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The Will

Page 16

by Reed Arvin


  There was a pause, and then: “Where are you?”

  “About a hundred feet away from you. Now it’s ninety-five.”

  She turned, and saw him walking toward her. “How will I know you?” she asked into the phone, laughing.

  “Six-one, slightly wrinkled khakis, dark green shirt. We both like green, apparently.” He reached her, took the phone from her hand, and hung it up. “Impressed?”

  “For a minute I thought you were clairvoyant.”

  “Watch what you think.”

  She smiled and stuck out her hand. “Amanda Ashton. Are you always this efficient?”

  “Absolutely.” They walked the few steps to the diner, and Henry said, “Listen, can you go on in? I’ve got to make a quick phone call. Just take a second.”

  “Sure. I’ll get a table.”

  “Thanks.” Amanda disappeared into the diner, and Henry called the Crandall house. Sarah answered. “Hey there,” he said quietly. “How you holding up?”

  To his relief, she sounded better than he had thought. Some life had come back into her, from the sound of it. “All right,” she said. “Mother’s better. She’s eating, and we actually talked a little this morning.”

  “Listen, Sarah, is Roger around?” he asked. “I’d like to come out and fill all of you in on a few things.”

  “He’s not, Henry. I think he went to Topeka for the day.”

  That was a disappointment; he had wanted to get the family together as soon as possible. “I didn’t know he was heading out of town,” Henry said.

  “He didn’t either, really. He left early. I think it came up suddenly.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be home?”

  “He didn’t say. Is it important? Have you found out anything?”

  “Nothing to worry about. Just have Roger call me when he gets back. You have my number there, right?”

  “It’s right here by the phone. Is everything all right, Henry?”

  “Everything’s fine, Sarah. Just have Roger call me.”

  The time pressure off, Henry walked back into the Trailside. He glanced around the place; there was the usual collection of middle-aged farmers in the Naugahyde booths. Then he saw Amanda smiling at him from a table near the back.

  Henry took his seat, considering his caller. She was a pleasant change from his recent engagements; she looked pretty and smart, and above all, not from Council Grove. “Sorry for the informal meeting place,” he said. “But I was starving anyway.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “How’s your cholesterol?”

  “I’ve got a little room to maneuver.”

  “Consider it sacrificed.”

  “That’s fine. I haven’t got time to be fussy.”

  Gladys Neumann, the enormous waitress at the diner, took their order. Amanda, to Henry’s surprise, ordered eggs, hash browns, toast, and coffee.

  “You don’t eat like a girl,” Henry said, smiling.

  She gave him a surprised look. “Whatever that means.”

  “It’s a compliment, actually. I’m always fascinated when a woman orders water and a piece of lettuce.” Elaine, he had to admit, had that kind of eating down to a science.

  “I work too hard not to eat like a real person.”

  “Apparently. Working Saturday’s pretty gung-ho for the government.”

  “Sometimes it’s the only time I can get things done. If they paid me by the hour I’d be a millionaire.”

  Henry smiled. “You said this has something to do with the state department of environment. Rarely the bearers of good news.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Another stereotype.”

  “I never claimed to be progressive.”

  “It’s okay. I just need some information, and maybe a favor.”

  “I ought to warn you I don’t really practice law in this state. I’m a little lax on the regs around here.”

  “What kind of practice are you in?”

  Henry considered several phrases and said, “Carnage, mostly.”

  She laughed. “What does that mean?”

  “Dismantling things.”

  “Pretty grim job description.”

  “Well, sometimes we put new things together out of the parts.”

  She looked at him, trying to decide if he was being serious. “Are you dangerous?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said simply. He smiled. “But don’t worry, it’s my day off for corporate raiding. I find myself being a Good Samaritan lately.”

  “So maybe I’ve come at a good time.”

  “Maybe.”

  “This is a pretty simple matter, actually. I’m trying to find out the condition of some of the older oil wells in this part of the state for the agency. I’d like to go out and take a look at the wells on the Crandall property.”

