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“Before we do, what is the connection between Cena Covert and me?” Sam blurted.
Mr. Creola sat back in his chair and sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”
She shook her head, and her eyes scrunched. “You mean to say you didn’t ask when you prepared her will?”
“It was one of her stipulations.”
“How did you get my address?”
“Mrs. Covert provided it.”
Sam removed her hand from mine and folded her arms. I had to admit I was proud of the way she’d bounced back from the shock of the photograph.
“What if there’s been a mistake?” she asked.
“If you mean by her leaving everything to you, I can assure you, there wasn’t.”
“How do you know?” she pressed.
The attorney stood and walked out of the room. He returned with an envelope he gave to Sam. “I didn’t find this until after she passed away.”
She pulled several photos out, the type private investigators took. Each was of her. Two were outside her apartment, and the others were of her coming and going from Stave. She checked the envelope again, but there was nothing else inside.
Clearly, given Sam believed the photo on the piano looked like her, there was a familial connection. However, what it could possibly be was baffling.
“Since everything was left in trust to you, there is no need to involve probate courts.”
“What does that mean?” Sam asked.
“Essentially, once the courts certify the trust, everything will belong to you.”
I expected Sam to argue, perhaps say she didn’t want it. However, when she didn’t say a word, the lawyer stood.
“While I can’t tell you how you’re related to Mrs. Covert, there are other questions I can answer about the estate. I’d like to suggest we meet at my office tomorrow after you’ve had time to explore the Lilacs.”
“What about the horses? Who cares for them?” Sam, who’d obviously noticed them, asked.
“There is a man who oversees the care of the estate with the exception of the grape-growing operation and the winery. That includes managing the livestock.”
“Livestock?” I asked, given it indicated there were more than horses.
“Primarily cattle, along with the horses. Additionally, poultry.”
“Poultry?” Sam gasped.
“Chickens and turkeys, is my understanding,” Mr. Creola responded.
“You mentioned a man oversees them. What is his name?”
“Wheaton. Cord, I believe. According to what I’ve recently learned, his grandfather and uncle worked for the Coverts most of their lives. His grandfather died years ago, the uncle very recently. Anyway, that’s when Cord took over.”
“When did his uncle die?” I asked.
The lawyer’s expression darkened like it had earlier. “Sadly, not long before Mrs. Covert.”
He handed both Sam and me a business card and asked us to ring him in the morning to arrange a time to meet.
I walked him to the door. “What about the vineyards and winery? You said Cord wasn’t responsible for those.”
