The path cleared in front of them, opening to a vivid blue swath of sky. After a few more paces the two men stopped at the edge of a sheer cliff, reminding Adam of the promontory from which Ben Blaine had fallen to his death. For a time, they scanned the Vineyard Sound, its aqua waters dotted with sailboats and glistening in the afternoon sun.
“As you suggest,” Thomson began, “your mother has two lines of attack based on Ben’s mental condition. The first is that he lacked the mental capacity to understand the consequences of this new will. The second is that Carla Pacelli exerted such control over your father that he lacked independent judgment in leaving her most of his money.
“Let’s take the first. Unfortunately for Clarice, to prove lack of capacity she’d pretty much have to show that Ben had the intellect of a termite. The legal standard is appallingly low: about all Carla’s lawyer needs to prove is that Ben knew who he was and who was getting his money-”
“Even if he was drunk when he signed the will?”
“Even so. Drunks are assumed to be sober at the moment of signing; bipolars to be rational; people with moderate Alzheimer’s to be enjoying a lucid moment. And the witnesses Ted Seeley found to watch Ben’s signing-his employees, I’d expect-will swear that he reminded them of Albert Einstein. Believe it or not, the law gives their testimony great weight.”
Though Adam had expected this, he found Thomson’s narrative disheartening. “What about the effects of brain cancer?”
Thomson gave him a long, speculative look. “That would require expert medical testimony, wouldn’t it? Most important, from the specialist in Boston that Phil Gertz referred Ben to-and who’s barred from revealing to Clarice the course of Ben’s treatment, or what he said and did.” He paused, then added, “Unless, as your father’s executor, you waived the physician-patient privilege. And why would you do that when your obligation is to see that Carla Pacelli gets Ben’s money?”
Adam met his eyes. “Suppose I allowed the doctor to testify in order to rebut attacks on my father’s mental state.”
Thomson gave him a wintry smile. “So find out what he’d say. You’ll also want the pathologist’s report on the nature and extent of the tumor.”
“I’ve asked. But George Hanley won’t give it up.”
“George always had a suspicious mind. When it comes to how and why Ben died, and whether someone killed him, this will doesn’t help your mother and brother, does it?”
“Not at all.”
“What a mess,” Thomson murmured. “Back to the subject of Ben’s mental state, Clarice could also use the testimony of a psychiatrist on how brain cancer might affect his powers of reason. Assuming that a shrink feels comfortable opining on a man he’d never met.”
Adam had considered this. “He could base his opinion on what our family says. My mother saw him every day; Teddy and Jack often enough. They can describe excessive drinking, memory loss, slurred speech, and erratic behavior of all kinds.”
Thomson looked at him narrowly. “I’m sure they can-and would. Just as Ms. Pacelli will describe a man of keen intelligence and the saintly temperament of the late pope John Paul. All of which will be regarded by the judge as self-serving bullshit.” Thomson’s voice became flinty. “If your mother has a prayer of showing that Ben’s synapses were shot, it’s through this neurosurgeon. As executor, you can stand in her way or not. I don’t need to reiterate your legal obligations, or the ethical dilemma they create. You can’t get caught helping her and remain as executor.”
“Of course not,” Adam replied blandly. “So let’s move on to my mother’s second line of attack-‘Carla made him do it.’ What would she have to prove in court?”
Thomson sat on an old log that doubled as a bench, making room for Adam to join him. “As far as Ben’s acuity goes, the standard for proving ‘undue influence’ is less daunting-Clarice need only show that his intellect was weakened at the time he signed the will. That shifts the burden to Carla to prove by ‘clear and convincing evidence’ that she didn’t control Ben’s actions.”
“That does sound easier.”
“In the abstract, sure. But ‘undue influence’ usually involves an old person who feels powerless without a caregiver. Carla may have cooked Ben’s favorite dinners, but he was still living with your mother. And whatever Clarice says about him now, he was still moving around in the world without the help of either woman.” Thomson’s speech became sardonic. “Off the cuff, I’d say this was a case of ‘due influence.’ It’s perfectly rational for a man Ben’s age to change his will so he can keep on fucking a woman who looks like Carla Pacelli. It’s just not nice. If that were grounds for insanity, our asylums would be as jammed as our prisons.”