  “Sounds reasonable. What do you need my help for?”

  Amanda hesitated. “Rumor has it Crandall’s heir is belligerently opposed to my agency’s looking around,” she said. “So I’m needing a little help with getting on the property. I don’t want a scene.”

  Henry shrugged. “I doubt that he comprehends the notion of a state department of environment in the first place.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I think I see the problem here. Your rumor mill assumes Crandall’s son Roger is the heir.”

  “I wasn’t told the name. I just assumed a Crandall would be involved.”

  “Not exactly true.” Henry took a minute to explain the circumstances of the will to Amanda, including Raymond Boyd’s condition. “Of course,” he finished, “he might not be any friendlier to the idea than Roger. If it is his land, in the end. Things are in suspended animation around here.”

  She looked at him thoughtfully. “So is that what you meant about being the Good Samaritan? Are you defending this man Boyd?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to,” she said. “It’s obviously the thing to do. But of course I’m a civil servant.”

  “Liberal?”

  “Passionately.” She smiled. “You?”

  “Politics? I don’t know. Republican, when I think about it.”

  “You obviously need to think about it a little bit harder.”

  He smiled; it had been a while since he had talked with someone who believed in . . . well, in anything, he supposed. “My boss would call you naive,” he said. She frowned, obviously displeased. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Parker calling someone naive just means they’re a decent human being.”

  She laughed. “And now a Chicago lawyer ends up sorting through a local mess. How did that happen?”

  “Like Raymond, I inherited it. My father drafted the will.”

  “So he’s a lawyer as well.”

  “Was,” Henry said. “He passed away, with my mother. I grew up here, actually. This journey into the past is in my hometown. Graduated from KU, took the bar to get state-certified, and hauled out.”

  “I’m sorry about your parents. I didn’t realize.”

  “No problem.”

  She smiled, pushing her hair back behind her ears. Henry found himself admiring the line of her jaw, the way the hair traced down her neck. She was no model, but she was definitely attractive, in a flawed, comfortable way. “I love Chicago,” she said. “Don’t get there much anymore.”

  “You know it?”

  “I dated a boy at Northwestern. I was at Georgetown at the time, so it was the typical long-distance thing. Phone bills from hell. Had a heck of a summer, though.”

  Their food came, and between bites Henry asked, “I still don’t understand what I have to do with this. Surely you’ve got all the authority you need without my help.”

  Amanda hesitated, obviously uneasy. “I made the mistake of getting on the wrong side of somebody powerful,” she said, “somebody who tends to make my job as difficult as possible anyway. It’s a special pleasure for him. So unless I’m willing to fight a bureaucratic nightmare, it would be
better to do things this way.”

  “And what exactly is ‘this way’?”

  “I need the property owner present at the test.” She sighed. “I was hoping you could grease the rails a little. I realize now how difficult that would be. The last thing I expected was this insanity curveball.”

  “So this isn’t the normal policy, then?”

  “No. Like I said, I got on the wrong side of the wrong person.”

  “And who is this protector of the earth that you ticked off?”

  Amanda paused, as though having the name in her mouth made her queasy. “Carl Durand,” she said tersely. “Senator Carl Durand.”

  “Well, that explains everything.”

  She looked up, surprised. “You know him?”

  “I know of him. Durand’s been selling oil and natural gas around here since I was a kid. He runs a tight ship, and nobody’s been able to cut into his little pie. And I’ve just seen his name again anyway. I’ve been going over all the Crandall business records, and he’s bought every drop of oil off the Crandall property since day one. Still does, although there’s not much left.”

  “I’m not surprised. He tends to be everywhere I don’t want him.”

  “All right. Suppose I can get you on the property. What is it you want to look at?”

  Amanda launched into her concerns about the leaching chemicals, the remains of her breakfast growing cold, unheeded. Henry smiled, then smiled wider, finally laughing out loud.

