“I don’t think they were ever close. Verdago alwa
ys had a mean streak in him.” He shook his head. “You know, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure Vincent introduced Kathryn to Georges.” His eyebrows drew together. “I’ll have to ask Bess about that.”
“I thought Kathryn didn’t get along with her brother.”
“That was later, I believe.”
“After he borrowed money from her husband.”
“Did he?” His eyebrows cocked. “I didn’t know about that.”
“It caused a rift between Kathryn and Vincent.”
“I think there were lots of reasons for that,” Brewster said. “Bess has alluded to some of them, but I never paid much attention. It was all just gossip. Until now.”
“Speaking of your wife,” Pescoli said, “I’d like to talk to her. She was close to the judge and she might know something about her personal life that could help.”
“Well, okay, of course,” he said, though he frowned and rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully, “But, I want to warn you, she’s taking this very hard.”
“I’m sure she’s devastated.”
“We all are,” he agreed. “The members of the church and Bess especially, but I’ll ask her to come in tomorrow morning. I think she’s free.”
“Good.” Hoping the judge’s friend could shed some light, Pescoli still had other avenues to follow. The wheels were turning in her mind, faster and faster. Now there was another connection between the judge and Verdago through her brother. It seemed a little flimsy, but still, Verdago had the means, opportunity, and skill. “I think he’s our guy,” she said aloud.
“Verdago? Good. Then prove it,” Brewster said.
“I will,” she vowed, knowing in her gut that she was finally on the right track.
“You know this is a long shot,” Alvarez said once they were nearly to Helena. The trip from Grizzly Falls had taken over two hours, closer to two and a half, and might just turn out to be a wild goose chase. Though snowfall had been light and traffic not all that bad, surprising Wanda Verdago might not be worth all the trouble, but Pescoli, as usual, had the bit in her teeth and man, oh, man was she going to run with it.
“Long shots sometimes solve cases.” Pescoli squinted through her windshield, searching for the turnoff from US 12, a mile west of Helena. The night was clear enough on this stretch of road to see the lights of the city washing up to the night-black sky.
“I’m just saying don’t get your hopes up.” Alvarez’s cell phone chirped and she answered.
“It’s Sage,” Zoller said on the other end of the connection. “I finally ran down Judge Samuels-Piquard’s lawyer and got a copy of the will. He wasn’t very happy about it as it was so late and all, but one of his junior associates was still working, so he had the guy take a copy and e-mail it to me.”
“And?”
“It’s pretty straightforward. Almost everything goes to her son, Winston, with a couple hundred grand set aside for her grandkids’ college tuition.”
“So now he can afford the upwardly mobile move into that tony new neighborhood,” Alvarez said.
Pescoli shot her a look. “The will?”
With a quick nod to Pescoli, she said into the phone, “What else?”
“There’s a list of charities, including the college where she graduated from law school. That combined together for another hundred grand,” Sage said.
“Must be nice to be able to spread it around,” Alvarez said. “Anything else?”
“Yep, here’s the kicker: Seems as if the judge had more property than we knew. There’s the lake house, where she went every Christmas, but there’s also another property, not far down the road from the place she vacationed. I’ve got the address, and it, along with a monthly distribution of fifteen hundred dollars for life, unless her money runs out, goes to her brother, Vincent Gregory Samuels.”
Alvarez felt that little tingle she always did when a case was coming together.
“I forwarded a copy of it to your e-mail account, as well as Pescoli’s. That is, as they say, ‘all she wrote.’ ”
“It’s enough.” Alvarez hung up.