Adam gave a perfunctory laugh. “Still, the man had brain cancer. Mom has to take that as far as it can go.”
Thomson’s voice became somber. “As desperate as she must be, I’d try anything. But there are two other areas in which Carla may have real problems.
“The first is that Seeley created trusts in favor of Carla and Jenny Leigh. No doubt his purpose was to take the money Ben gave them out of the estate, and therefore beyond Clarice’s legal reach-”
“Why bother, when the will already cuts my mother out?”
“My best guess? Ben remembered me saying that the postnup might not hold up. If Clarice can break it, under Massachusetts law she’s entitled to one-third of Ben’s estate-no matter what his will says. That’s not enough for her to keep the house, but it’s far better than where she is now. Frankly, this ugly ploy with the trusts bespeaks Ben’s ruthless determination to leave Clarice with nothing.” Thomson paused, adding slowly, “What did she ever do, I wonder, to make him hate her that much?”
Adam felt a suffocating wave of anger. “Nothing,” he said curtly.
“Whatever the reason, Ben found just the lawyer to help him. Assuming he’s capable of legal research, Seeley must have relied on an old case called Sullivan v. Burkin. That decision cited what was then settled legal precedent: that a husband in this state had an absolute right to dispose of his property as he saw fit-including creating a trust that cuts off the wife’s legal interest in its assets. But our highest court found this rule so unfair that it implored our legislature to change the law.
“Given that half our legislators are crooks or cretins, they did nothing. But the opinion suggests that our courts may not uphold this trick in the future. If they don’t, and if Clarice can invalidate the postnuptial agreement, she’d be entitled to one-third of what Ben gave Carla and Jenny.”
“So we’re back to the postnup.”
“As always. But there’s one more factor that may benefit Clarice. The last will I drew up deferred estate taxes until she died. If she succeeds in bringing the trust assets back into the estate, Carla and Jenny will have to pay taxes on every dime they get. That means the estate will lose almost four million dollars, potentially leaving Clarice with one-third of the eight million dollars remaining. Assuming, again, that she can bust the postnup.” Thomson smiled a little. “If Carla’s the schemer you believe her to be, she won’t like that result one bit.”
Adam thought swiftly. “What if Mom can force a settlement with Pacelli?”
“Then she’ll get the full amount of the settlement without paying any estate tax. The question becomes what she’d have to give Carla in return.”
“And if she can prove my father lacked the mental capacity to execute this will?”
“That would invalidate the will in its entirety-including its revocation of the prior will. Clarice gets everything; Carla, Jenny-and you-nothing. So Carla, and perhaps Jenny, will fight Clarice like tigers.” Thomson shook his head. “I’d hate to think it, but perhaps Ben in his perversity hoped for that.”
A cooling breeze touched Adam’s face. “More than perhaps. It would have pleased him to imagine women fighting over his remains.” His tone became crisp. “So how does Mom keep the money away from Carla until the court decides the will contest?”
“She needs to race to the courthouse claiming that the trust assets are part of Ben’s estate. Once she files, the probate judge will bar Carla from taking the money and haul Ted Seeley, as Ben’s cotrustee, before the court.” He gave Adam a sideways glance. “What you need to do, as executor, is notify your mother that you’re submitting the will for probate. If she’s prepared, she’ll be in court a nanosecond later. No doubt Carla knows that.”
“No doubt.”
Thomson’s eyes became curious. “I gather you’ve met her. And so?”
Adam sorted out his impressions, trying to separate his emotions from the woman he had encountered. “Pacelli’s not quite what I expected. She’s cooler, smarter, and very self-contained. And beautiful, I’ll grant you, but in a different way-tempered and subdued. With her gifts as an actress, she’ll make a better impression than she deserves.”
