.”
I felt frozen in my chair. My mother and I talking about danger was one thing; hearing this man, well versed in law and human behavior, voice our fear was quite another.
“There’s another little wrinkle here that neither of you may have realized,” he continued. “If someone is trying to file a notice of probate through J. Smith Rowley, they’re going to be watching the courthouse and the newspaper very closely to see if anybody jumps in ahead of them. The news of this probate is going to leak out even before the notice hits the
newspaper tomorrow.”
My lips felt stiff as I said, “So, no matter what we do, we’re going to be in danger.”
“Yes, unless you do as Rowley wants, and give everything over to this anonymous person. I guess that would let you off the hook.”
“I can’t do that,” Mom whispered.
“Then, let me warn you that you will be in danger even before the paper comes out in the morning. I’m quite sure that Rowley has someone watching the courthouse to see what is being filed. Can you two change residences for a while? I have an unused guest room in my house. I’d be honored if you’d come and stay with me until this settles down.”
Mom smiled. “Thanks, Jackson. That’s kind of you, but we’ll be okay. We have an electric alarm system and Grant has someone patrolling our road.”
Jackson Conner shook his head. “You need a whole lot more than a patrol, Flora. You’re dealing with a person who has evil intent. You’re going to need at least two full time guardian angels.”
The Cemetery Club Page 18
