Hester Told the Probate Court What Happened at Two Fifteen

My name sat beneath a promise I had never made.

The capital T looked right. The rest leaned at the same angle as my writing. But I had never signed permission for Derrick to market my greenhouse.

"He said you didn't want to deal with strangers," Calvin told me.

"He was correct about one stranger."

Calvin looked toward the house, then back at me.

"I put eighteen thousand dollars in escrow. I won't buy anything until this is cleared up."

Beth asked him to preserve every message and attachment. The title company held his deposit while he exercised his right to end the proposed deal. No sale had closed.

I gave Beth old examples of my signature. She told me the disputed paper would need proof, not just my anger.

Through November, I went to the greenhouse each morning and Beth's office when she called. The independent surveyor found two old iron pins beneath leaves and gravel. He needed more time to finish his drawing.

Derrick's lawyer stopped calling the greenhouse his client's building. In letters, it became "the disputed structure."

That was not victory. It was a useful change in nouns.

The probate hearing came in December.

The night before, Mai asked whether I wished we had taken the moving money.

"Do you?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I wished Yer could tell us what to do. Then I remembered she had already signed the papers."

We checked the hearing time together and laid out our coats.

This courtroom concerned Yer's will and estate. Beth reminded me that the land case had its own judge and schedule.

"The papers are connected," she said. "The decisions still have separate jobs."

Derrick had filed the July will himself before hiring Alan. The paper he lodged as an original carried black signatures that looked printed when held close to the light.

Hester sat outside the courtroom with her diary on her lap.

"Nervous?" Mai asked her.

"About leaving the oven on. Not about July ninth."

When called, she gave her age and explained her former work as a notary. She identified her receipt book and the diary she kept at the time.

Beth asked what Yer had signed.

"A limited authorization to collect tax records."

"Did you watch her sign a will?"

"No."

"Did you sign this will as a witness?"

"No."

"Did she ask you to?"

"No. She asked whether her son could use the authorization to sell land. I told her he could not."

Alan asked whether Hester might have forgotten a second document.

She touched her diary.

"I charged ten dollars, issued one receipt, and wrote down one appointment. I have no memory of a second document because there wasn't one."

He asked if she disliked Derrick.

"I dislike being assigned a signature after the fact."

The judge asked her to answer only the question.

"I formed my opinion of him recently," she said.

Then Wade Pruitt took the stand.

He had a lawyer of his own. He kept both hands flat on his knees until he was sworn in.

Wade admitted he had driven Yer and Derrick to Hester's office. He had stayed in his truck. He had not seen Yer sign any will.

"When did you sign the witness line?" Beth asked.

He looked at Derrick.

"Two days after she died."

"Why?"

"He said it was fixing a missing step. He gave me two hundred dollars."

Mai's hand closed around mine.

Derrick shook his head hard enough for everyone to see.

Alan asked for a pause to speak with him. When they returned, Derrick declined to testify on advice of counsel.

I did not mistake his silence for proof. Hester's records and Wade's own answers had already given the judge plenty to consider.

The lawyer who prepared Yer's earlier will testified about its signing. The original came from his stored file. Its witnesses and preparation records were accounted for.

After hearing the evidence, the judge refused the July document and admitted the earlier will.

The house still went to Derrick. The remaining cash would be divided between Mai and me after proper debts and estate costs.

Because of the missing records and disputed payments Beth had raised, the court appointed an independent personal representative, Nola Finch. Derrick would not control the estate accounts.

Outside, he said, "So you're happy now?"

I held my coat closed against the wind.

"I would be happy if your mother were here."

He had no reply ready for that.

The ruling did not finish the land case or explain Calvin's false permission sheet. Beth continued seeking Derrick's files through discovery.

A week later, she called me into her office.

"He knew about your deed before Yer died," she said.

On her screen was an email dated six weeks before the funeral, with my recorded deed attached.