  She ground to a halt. “What?” she demanded.

  “Take a breath,” Henry said. “The oil isn’t going anywhere during breakfast.” It felt good to let his smile surface; he had always been a sucker for intelligent flirtation, and the girl sitting across from him was good at it, even better than Elaine. Just as tough, but without the venom.

  “So what about it?” Amanda said. “Can you borrow my crusade for a day?”

  He paused. “Didn’t a lot of people get killed in the Crusades?”

  “They believed in the cause.”

  “Still dead, though.” Henry pushed back from the table. “Look, you’re only needing temporary access. Go out there and do your test. If you get any flak, just blame me. I could care less what Carl Durand thinks. This time next week I’ll be back in Chicago reading briefs.”

  “But I’ll still be here, dealing with the mess. Although I appreciate your sense of adventure.”

  “Then I’m not sure what I can do for you. The thing is, I can’t really imagine Boyd going with you.”

  “But he has to go. He’s my only chance. No offense, but if you won’t help me, I’ll find him and ask him myself.”

  The waitress brought the bill, and Henry reflexively picked it up. After a moment, however, he pushed it across the table to Amanda. “Take me to breakfast,” he said simply. Amanda picked up the bill with a raised eyebrow. “It’s only fair, considering how much you’re going to owe me,” Henry said.

  “For what?”

  “Trust me, you’d never get Boyd to go anywhere with you. And if you did I’m not sure it would be entirely safe. But I’ll take you both—if I can get him to agree. No promises, but I’ll give it a shot. Like you said, I’ve borrowed your crusade.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Maybe I want to see what it feels like for a while. Anyway, I’ve got my own reasons to get Boyd onto the Crandall ranch.”

  She smiled broadly. “I ought to warn you, not everyone wants a crusader around. They ask for favors a lot.”

  “I’ll let you know if you start to wear thin.”

  She stood, dropping some money onto the table. “You do that.”

  The capitol building was nearly deserted on Saturday morning, and the long corridor on the third floor leading to Carl Durand’s office was empty. Roger walked down it, scanning nameplates on the doors. He found Durand’s and walked in at ten-fifty, ten minutes early. No one was in the outer waiting area, and he opened the door to Durand’s private chambers without knocking. “I’m here,” he said, crossing the room and flopping into a chair opposite Durand’s desk.

  “So I see,” Durand replied. “Tell me something, Roger, did you grow up in a barn? Sorry, stupid question.”

  Roger stared back at Durand blankly; the senator shrugged and said, “Let’s go over here. More comfortable.” He led Roger into a sitting area off to one side of the office, where a couch, a low table, and a couple of wing chairs were situated. Against a wall was a wet bar. “Since you’re early,” he continued with a sarcasm lost on his visitor, “we can talk privately a few minutes. I’ve gone ahead and invited Frank Hesston to meet with us, just to fill you in from that angle.”

  “The lawyer.”

  “That’s right. It’s time we got you your own representation, Roger. Someone on your side. Frank’s an old friend. He’ll look out for your interests.”

  Roger grunted an assent and leaned back in his chair. He had driven hard that morning, the big hand pushing him and his yellow Cadillac fast up I-75 through the Flinthills to the state capital. He knew showing up early for the meeting was a sign of weakness, something his father would never have done. But it had been pure torture waiting until eleven. For starters, he had got his fill of Henry Mathews, and he wanted to put into motion as quickly as possible a way to punish him, make him regret taking a tone of equality, even superiority. But there was more—new information that made even his feud with Henry seem insignificant. Small-time’s over, he thought, focusing unsteadily on Durand’s face across the table. It had taken a few shots of whiskey to steady his nerves, and they had hit his empty stomach with destabilizing force. He had been drinking harder lately, partly because it would have annoyed his father and partly because the ordeal over the will had made him jumpy. But soon all that would be over. The balance of power around here is about to get seriously fucked up.