Thomson nodded, eyes narrowing as he looked out at the water. “Whatever the reason, she made a considerable impression on Ben. That much I know.”
His tone caught Adam’s curiosity. “How, exactly?”
“The last time I saw him was a few weeks before he died. We were fishing off Lambert’s Cove on a chilly spring night. I didn’t know that he was dying-no one did, perhaps not even Ben. But he tired easily, which worried me some. To keep him company, I sat with him on the beach, sipping whisky from a flask to keep the dew off.
“It was quite dark, just the two of us in the silver light of a quarter moon. Ben got very quiet. He felt different to me, like life was weighing on him-I realize now that he’d already changed the will. Because we were old friends, and because I felt a debt to your mother, I brought up this actress.” Thomson grimaced. “There’d been talk, I mentioned, enough to embarrass Clarice deeply. I asked if Ben weren’t a little old for such foolishness, and whether he should place more value on the woman who’d stood by him all these years.”
Adam was touched. “A good question, and an act of grace. How did he respond?”
“Strangely, I thought. He just smiled, in a way I found smug yet oddly melancholy. All he said was ‘Carla has promised to make me immortal.’”
“Do you know what he meant?”
“No. It was a curious remark, I thought. Even Ben knew that no one gets out of life alive.”
“A sane man would know that,” Adam amended.
“True. Anyhow, too late to ask him now. He’s dead, and you’re his executor.” Facing Adam, Thomson spoke slowly and firmly, “I don’t know your intentions, and don’t want to. But you know the rules for remaining as executor. You should at least appear to follow them. That means that you’ll graciously accept Ben’s generous bequest to you, and take no overt steps to undermine the will. Or Ms. Pacelli and Mr. Seeley will have you pilloried by the court. Still with me?”
“Yes.”
“Let your mother’s lawyer, Gerri Sweder, do the heavy lifting. Gerri’s no one’s fool. The first question she’ll ask Clarice is the one I always wanted to ask-why such a clever woman signed this disastrous postnup. On that fateful day, and ever since, I’ve wished that I could read your mother’s mind. But she’s the last of the old-line WASPs, and she holds on tight.” Thomson gave Adam a long, quiet look, and then finished evenly, “With your father’s demise, she’s the only one who knows her reasons. There’s nothing to stop Clarice from choosing her answer with care.”
Adam offered no response; it was clear that Thomson wanted none. “There’s one more issue,” Adam said, “involving George Hanley and the state police. Suppose that someone who inherits under the will pushed him off the cliff. They get nothing.”
Thomson gave him a pointed look. “Are you confessing to his murder?”
“No. Regrettably, I wasn’t here.”
“Then the pool of people who profit from Ben’s death shrinks to two, doesn’t it? Who’s your favorite-Carla or Jenny?”
“Carla, naturally. She gets more money.”
Thomson stared at him. “You’re not joking.”
Adam shrugged. “George thinks someone killed him. That it be Ms. Pacelli serves my family’s interests at least two ways. It cuts her out of the will and gets George off our back. What better?”
Thomson laughed aloud. “You are a cool one, aren’t you?”
“Just practical.”
“Then it would help if George convicts her. To simply accuse her won’t suffice. So have a care.”
“Always.” Adam paused. “A last detail. How would I find out the date my father bought our house from my grandfather?”
“By asking Clarice. If her memory isn’t precise, ask to see Ben’s papers.”
“Then let me put it another way. How would Carla’s lawyer determine the date without alerting my mother?”
Thomson contemplated the ground. “I gather you’re thinking about the postnup,” he said at length, “and your mother’s reasons for signing it.”
“Not very subtle, am I?”
“Subtle enough. So here’s the deal. If the sale took place after 1985, which is roughly nine years after she signed the postnup, Carla’s lawyer could check Massachusetts land records on the internet. If Ben bought the house before then, he’d have to slog through the Registry of Deeds in Edgartown. But eventually you’ll find what you need-date, parties, and price.” Thomson paused, then added, “Of course, someone might remember you were looking and wonder why. Best to ask your mother.”
