Chương 6
“Then you heard the compliment.”
Hale leaned back.
Claire almost smiled.
Eleanor spread the documents across her desk.
“The bigger problem for Grant is this.”
She tapped the probate filing.
“The purported later will specifically describes the cabin as an estate asset.”
“So?”
“So your father had already transferred title.”
Claire frowned.
“Grant didn’t know?”
“Or he knew and forgot. Or whoever drafted this did not understand the property history. Or your father intended something else and documentation will prove it. We don’t guess.”
Claire looked at the signature.
It resembled Thomas’s.
Too much, perhaps.
“Can people really get away with forging a will this badly?”
“People get away with things because no one looks closely. They also get accused unfairly because relatives think handwriting analysis works like television.”
“So what happens?”
“We petition to contest the filed instrument. We notify Grant’s counsel. We preserve everything. We wait for the sheriff or prosecutor to decide whether the recording creates a criminal matter.”
“How long?”
“Months.”
Claire exhaled.
“Possibly longer.”
“Of course.”
Eleanor looked at her.
“You need the cabin tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Then stop needing the court tomorrow.”
It was the most useful advice Claire received that week.
She failed to follow it.
By Wednesday she had checked the probate docket nine times.
By Thursday she had checked eleven.
She told herself the behavior was professional vigilance.
At 1:30 in the morning, sitting on the edge of the guest bed refreshing a government website that had not updated since 4:52 p.m., she admitted it was anxiety.
She put the phone facedown.
Five seconds later she turned it over.
There was a message from Mason.
Can I ask you something?
Claire sat up.
She typed, Yes.
He called instead.
His voice sounded younger on the phone.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Long silence.
Claire waited.
“Did my dad really forge Grandpa’s will?”
“I don’t know exactly what he did yet.”
“But you said he did.”
Claire closed her eyes.
On the deck.
Dad recorded you forging his will.
She had been certain.
She still was, emotionally.
But Mason had heard certainty from an adult wearing a uniform while his father was losing control.
“I said it before I had enough facts to prove it,” she said.
“So you lied?”
“No.”
“Sounds like lying.”
“That’s fair.”
“Is it true or not?”
“I believe it’s true.”
“Why?”
“I can’t discuss the evidence.”
He gave a short laugh.
“Right.”
“Mason.”
“What?”
“I’m not trying to shut you out.”
“You kind of are.”
Claire looked at the dark window.
“Some of this may become part of a court case.”
“So?”
“So I don’t want to tell you something that puts you between your parents and me.”
“I’m already there.”
The sentence hurt.
Claire rubbed her forehead.
“You’re right.”
Mason breathed into the phone.
In the background she heard a television.
Then he said, “Did Grandpa hate Dad?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Mason noticed.
“How do you know?”
“Because people can be furious with someone and still love them.”
“You mean Grandpa or you?”
Claire looked at the door.
“Both, probably.”
Mason went quiet.
“My mom took me to Grandma Ellen’s.”
Lila’s mother lived forty minutes away.
“Is your dad with you?”
“No.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Hotel, I think.”
Claire hesitated.
“Mason, if he contacts you and asks you to delete messages or bring him documents or anything like that—”
“He’s my dad.”
“I know.”
“You sound like a cop.”
“I’m not.”
“You sound like one.”
Claire stopped.
He was right again.
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“I’ll stop.”
Another silence.
Then Mason said, “He did take care of Grandpa.”
“I know.”
“He went over every day.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t.”
There was no anger in it.
That made it worse.
Claire looked at the faint reflection of her own face in the glass.
“No,” she said. “I didn’t.”
Mason’s breathing changed.
Maybe he had expected an argument.
“My dad says Grandpa promised him the cabin.”
“Did Grandpa ever say that around you?”
“Kind of.”
“What does kind of mean?”
“He said Dad would be taken care of.”
Claire stared at the floor.
That was not nothing.
“Do you remember when?”
“Christmas.”
“Last Christmas?”
“Yeah.”
“Who else was there?”
Mason immediately became guarded.
“You said you weren’t going to make me evidence.”
Claire leaned back.
“I did.”
“So don’t.”
“You’re right.”
“God.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Adults say that a lot when they want to keep doing the thing.”
Claire almost laughed.
“Also fair.”
He was silent for so long she thought the call had dropped.
Then he said, “Did he hit you hard?”
Claire touched her cheek.
“Hard enough.”
“He’s never hit me.”
“I’m glad.”
“He’s punched walls.”
Claire said nothing.
“He only does it when he gets really mad.”
Claire looked down at her hand.
“Mason.”
“I know. You’re going to tell me to call someone if I’m scared.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Okay.”
“I’m mad.”
“Okay.”
“At everybody.”
“That one I understand.”
He sniffed.
“You coming back for the court thing?”
“Yes.”
“Are you taking the cabin?”
Claire looked around the room where she had slept as a child.
The dresser still stuck halfway open.
A baseball sticker Grant had put on the mirror in 1996 had left a pale square in the wood.
“The court will decide who owns it.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Claire let out a breath.
“If it’s legally mine, I’m not giving it to your dad just because he wants it.”
Mason said nothing.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say something mean and then say sorry.”
Claire frowned.
“I wasn’t trying to be mean.”
“It sounded mean.”
She thought about it.
“Okay.”
“You always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like everything has to be exact.”
Claire looked at the dresser.
“Mostly.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
For the first time, Mason laughed.
It lasted less than a second.
Then he said, “I gotta go.”
“Okay.”
“Aunt Claire?”
“Yes?”
May you like
“Don’t send Dad to jail.”
Claire closed her eyes.
