The Live Oak conference room boasted a long table with sixteen plush executive chairs set at precise intervals around the rectangle. Two of the heirs sat on Steve's immediate right while a younger one faced them. A sheepish looking couple came in and took their places. Marvin skipped three seats and viewed from a distance. Heather closed the door and returned to her seat beside Steve at the head of the table.
"Who are you people?" asked the woman to Steve's immediate right.
"Thank you for asking, and that's the first order of business. I'm Steve Smiley and beside me is Heather McBlythe, Attorney at Law and my business partner. You probably don't remember me, but my father and I used to hunt on the Rocking V. We're here because your father asked me to be executor of his estate and he specified that Ms. McBlythe could accompany me."
"When did this happen? Why wasn't I told?" The accusatory voice came from the same woman.
"Monday, a week ago," said Steve. "Before we continue, I need each of you to state your name so I can get a read on where you're sitting."
A man's voice interrupted. "I remember you. You're the one that shot the goat." A laugh exploded from the man, but he laughed alone.
"You must be LeRoy," said Steve. "If memory serves me right, we suspected you of tying antlers on that goat and staking it in front of my deer stand."
LeRoy continued to grin. "I go by Roy and nobody proved it was me."
"That didn't save you from your mother taking a limb from a peach tree to you."
"Can we dispense with the trip down memory lane?" asked the sharp-tongued woman with streaked blond hair.
"Let me guess," said Steve. "You're Ester Mae, the eldest."
"It's Mae. Mae Richards. Like Roy, I dropped the country bumpkin first name as soon as I left that God-forsaken ranch."
Steve turned to his left. "Sue Ann, do you still go by both names?"
A tiny voice answered from the first seat on Heather's left. Her blouse and slacks were clean, but threadbare. "I do, and my husband Grant is here with me, Mr. Smiley."
"Then that leaves Rance, the youngest."
"Over here, beside Grant."
Roy pointed toward the only person in the room that had not spoken. "Why's Dudley Do-Right here?"
Marvin narrowed his eyes, but Steve spoke before the deputy could. "It's standard for law enforcement to be present at the reading of the will when the death of the testator is ruled a homicide."
Heather noticed that Grant Blankenship's eyebrows knitted together when Steve used the word testator. She spoke for everyone's benefit so as not to embarrass Sue Ann's husband. "Testator is the person who made the will."
Roy spoke again. "Sue Ann, we all know that big words give Grant trouble. Tell him that means our loving father."
Grant’s right fist formed into a meaty club.
Steve kept talking. "Now that I know where everyone's sitting, Ms. McBlythe will pass out copies of the will and read it."
Heather stood and read at a slow, deliberate pace. It didn't take long for Mae to come uncorked. "Is this a joke? It can't be legal. I'm the oldest and I should be the executor, not some man who can't even see. By the way, how much are you being paid? What deal did you make with our father?"
Steve didn't respond.
Roy broke the silence. "My older, and, might I add, rude and bossy sister, alluded to one pertinent point in her rant. Is this legal?"
Heather held up the document. "This is what's known as a holographic will. It's written in the testator's own hand, nothing typed, nothing in any other color ink, and nothing written by another person. The basic requirements for a will to be valid in Texas are that the testator must have achieved eighteen years of age and be of full mental capacity at the time of writing the will." She lowered the sheet. "It's legal."
"How can it be?" asked Mae. “What man in his right mind would make such a stupid will? Everyone knows the first child in the bloodline should be the executor."
Heather nodded, but only in partial agreement. "The testator has great latitude in assigning the executor. Sometimes it’s the oldest sibling, but not always. If the estate is left intestate, a judge will assign an executor." She looked around and found a couple of blank stares. "Intestate means without leaving a will. Here, there's a will that exceeds the legal requirements."
"Explain," said Mae.
"Two reputable men witnessed the document, and it's notarized."
Steve spoke next. "I contacted both witnesses. The first is a local physician and the other's a rancher who knew your father for fifty years. They're both willing to testify that your father was in complete control of his faculties when he wrote this will."
