“That’s my boy.”

“But we have to make a couple stops on the way out of town.”

“It’s your life,” Hank said, accelerating away from the curb. “I’m just driving.”

CHAPTER 27

It was a short drive to Clarence Hambly’s office. Like most lawyers in town, he worked close to the courthouse. Hank pulled into his parking lot, a crowded space, its brick accents designed to make the cracked concrete look less austere. The building itself was over two hundred years old, a four-over-four antebellum structure with a large addition in back, hidden from the street.

“So, what are we doing?” Hank asked.

“I have to ask some questions. It won’t take long.”

The lobby was crowded with criminal defendants whom Hambly would shuck off on some junior associate for a buck twenty-five an hour or a flat fee, based on the charge and the likelihood of their taking a plea. He had a rear entrance and private stairwell for his more august clients. They’d go straight up, to the personal assistant who guarded his office. I knew that I’d never get past her unannounced, so I didn’t even bother. Instead, I cut through the crowd in the main lobby and put my hands on the gleaming cherry-wood counter. One of Hambly’s assistants, an older woman, asked if she could be of some assistance, then stepped back once she looked up and recognized me.

“I’d like to see Clarence,” I said.

“That’s not possible,” she replied.

“I’d like to see him now. And I’m very willing to raise my voice. So please just let him know that I am here.”

She looked me up and down, thinking about it. I knew for a fact that she’d handled hundreds of frustrated, angry clients, so she had to size me up. After a few seconds, she picked up the phone and told Hambly’s assistant that I was there to see him. It took a good minute.

“You can go up,” she said.

Hambly met me at his office door and stepped aside to let me in. The office was long and elegant, with views of the courthouse on the other side of Main Street. He did not ask me to sit, just studied me from above his paisley bow tie.

“Most people make an appointment,” he said.

“This won’t take long,” I replied, closing the door. I took a step closer to him and planted my feet widely. “I want to know how a copy of my father’s will came to be in my house.”

“I didn’t realize that one had.”

“Who had a copy?”

“This conversation is highly inappropriate,” Hambly said.

“It’s a simple question.”

“Very well. I gave two originals to your father and kept one here. If he made copies, that was his own business. I have no idea how one ended up in your house.”

“You’ve seen the one that the police have in their custody?”

“I have, but I cannot say for certain that it is the one found in your house. They asked me to identify it and I did.”

I pushed. “Yet, it is an accurate copy. You verified that for them.”

“Yes,” he conceded.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Ezra was going to cut me out of his will?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Mills,” I said.

Hambly smiled tightly, a gleam in his eyes. “If Mills told you that, she did so for her own reasons. Yes, your father contemplated some minor changes, but he never intended to remove you as a beneficiary. He was quite firm on that. I suspect that Mills was trying to trick you into some indiscretion.”

“What changes?”

“Nothing significant and nothing that was ever put into place. Ergo, nothing that concerns you as the beneficiary of his estate.”

“Is your copy of the original accounted for?” I asked.

“Filed with the probate court. I’m certain that they would show it to you, if you asked.”

“Yet you made copies.”

“Of course, I made copies. This is a law office. I represent the estate.”

“Who else did you give copies to? Mills? Douglas? Who else?”

“Don’t raise your voice to me, young man. I won’t tolerate it.”

“Try this on then, Clarence. If I am convicted of Ezra’s murder, can I inherit under the laws of North Carolina?”

“You know that the state will not allow a killer to profit from his crime in that way.”

“Then who retains control of Ezra’s assets?”

“What are you implying?” Hambly demanded.

“Who?”

“All of your father’s assets pass to the foundation.”

“And who controls that foundation?”

“I do not appreciate your insinuation.”

“You would have control of the entire forty million dollars. Isn’t that correct?”

Hambly stared at me, his face tight with barely contained fury. “I find you and your petty machinations insufferable, Work. Get out of my office.”

“You were in my house. For the first time ever since I bought it, you were in my house. Why?”

“I was there because Barbara invited me to be there. And because it was the respectful thing to do. I should not have to explain that to you. Now, get out,” he said, and took me by the arm. Outside of his office, before the pretty young assistant who had come suddenly to her feet, I jerked my arm free.

“Somebody planted that document in my house, Clarence. It had to come from somewhere.”

Hambly straightened to his full height and looked down the length of his nose. I saw color in his face, and the pulse of blood in the big veins that ran down his neck. “Earlier today, I held some pity for you, Work. But that’s gone. I will look forward to your trial date.” He pointed a thin arm toward the stairwell, and I saw that it trembled. “Now, please leave.”

“Very well, Clarence. Thank you for your time.” I walked down Hambly’s private stairs and did not look back. I heard his office door slam.

I found Hank in the car, his arm out the open window.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Really?”

I looked at Hank. “Really.”

“So where to now?”

“Highway Six-oh-one, toward Mocksville. I’ll show you where to turn.”

We rolled out of town, and as we drew closer to Stolen Farm, I felt the spring inside of me grow tighter. My head was heavy with densely packed emotions. It grew more so as we approached Vanessa’s house and stopped in front of it.

“Wait here,” I told Hank, getting out of the car, leaning in through the open window.

“Jesus, Work.”

I held up my hands, palms out. “Last time,” I told him.

Stolen Farm lay in the shadow of the neighboring woods. Thin fingers of light reached for the farmhouse but fell short, satisfied with the faded red wall of the old barn. We’d parked in the rutted drive, house to the left, barn to the right. I didn’t see Vanessa’s car, but her nameless man was there; he watched me from the gaping mote-filled cavern that bisected the barn. If I’d looked up, I would have seen the door to the loft, where Vanessa and I found what we’d thought would last forever. I didn’t look up. I looked at her man. He’d been working on the tractor. Grease covered his hands and the heavy wrench he held. He leaned against the tall molded tire with a proprietary air and studied me as I crossed the dry dirt toward him. He looked bigger than I remembered; he was heavily muscled, and depressingly young, but definitely the same guy.

“That’s far enough,” he said. I stopped, still ten feet away, and held up my hands.

“I’m not looking for any trouble,” I told him. “I just want to talk to Vanessa.”

His mouth opened to an unasked question, and he put the wrench down on the engine cowling of the tractor. He moved toward me, wiping his hands on his pants. Worry creased his face.

“I thought she was with you,” he said.

I dropped my hands, feeling foolish. I might have decked him the other night, but it was clear to me now that he was not intimidated.

“What are you talking about?”

He stopped, towering over me. He searched my face as if for something specific, then flicked his eyes at the house. I followed his glance, hoping to see Vanessa, but the old place was still and dark.