“Someone who was trying to stop the will from being executed,” Xander said. “If any trace of Savage has been scrubbed from the law offices, if they have no record of the will being filed, and Benedict, the only lawyer who knew about it, is dead, then it simply doesn’t exist anymore, right?”
Davidson nodded. “If it wasn’t filed with the court, no, it doesn’t. Legally, at least. It was never filed in their automated system, and the notary in their office swears up and down she’s never seen anything with Savage’s name on it. I sure would have liked to see that will.”
Fletcher looked at Sam, who nodded once. He removed the papers from his waistband. “Then it’s a good thing I have a copy here.”
Chapter
21
THEY GATHERED AROUND Timothy Savage’s tiny kitchen table to read his will.
Sam hadn’t seen the details when Benedict showed up on her doorstep, hadn’t paid enough attention. If she’d only listened, maybe Benedict wouldn’t be dead.
Then again, if she had listened, she might have made herself an easy target. Whoever killed Benedict could have lain in wait for him at his hotel, assuming he would go there first since it was so late in the day. Or, worse, tailed him all the way from Lynchburg. Had the killer followed Benedict to Sam’s house and seen him summarily booted out the door? Benedict hadn’t been inside for more than fifteen minutes; time enough to share information, but not enough for too many details. Hopefully the killer didn’t think Sam had anything to do with this intrigue. And if he did...
Best not to go down that road.
Fletcher read through the will’s introductory paragraph and revocation, then started listing the heirs. “Henry Matcliff is the primary heir. He’s been left nearly one hundred thousand dollars, but there are several more names on the list, each due to receive one thousand dollars. June, tell me if any of them sound familiar. Curtis Lott, Arthur Scarron, Rob Thurber, Anne Carter, Frederick McDonald and Adrian Zamyatin.”
Davidson frowned. “Two names are familiar. Arthur Scarron is dead, that much I know. He was an oil guy in Texas, his wife’s from Lynchburg. He was a doctor for a long time, plastic surgery or O.B. or something. From what I remember, he got bored remaking housewives and went to work for his family’s company, Scarron Oil and Gas. Ellie Scarron—that’s his wife—she moved back when he passed last year. He had a heart attack.”
“Why would Timothy Savage leave a dead man, who sounds like he was rather wealthy, a thousand dollars?”
“I don’t know. We can go talk to Ellie, though, see if she knows anything about all this. The other one, Fred McDonald, I’m gonna have to do some checking, but the name rings a bell.”
Fletcher glanced at his watch and cursed softly. “I have to get back to D.C. We’ll have to do it another time. Maybe I can come back down tomorrow.”
Sam said, “We’ll go with him, Fletch. You go handle the Stevens kidnapping. Amado will be waiting for the samples, anyway.”
“Stevens. Rachel Stevens?” Davidson asked. “I saw the AMBER Alert. She’s a cute little thing. Your case?”
“Apparently it is now,” Fletcher said.
“Good luck with it.”
“Thanks. Excuse us a minute, would you?”
“Sure. I need to get the dogs out here, anyway, start looking for the idiot in the red ball cap who keeps showing up.” Davidson stepped out onto the porch and Fletcher shut the front door behind him.
“Listen to me, both of you. Don’t trust that man with anything you think is vital to this case. He’s not telling us everything he knows.”
Sam nodded. “I agree. We’ll be careful.”
“I’m going to take the will and the letter with me.”
“Can I read it first?”
His lips seamed together. “It’s evidence.”
“It has my name on it.”
He pulled the letter from his jacket pocket. “Here you go.”
She nodded, used a flat pair of scissors from her purse to slit the lip open and extracted a piece of paper carefully. She unfolded it and read quickly, relief quickly flooding through her. “It’s the same as the one he sent to my office. A duplicate. Nothing new. I have to say, this man certainly seemed to think it was important to have backups of his wishes, didn’t he?” She folded the letter and started to put it back in the envelope, then realized there was something written on the back.
“What’s this?” The word was small, and faint, as if it had been written in pencil and erased. A word they weren’t meant to see. Sam brought the letter closer, letting the late afternoon sunlight play on the page.
“It’s a name. Lauren. And something else. I can’t make it out. It’s like he wrote it, then erased it. It’s barely an indentation.”
She held it up to the light. “I think it says ‘Look out for Lauren.’”
“Who the hell is Lauren?”
Sam met his eyes. “I have no idea.”
“Shit. I’m sorry, guys, but I gotta go.” Fletcher turned to Xander. “You’ll be back tonight?”