“Did Viola ever tell you that she was going to change the will that Mr. Dupuis had made long ago, and write a new one prior to her death?”

“No, sir. She never done that.”

“Never wrote a new will? Or never spoke about it?”

“Neither one!”

Quentin rolls his chair a little closer to the witness stand. “You seem upset, Miss Cora.”

“’Cause you trying to pull some kind of lawyer trick on me! Take my rightful inheritance.”

“I’m not trying to do any such thing, I assure you.”

“That’s all the money I got in the world!”

“Objection!” Shad breaks in. “Counsel is badgering the witness, and for no reason I can understand.”

“Mr. Avery?” Judge Elder asks.

“No further questions, Your Honor. I tender the witness.”

Shad seems to be of two minds about questioning Cora Revels. But after about twenty seconds, he rises and walks close to the witness box.

“Ms. Revels, your sister’s will was probated in Cook County, Illinois, was it not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You filed that will with the clerk of court there?”

“My nephew did.”

“I see. And no one brought forward any other will to challenge the one that was probated, did they?”

“No, sir. That’s right.”

“Thank you. No further questions.”

Judge Elder gives Quentin a curious glance. “Redirect, Mr. Avery?”

“None, Your Honor.”

“The witness may step down.”

In all my years as a lawyer, I’ve rarely seen a witness more eager to leave the stand than Cora Revels. As she hurries back to her seat by Lincoln, Rusty whispers, “What you wanna bet the love child is up next?”

Just as Cora reaches her chair, Quentin says, “The defense recalls Lincoln Turner to the stand.”

Lincoln rises slowly, then walks up to the witness box with the same relaxed stride he did yesterday. But this self-possession must be a pose. Quentin would not be walking him down this road unless there was trouble at the end of it.

Easing out of my chair, I lean up toward Quentin’s table and whisper, “What’s all this stuff about the will?”

Quentin stuns me by actually leaning back and answering me. “Viola wrote a new will only a few days before she died.”

“Do you have a copy of it?”

“No.”

“Then what good can this do you?”

“Maybe none. But you can’t be choosy about what vine you grab when you’re sliding down a cliff. Get back in your seat.”

Quentin rolls forward to his place beside the podium. “Mr. Turner, did you write the will that was probated after your mother died?”

“I did not. An attorney may not draw up a will from which he benefits. I may not have gone to Harvard, but I know that much.”

“You and I share that distinction, Mr. Turner. Only Lawyer Johnson there graduated from Harvard Law School.”

Shad makes a sour face.