The law firm’s front door was old and heavy, carved from oak with an image of a moose standing in the foreground and mountains and trees in the background. How . . . Montana.
She sighed. She loved Montana. She really did. It reminded her of Mick—big and expansive and unconcerned about what anyone else thought. All the things she wasn’t. But who carved a moose on their front door?
A cheerful little bell rang as she pushed open the heavy moose door and stepped inside. Makayla trailed her fingers over the moose carving then followed behind her with the exaggerated caution of a child who’d been told to behave and was giving it her best effort.
Tessa had dressed them both carefully this morning—a camel blazer, wool slacks, and silk blouse for herself, a plaid skirt and cardigan for Makayla—because dressing carefully was the only form of control she had left over a day she suspected was about to go sideways.
She’d been bracing for this moment ever since she got the phone call that Fern had passed away. Fern had assured her months ago that she’d made arrangements for everything—the farm, the animals, all of it, and Tessa had taken her at her word. Fern was many things, but she was not a liar.
What Fern had been was devious, clever, and a teensy bit diabolical at times. The woman was also entirely capable of springing a trap from beyond the grave.
And Tessa had a sinking feeling she couldn’t shake that her ex-mother-in-law had done just that. Thing was, she just couldn’t figure out what direction the ambush was going to come from. The woman was dead, after all. How much trouble could Fern cause from the great beyond?
A lot, a tiny voice in her head warned. But how? And what?
The lawyer’s office was paneled in more oak, this time without any unfortunate moose bas reliefs. His big desk was cluttered with file folders and legal pads. Lincoln Sutter was a handsome man, younger than she’d expected. She placed him in his late thirties.
“Thank you for coming today, Mrs. Lawrence. My condolences on your loss.”
She gave him her standard gentle smile of response, infused with just enough gratitude and sorrow to let people know she appreciated their thoughts and that she didn’t want to discuss it any further.
“We’re waiting on one more person and then I can read you Fern’s will and go over what it all means.”
There. That expression in his eyes matched the odd tone she’d heard in his voice on the phone. And now that she’d seen it in person, she could identify it. It was the sound of a man who knew he was about to ruin someone’s day and felt genuinely sorry about it.
Her suspicion that Fern was about to ambush her hardened into certainty. What on earth had her mother-in-law done?
Low level panic bubbled in her stomach, frothing up more and more as she sat there. Frantic to distract herself, she cast about for something innocuous to talk about with this seemingly kind lawyer. Her gaze landed on a framed picture standing on one corner of his desk. On top of a mountain with a stunning vista of snowy mountains behind them stood a strikingly beautiful woman and two boys, one a tall teenager, the other around seven years old.
“Your family is lovely,” she commented politely.
His gaze went to the framed picture and unabashed love and pride shone in his eyes. “They’re my whole life.”
A pang of envy knifed through her belly, effectively slicing through the panic. Mick used to look at her and Makayla like that. She still missed him every single day. He’d brought joy and whimsy to her life. Shaken her out of the formality and stiffness that had been forced upon her since birth?—
A little bell rang in the outer room, startling her out of her thoughts. Lincoln excused himself to go meet the other person attending today’s reading of Fern’s will.
Arlo Pickett followed the tall lawyer back into the office. “’Morning, Tessa. Makayla,” he said gruffly. He nodded at Tessa and gave Makayla a small, kind smile.
He’d traded his usual rumpled flannel shirt for a slightly less rumpled flannel shirt and had slicked his thin white hair into submission.
“Good morning, Arlo,” Tessa said, surprised to see him. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“This slick young lawyer here says Fern wanted me here.” He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. “Said she left specific instructions about it.”
Of course she had.
Said slick young lawyer cleared his throat, shuffled some papers, and said, “Shall we begin?”
The first part was straightforward. Small bequests to friends. A donation to the Cobbler Cove Community Church. Her collection of Grateful Dead vinyl records to the public library, which Tessa suspected the library would have no earthly idea what to do with.
To Arlo, she left one of the two rocking chairs from her front porch—the larger one. Arlo’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Tessa noticed his knuckles had gone white around the brim of the hat in his lap.
Fern had also left Arlo a sealed letter. Lincoln handed it across the desk. Arlo took it, looked at Fern’s handwriting on the envelope, and tucked it into his breast pocket without opening it.
Lincoln turned to Tessa. His blue eyes deepened into something that looked like true sorrow.
“The remainder of the estate,” he said carefully, “is where things get a bit more involved.”