Adam stood. “I will. This has been very helpful.”
“To whom, I wonder.” Thomson remained seated, gazing at the water. “Mind if I sit for a while? I’ve got some thoughts of my own to sort through.”
Adam thanked him, and went on his way.
When Adam returned home, he went to his room and spent a few moments on the internet. Then he found his mother on the porch, sipping iced tea as she watched the late-afternoon sun descend toward the water. She had just completed a bicycle trip around the island-even as a child, Adam had perceived that she sought distraction in strenuous exercise from whatever troubled her. Now her face had the healthy flush of exertion. But she still looked older to him, more vulnerable, with wisps of gray in her hair that seemed to have escaped the colorist. Looking up, she asked, “Did you see Matthew Thomson?”
“Not yet, no.” He sat beside her. “When are you meeting your lawyer?”
“Tomorrow, at ten.”
“Good. Tell her I’ll be offering the will for probate on Friday, and that she should be ready to file. That should keep Pacelli from running off to Switzerland.”
Her eyes filled with quiet gratitude. “Thank you, Adam.”
“There’s something else I’d like to be clear about. When you signed the postnup, you believed you’d still inherit from your father.”
“Yes,” she said with a trace of impatience. “As I recall, this is the third time you’ve asked that-”
“So Grandfather hadn’t sold the house to Dad?”
“Why does it matter?”
Adam watched her eyes. “Because as I understand you, he sold the house after going belly-up.”
“That’s true. Though I can’t retrieve the specific date.”
“I’m more interested in the date relative to the postnup. I do know Dad bought this place before 1985, because I checked the computerized records.” He hesitated, choosing his words. “When and why you signed that postnup will be a central issue in the will contest. As to that, your testimony in court requires more precision than what you tell me when we’re alone. So I want you to double-check Dad’s papers before you see your lawyer, and be very clear on which event came first. You don’t want to be wrong about this.”
His mother’s face closed. “If you say so.”
“I do,” Adam replied flatly. “That’s the first part of a conversation that, once it’s over, you and I never had. The rest concerns how you answer when your lawyer asks what Dad offered you in exchange for signing.”
“Exactly what I told you-nothing.”
“You also told me you signed it on principle.” He paused, looking into his mother’s face. “I don’t blame you for concealing the deeper truth for the sake of your sons. But you can’t be so reticent in court.”
His mother’s blue eyes held confusion and alarm. “What do you mean?”
“That my father threatened you. That you were afraid of him. That you signed this agreement under duress.” His tone softened. “Domestic violence is a terrible thing. All the more so because, back then, the victim saw it as a shameful secret no one outside the marriage could know. So now no one but you knows how badly my father treated you, and how endangered you felt by the consequences of refusing him. I can’t know the details. But you can provide them easily. All you need is the will.”
Though Clarice’s mouth parted, she could not seem to speak. With quiet urgency, Adam said, “You owe him what he left you with-nothing. Your sole obligation is to save your future, and Teddy’s. Are you prepared to do that?”
Comprehension stole into her eyes, and then Adam saw her make a decision, reluctance followed by resolve. “If I have to.”
The quiet firmness in her tone, Adam thought, reflected the knowledge that she was cornered and must fight for her own survival. “You do,” he said coolly. “And please skip the story about signing the postnup as a feminist gesture. Not even I believe that.” His voice became gentler. “Don’t say anything, Mom. All I ask is that you remember everything I’ve said, and forget who said it.”
Clarice bowed her head, briefly touching her eyes. Then she looked up at her son again. “It’s been so terrible, all of it. Now you’re back, my deepest wish. But the more I see you, the more I’m reminded of Ben.”
Against his will, Adam felt wounded, even scared. “That’s the last thing I want.”
“I understand. But you’re very sure of yourself, as he was. As if you can bend the world to your will.”
Adam grasped her hand. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let my father take everything away from you. If that makes me like him, so be it.”
His mother’s eyes moistened. “I understand, Adam. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
He squeezed her hand and then sat back, letting a fragile peace settle between them.