The room fell silent. As was fast becoming her custom, Mae broke the calm. "I don't believe you. I'm going to have an attorney I know and trust look at this before I accept what you're saying."
Roy clapped his hands and laughed. "Bravo, Mae. You play the part of a fool better than anyone I know." He leaned forward with palms flat on the table and stared at his elder sister. "I'll bet you ten-to-one you'll be back tomorrow with your liposuctioned tail tucked between your legs."
Mae rose as Steve held up a hand. "Mae, you need to remember that you only have five days to come to an agreement with your siblings. This is your chance to work out an equitable division of the property without taking a chance on what the second part of the will might say.”
Heather added, "I advise you to—"
Mae had already headed for the door as she overrode Heather's advice. "You're not my attorney and I wish to God they weren't my brothers and sister. I won’t be cheated out of what's rightfully mine."
The door slammed.
Up to now, Rance, a rangy young man who looked to be in his late twenties, had not said a word. He folded rough hands together on the table in front of him. "Mr. Smiley, how do you suggest we proceed?"
"I'll let Heather take this one."
Heather concentrated on Rance's gray eyes hooded by long black lashes. "The first thing we need is a full accounting of all assets. That means everything. You won't get a fair distribution without it."
Rance nodded. "I'll get a count on the livestock."
Roy spoke up. "I don't mind getting property valuations, but I don't have a clue how much land there is."
Steve came to his rescue. "I have legal descriptions of the ranch properties on my computer and made copies for everyone. They're quite extensive and cover multiple tracts of land.”
Roy laughed. "That's because great-grandpa kept winning at poker. He'd add eight hundred acres one week and take off six hundred the next, just to make it look like he wasn't cheating. He won a lot more than he lost. I guess that's where I got the gene that makes me a good gambler."
The small voice of Sue Ann sounded next. "The kids and I can go to the ranch house and make a list of everything.”
Roy piped up. "That won't take long. Dad squeezed a dollar until it screamed."
Sue Ann dabbed her eyes as her husband glared at Roy.
"It's a good start," said Steve. "We'll meet here tomorrow afternoon at five to see what progress you've made."
Rance pushed away from the table and stood. "I might be late. There's a heifer springing heavy, and I'm not sure she can drop the calf without help." He held his straw cowboy hat in his hand and took sure strides to the door.
Roy stood and looked Heather up and down. "Ms. McBlythe, what's the chance of you having a drink with me this evening?"
Heather inspected the man wearing his shirt with one too many buttons undone. "I have plans, Mr. Voss."
His hands went over his heart like he'd been shot. Then he shrugged. "I rolled the dice, and they came up snake eyes. Oh well, if one table's cold, there's always another game. See you two tomorrow."
Sue Ann and her husband, Grant, left with heads down, not saying a word. That left Marvin. He approached as Heather stuffed the will in her satchel.
Steve must have heard his footsteps on the carpet. "Did anything they say help you, Marvin?"
He shook his head. Heather mimed that he needed to speak to answer Steve's question.
"I know one of them did it, but which one? They all have keys to the gate and the ranch house. Any of them could have killed him. The coroner says the death occurred last Monday, a short time after he called you. That means all four were within driving distance of the ranch, even Roy."
"He doesn't live nearby?" asked Heather.
"Las Vegas. He's a professional gambler. He came to Austin for a private poker tournament, or at least that's what the people at the table said."
"Not much of an alibi," said Heather.
Steve yawned. "I don't know about you two, but I'm bushed. I think I'll lie down before supper."
"Do you need me to help you to your room?" asked Heather.
"I counted the steps on my way here. I can manage."
Steve unfurled his cane, followed it out the door and turned left.
Marvin shook his head. "He's quite a man. How did he lose his sight?"
"Street thugs attacked him and his wife in Houston. Maggie died and Steve... well... you're right. He's quite a man."
"Was he as good a cop as Sheriff Blake says?"
Heather looked toward the open door. "Better." Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her blazer. "Hello, Father. No, I've been busy for the last hour. What do you mean they're getting cold feet?"
Fifteen minutes later, Heather finished the call. She sat alone in the room.