"When did you type my summons?"
"Later that day. He was passed out under the pecan trees in the backyard, in his hammock. He was feeling a lot better, but by then he was addicted to the morphine. He didn't remember much of that last week."
"And Monday you took him to Tupelo?"
"Yes. He'd been driving himself, but since I was around he asked me to take him over."
"And you hid in the trees outside the clinic so no one would see you."
"That's pretty good. What else do you know?"
"Nothing. All I have is questions. You called me the night I got the summons in the mail, said you had received one too. You asked me if I was going to call the old man. I said no. What would've happened if I had called him?"
"Phones weren't working."
"Why not?"
"The phone line runs into the basement. There's a loose connecting switch down there."
Ray nodded as another little mystery was solved.
"Plus, he didn't answer it half the time," Forrest added.
"When did you redo his will?"
"The day before he died. I found the old one, didn't like it much, so I thought I'd do the right thing and equally divide his estate between the two of us. What a ridiculous idea - an equal split. What a fool I was. I just didn't understand the law in these situations. I thought that since we are the only heirs, that we should divide everything equally. I wasn't aware that lawyers are trained to keep whatever they find, to steal from their brothers, to hide assets that they are sworn to protect, to ignore their oaths. No one told me this. I was trying to be fair. How stupid."
"When did he die?"
"Two hours before you got there."
"Did you kill him?"
A snort, a sneer. No response.
"Did you kill him?" Ray asked again.
"No, cancer did."
"Let me get this straight," Ray said, leaning forward, the cross-examiner moving in for a strike. "You hung around for eight days, and the entire time he was stoned. Then he conveniently dies two hours before I get there."
"That's right."
"You're lying."
"I assisted him with the morphine, okay? Feel better? He was crying because of the pain. He couldn't walk, eat, drink, sleep, urinate, defecate, or sit up in a chair. You were not there, okay? I was. He got all dressed up for you. I shaved his face. I helped him to the sofa. He was too weak to press the button on the morphine pack. I pressed it for him. He went to sleep. I left the house. You came home, you found him, you found the money, then you began your lying."
"Do you know where it came from?"
"No. Somewhere on the coast, I presume. I don't really care."
"Who burned my airplane?"
"That's a criminal act, so I know nothing."
"Is it the same person who followed me for a month?"
"Yes, two of them, guys I know from prison, old friends. They're very good, and you were very easy. They put a bug under the fender of your cute little car. They tracked you with a GPS. Every move. Piece of cake."
"Why did you burn the house?"
"I deny any wrongdoing."
"For the insurance? Or perhaps to completely shut me out of the estate?"
Forrest was shaking his head, denying everything. The door opened and Allison stuck her long, angular face in. "Everything okay in here?" she demanded.
Fine, yes, we're swell.
"Seven more minutes," she said, then closed it. They sat there forever, both staring blankly at different spots on the floor. Not a sound from the outside.
"I only wanted half, Ray," Forrest finally said.
"Take half now."
"Now's too late. Now I know what I'm supposed to do with the money. You showed me."
"I was afraid to give you the money, Forrest."
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid you'd kill yourself with it."
"Well, here I am," Forrest said, waving his right arm at the room, at the ranch, at the entire state of Montana. "This is what I'm doing with the money. Not exactly killing myself. Not quite as crazy as everybody thought."
"I was wrong."
"Oh, that means so much. Wrong because you got caught? Wrong because I'm not such an idiot after all? Or wrong because you want half of the money?"
"All of the above."
"I'm afraid to share it, Ray, same as you were. Afraid the money will go to your head. Afraid you'll blow it all on airplanes and casinos. Afraid you'll become an even bigger asshole than you are. I have to protect you here, Ray."
Ray kept his cool. He couldn't win a fistfight with his brother, and even if he could, what would he gain by it? He'd love to take a bat and beat him around the head, but why bother? If he shot him he wouldn't find the money.
"So what's next for you?" he asked with as much unconcern as he could show.
"Oh, I don't know. Nothing definite. When you're in rehab, you dream a lot, then when you get out all the dreams seem silly. I'll never go back to Memphis, though, too many old friends. And I'll never go back to Clanton. I'll find a new home somewhere. What about you? What will you do now that you've blown your big chance?"
"I had a life, Forrest, and I still do."
"That's right. You make a hundred and sixty thousand bucks a year, I checked it online, and I doubt if you work real hard. No family, not much overhead, plenty of money to do whatever you want. You got it made. Greed is a strange animal, isn't it, Ray? You found three million bucks and decided you needed all of it. Not one dime for your screwed-up little brother. Not one red cent for me. You took the money, and you tried to run away with it."
"I wasn't sure what to do with the money. Same as you."
"But you took it, all of it. And you lied to me about it."
"That's not true. I was holding the money."
"And you were spending it - casinos, airplanes."
"No, dammit! I don't gamble and I've been renting airplanes for three years. I was holding the money, Forrest, trying to figure it out. Hell, it was barely five weeks ago."
The words were louder and bouncing off the walls. Allison took a look in, ready to break up the meeting if her patient was getting stressed.
"Give me a break here," Ray said. "You didn't know what to do with the money, neither did I. As soon as I found it, someone, and I guess that someone was either you or your buddies, started scaring the hell out of me. You can't blame me for running with the money."
"You lied to me."
"And you lied to me. You said you hadn't talked to the old man, that you hadn't set foot in the house in nine years. All lies, Forrest. All part of a hoax. Why did you do it? Why didn't you just tell me about the money?"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Maybe I was going to, okay? I'm not sure what I had planned. It's kinda hard to think clearly when you find your father dead, then you find three million bucks in cash, then you realize somebody else knows about the money and will gladly kill you for it. These things don't happen every day, so forgive me if I'm a little inexperienced."
The room went silent. Forrest tapped his fingertips together and watched the ceiling. Ray had said all he planned to say. Allison rattled the doorknob, but did not enter.
Forrest leaned forward and said, "Those two fires - the house and the airplane - you got any new suspects?"
Ray shook his head no. "I won't tell a soul," he said.
Another pause as time expired. Forrest slowly stood and looked down at Ray. "Give me a year. When I get out of here, then we'll talk."
The door opened, and as Forrest walked by, he let his hand graze Ray's shoulder, just a light touch, not an affectionate pat by any means, but a touch nonetheless. "See you in a year, Bro," he said, then he was gone.
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The Summons Page 26
