Day Four — Friday

FRIDAY

I hadn't intendedto be early for my appointment with James Longbaugh because I'm not a fan of waiting.

But I ran out of time for another stop at the Sherman Supermarket beforehand. I had no specific goal for a trip through Penny's lane, leaving my motivation low.

So, there I was in the tiny waiting area of the hundred-year-old converted house down a side street near the courthouse that had served Longbaugh lawyers for generations. The desk at the far end of the narrow room — positioned so its occupant could stretch out a leg and trip anyone who tried to rush James in his private office at the back — occupied by a young woman who did not appear like a leg-stretcher-tripper type.

Just then I heard — we both heard, judging by her lifted head — a raised male voice from the conference room on the other side of the wall from this waiting area.

It wasn't James Longbaugh's.

It was Randall Kenyon's.

I didn't catch the first spate of words, but heard what sounded like, will not be denied by small-town and small-minded hack before another lost patch of eloquence, then... even in this backwater, I will make this deal happen. It's in the bag.

I heard movement in the room, then the door swung open.

James stood at the door, holding it open as a not-so-subtle hint.

"You might get it done, Mr. Kenyon, but not with my representation. If there is a negotiation, I will be on the opposite side of the table." He was too smart a lawyer to put in words what his tone conveyed. That he'd do his best to make the other man pay with lots of dollars. "But I will be more surprised than I have been in most of my professional life if it comes to a negotiation. Good day."

"I'm not done. I'm—"

"You are. Elizabeth, if you'll come to my office." He looked at the assistant. "Please call the sheriff's department."

It was nice to have that last part aimed at Randall, not me.

James gestured me ahead of him down the short hallway toward the back. I would have strongly preferred to bring up the rear to see how Kenyon reacted. I had to be satisfied with looking back as I walked, trying to see around James.

Still, I heard Kenyon tromp out.

James pivoted to go to the front door and lock it behind him. He told the assistant. "If anyone tries to come in or knocks, call for me. Don't open the door."

"Do you still want me to call the sheriff's department?"

"Not unless he comes back."

In his office, he gestured me to a chair in front of the big old desk and took the one behind it.

"Randall Kenyon was here to...?" I invited.

He declined with, "Discuss a business matter."

I'd gotten that much on my own.

"And what are you here for today, Elizabeth?"

"I want to know about the setup at Elk Rock Ranch, especially how Chester Barlow set it up for the current generation."

Actually, I wanted to know everything and anything he knew. But saying that wouldn't get James to spill.

He considered for a moment. "I'll tell you what's a matter of record — which you could find on your own — but I'll save you the time."

"That's fair. I understand Chester treated Keefe and Brenda like they were part of the family, but never made that official?"

"Chester helped raise both of them, true. Keefe was a grown man when his mother died. As for Brenda in the early days after her parents' deaths, that, of course, was not something I dealt with, though my father did. Brenda has been and is this firm's client. Chester was not. He considered law a do-it-yourself project. But, no, there was nothing official in Chester's care for them."

"So neither Brenda nor Keefe had any claim on Elk Rock when he died?"

"None legally. And Chester made no provisions for anyone."

"No will?"

"Chester wasn't a man who accepted that he'd ever die." The way James said that made me think he'd encountered a few of those. "Closest living relatives were his niece and nephews."

"Wendy Barlow's brothers hold a share in the ranch?" I'd been told they didn't, but I wanted his take on the ownership.

"No. They wanted nothing to do with it. Nor did they require the money it would have brought at sale. Each signed over his rights of inheritance for that property to Wendy Barlow. She is the sole owner. That's all public record."

He cleared his throat.

"Off the record, I will say to you, Elizabeth, that they seemed to consider it a good bargain to keep her here, distant from the rest of the family. Well, not all that distant since at least two of them have bought places near Jackson. But separated."

Yeah. Cottonwood County definitely was separate from Jackson, even if not very distant.

I considered him.

After that daring foray into off the record, he'd returned firmly behind the line, perhaps even farther back from it than usual.

Sometimes, a new angle can open up a source.

"I recently heard that your last name has been spelled Longabaugh with an ‘a' in the middle at times and that your ancestors came from Pennsylvania. And that the Sundance Kid's real last name is mostly spelled Longabaugh, but sometimes Longbaugh without the ‘a' in the middle and he came from Pennsylvania. Spill, James. Are you related?"

His mouth compressed. Not in anger, but to contain a grin. "I can neither confirm nor deny a connection."

"Oh, come on, James—"

"Truly, Elizabeth. I don't know. On one side, you can say it's not that common a name. In addition, as you said, my grandfather's people came from Pennsylvania originally, as did Sundance's. Some old family papers do show the spelling with the ‘a' in the middle. On the other side, no family papers or census records confirm a connection."

"So you did check into it."

"Sure, wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely. Did you ever talk with Keefer Dobey about his research into his family?"

His expression took another giant leap back from the off-the-record line.

"He mentioned his interest in the topic casually."

"Did he bring up specific names?"

"He mentioned Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."

That was like reporting Keefer Dobey used the word the in a sentence.

"Anyone else? Less well-known, perhaps?"

"Elzy Lay. However, his life and family after he got out of prison is quite well documented."

"Uh-huh. Okay, I'll quit fencing—" In the hope he would, too. "—and say I know he was hopeful that he could track his lineage to Oscar and Pearl Virtanen."

"Did he have success doing that?"

"You're asking me?" I let my full disbelief at the reversal show.

"Yes," he said.

Narrowing my eyes, I asked, "Did Keefer Dobey come to you for information or help or advice about his possible connection to Oscar and Pearl Virtanen?"

"He did not."

"Have you or your firm at any time represented or held any material concerning Oscar and Pearl Virtanen or their estate or holdings?"

I'd surprised him, at least a little. And he took a moment. I suspected considering each aspect of what I'd asked.

"No."

Darn.

I considered him again. I respected his legal acumen. I deplored his — in my opinion — excessive discretion on matters not strictly legal.

I tried again. "There's something you're not telling me, James."

Deadpan, he said, "There's a lot I'm not telling you. That's my job."