Gray Mountain

After the death of Buddy Ryzer and the drama of the documents, life might possibly return to normal within the confines of the Mountain Legal Aid Clinic. The two lawyers certainly hoped so. Samantha was due in court at ten o’clock, in a case that had nothing to do with coal, documents, or federal authorities, and she was looking forward to an uneventful day. Jeff, though, was lurking around the courthouse, as if he knew her schedule. “Can we talk?” he said as they walked up the stairs to the main courtroom.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t see you for a while,” she said.

“Sorry, no chance. How long will you be in court?”

“An hour.”

“I’ll meet you in Donovan’s office. It’s important.”

Dawn, the secretary and receptionist, was gone, terminated. The firm was out of business, its offices shuttered and gathering dust. Jeff unlocked the front door, opened it for Samantha, then closed it and relocked it. They walked up the stairs to the second floor, to the war room where the walls were still lined with enlarged photos and courtroom exhibits from the Tate trial. Files and books and papers were scattered about, lingering evidence of the FBI raid. It seemed odd to her that no one had bothered to clean up the mess, to tidy up the room. Half the lights were out. The long table was covered in dust. Donovan had been dead for almost two months, and as Samantha looked around the room at his work, at the remains of his big cases, she was hit with a wave of sadness and nostalgia. She had known him so briefly, but for a second she longed to see his cocky smile.

They sat in folding chairs and drank coffee from paper cups. Jeff swept a hand over the room and said, “What am I supposed to do with this building? My brother left it to me in his will and no one wants it. We can’t find a lawyer to take over his practice, and so far no one wants to buy it.”

“It’s early,” she said. “It’s a beautiful building and someone will buy it.”

“Sure. Half the beautiful buildings on Main Street are empty. This town is dying.”

“Is this the important matter you wanted to discuss?”

“No. I’m leaving for a few months, Samantha. I have a friend who runs a hunting lodge in Montana, and I’m going for a long visit. I need to get away. I’m tired of being followed, tired of worrying about who’s back there, tired of thinking about my brother. I need a break.”

“That’s a great idea. What about your sniper work? I see where the reward is now a million bucks, cash. Things are heating up, huh?”

He took a long sip of the coffee and ignored her last comment. “I’ll pop in from time to time to take care of Donovan’s estate, whenever Mattie needs me. But long term, I think I’ll relocate out west somewhere. There’s just too much history around here, too many bad memories.”

She nodded, understood, but did not respond. Was he attempting a bit of drama here with some lame lover’s farewell? If so, she had nothing for him. She liked the boy all right, but at that moment she was relieved to hear he was headed for Montana. A full minute passed without a word, then another.

Finally, he said, “I think I know who killed Donovan.” A pause as she was expected to ask “Who?” But she bit her tongue and let it pass. He went on: “It’ll take some time, five maybe ten years, but I’ll hide in the bushes, lay my traps, so to speak. They like airplane crashes, so I’ll give them another.”

“I don’t want to hear this, Jeff. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in prison?”

“I’m not going to.”

“Famous last words. Look, I need to get to the office.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

There was nothing at the office but the Monday brown-bag lunch, a rowdy gossip fest that she hated to miss. There seemed to be a code among the five women who participated in the lunch: If you skip it, you’ll probably be discussed at length.

He said, “Okay, I know you’re busy. I’ll be back in a couple of months. Will you be here?”

“I don’t know, Jeff, but don’t think about me.”

“But I will think about you, I can’t help it.”

“Here’s the deal, Jeff. I’m not going to worry about whether you’re coming back, and you don’t worry about whether I’m here or in New York. Got it?”

“Okay, okay. Can I at least kiss you good-bye?”

“Yes, but watch your hands.”

Samantha returned to her desk and was greeted with the latest from New York. Andy wrote:

Dear Samantha:

Old Spane & Grubman is growing by leaps and bounds. It now has 17 of the best and brightest associates signed on for what promises to be an exciting endeavor. We need two or three more. We need you! I’ve worked with a handful of these brilliant people—Nick Spane has worked with some others—so it’s fair to say I don’t know them all. But I know you, and I know I can trust you. I want you on my team and covering my back. A lot of sharks up here, as you know.

Here’s the total package: (1) begi

Top that, will you? And you can start July 1 and not May 1.

I’m waiting, dear. I need an answer in a week or so. Please.

Andy

She read it twice, printed it, and admitted to herself that she was getting tired of Andy and his e-mails. She found her brown bag and went to lunch.

It was 6:00 p.m. before Mattie’s last client left. Samantha had been puttering around her desk, stalling, waiting for the right moment. She poked her head into Mattie’s office and said, “Got time for a drink?” Mattie smiled and said of course.

Monday’s drinks were of the diet-soda variety. They poured themselves stiff ones and met in the conference room. Samantha slid Andy’s latest e-mail across the table. Mattie read it slowly, smiled, laid it down, and said, “Wow. That’s quite an offer. Nice to be wanted. I guess you’ll be leaving sooner than expected.” The smile was gone.

“I’m not ready to go back, Mattie. As generous as it sounds, the work is tedious, just hour after hour of reading and proofing and preparing documents. Try as they might, they can’t jazz it up and make it even remotely exciting. I’m just not ready for that, and I don’t think I ever will be. I’d like to stay awhile.”

Mattie smiled again, a smug little grin that conveyed a lot of satisfaction. “I’m sure you have something in mind.”

“Well, not long ago I was an unpaid intern. Now I’m dodging job offers, none of which I find that appealing. I’m not going back to New York, not now anyway. I’m not working for Jarrett London. He’s too much like my father. I’m wary of trial lawyers who bounce around the country on their own jets. I don’t want Donovan’s office, too much baggage there. Jeff will own the building and be on the payroll, and knowing him as intimately as I do I can see a lot of trouble. He would assume the role of the boss and there would be tension from day one. He’s dangerous and reckless and I’m shoving him away, not getting closer. We’re having a romp every now and then but nothing serious. Besides, he says he’s leaving town.”