  Durand carefully took Roger in for a moment, scanning him up and down. “Jesus, Roger, are you drinking already?” he said with irritation. “It’s not even noon.”

  Roger looked shocked. “Hell, no,” he lied. “Never touch it before lunch. You know me.”

  Durand muttered something unintelligible under his breath. When he spoke, however, his tone was one of concern. “We’ve got to settle this estate once and for all,” he said. “I was too close to your father to see this thing handled this way. That’s why I’ve called in Frank.”

  Roger eyed Durand. You’re breakin’ my heart, he thought. Now that Daddy’s dead, you’re real interested in me. And now I know why.

  A door opened behind them, and Durand said, “Frank’s here. He can fill you in.”

  Roger turned his head quickly to see Hesston enter, and the sudden motion sent the office spinning past him for a moment. Durand and Hesston exchanged a look, the lawyer taking in the situation in a moment. “Don’t get up, Roger,” Hesston said, passing quickly by him and taking a seat. “You look perfectly comfortable where you are.”

  Frank Hesston was a short man, stocky, but not soft. His face was full and round, the face of substance and affluence. His intense, pale blue eyes revealed a robust, incisive mind and a keen interest in detail. He was about fifty years old; his brownish hair was thinning, and a bald spot crept outward from the crown of his skull. He wore a dark blue business suit and a tasteful, conservative tie, the clothes of a successful lobbyist. He turned to Durand. “I assume you’ve brought Roger up to date?”

  “Not yet,” Durand said. He looked at Roger and said, “I invited Frank to meet with us because he’s the finest attorney in this state, and that’s the kind of legal representation I want you to have. We’ve got to get you back in the saddle, Roger. Sitting tall, like you deserve.”

  Damn right, Roger thought. But with what I know, I won’t need either one of you to do that.

  “What Carl’s saying, Roger, is that I’m here to handle this situation from a legal standpoint. This in terrorem clause can be beat. I’ve beat it myself. With the right judge . . .”

 
“So you’re real interested in my welfare, that’s what you’re saying.”

  Hesston looked quizzically at Durand. “That’s why we’re here, Roger.”

  Roger looked at Hesston, then at Durand, fixing each with a level smile. “So you’re both my friends. I can trust you.”

  “Your father and I went back a long time,” Hesston said. “I figure I owe him this.”

  “You owe him!” Roger sneered. The hand pushed, and he couldn’t wait another second. Showtime, he thought. Time to turn some tables. He rose from his chair and walked slowly past Durand and Hesston, forcing them to turn completely around, a move he had often watched his father use. “Well, I’m glad we got those little speeches taken care of,” he said lightly, “because you can both kiss my ass.”

  Durand’s face reddened instantly and he started to get up; Hesston put up his hand, watching Roger closely. “We’re all friends here, Roger,” he said quietly. “That’s why we’re here to help you. I can’t think why you would want to test that friendship with such . . . unwise words.”

  Roger walked to the bar, pulled out a tumbler, and filled it with scotch. He tossed back the drink and said, “I don’t give a damn what you think.” His words were starting to slur, and he spoke deliberately, which only served to emphasize his growing inebriation. “And I don’t care what you think either, Carl,” he added, saying the name with insolent familiarity. He stared at both of them. “The game’s up. I know what the hell’s been going on around here. I know the whole story, and I’ve decided that there’s gonna be some new rules.”

  Hesston’s friendly politeness promptly vanished. Durand fixed Roger with a level, malign stare. Roger, in spite of his confidence, blinked; even his father’s rages seemed less dangerous than what he saw in Durand’s face. Hesston said, “You have a lot of problems already, Roger, and I don’t think making enemies out of us helps you out any. But if you want to take us on, put your cards on the table. You got something to say, let’s hear it.”

  Roger’s head was singing with fear, booze, and adrenaline now, the combination rushing through him with crackling energy. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sheaf of tightly bound papers, forcing his hand steady. “It’s funny what you find when people die,” he growled. “Things that other people thought were hidden forever.”

 

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