Santa Fe Rules by Stuart Woods

chance you’d be in a bad mood and not spot my brilliance.”
    “I spotted your brilliance.” He pointed at a phone across the room. “Phone the lab; use line two.”
    She went to the phone, and Wolf looked idly around for something to interest him while she talked. His eye fell on the fax machine; he hadn’t read Jack’s will. Leafing through the pages, he found it simple and straightforward. Jack had gone to another lawyer to have the will drawn. Wolf knew Bob Marx well enough—they had played tennis in the old days, and Marx had a successful entertainment practice. He punched the other line and dialed Marx’s office.
    “Wolf, is it really you?” Marx sounded truly uncertain.
    “It is, Bob. I’m still around.”
    “I heard about your television interview,” Marx said.
    “Bob, Hal Berger just faxed me Jack Tinney’s will, which was in our office safe.”
    “You knew his intentions, of course.”
    “No, I had no idea. I drew a will for him a couple of years ago that left everything to the four ex-wives. As far as I knew, that one was still in force.”
    There was a brief silence before Marx spoke again. “That was not my information,” he said.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean that Jack told me he was going to tell you about it.”

    “Well, he didn’t. Why did he change his will? Did he tell you that?”
    “He stated his reasons in the text.”
    “I read that, but it sounded like boilerplate.”
    “Well, Wolf, I’m sorry you disapprove of my writing style, but Jack liked it. That was what he wanted to say.”
    Wolf looked at the document again. “I’m still his executor,” he said.
    “That’s right. He didn’t see any reason to change that.”
    “Well, there might be some reason to change it now.”
    Marx didn’t respond.
    “I mean, this might not look good to some people—Jack’s being murdered in my house, and my being his beneficiary.”
    “I take your point,” Marx said blandly. “How can I help?”
    “I think, under the circumstances, I’d like to assign my executor’s powers to you, since you drew the will.”
    “I’ll be glad to handle that as a courtesy.”
    “Thank you, Bob. I’ll draw up an assignment of powers and get it to you in a day or two.”
    “All right. Wolf, is there anything else I can help with? I mean, are you in need of any other legal help at the moment?” The question was heavy with meaning.
    “No, Bob, but thanks for the thought.”
    “Call me if you need anything.”
    Wolf thanked him and hung up.
    Jane was hanging up the other line. “Okay, they’ll deliver to Hal on Monday.”
    “Great. And thank you for doing such a terrific job.”
    “It was my pleasure.”
    “Well, let’s find you a room, shall we?” He grabbed her bags and led her to the guest wing, choosing the roomfarthest from the murder scene. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” he said, placing her bags on the bed. “The heat will be a little slow taking hold; it comes from pipes under the floor, and it has to heat the stones.”
    “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’d like to have a shower. That’ll warm me up.”
    “Go ahead. I’ll book us a table for dinner somewhere.”
    “Fine.”
    “Dress casually; Santa Fe is like that.”
    “Okay. What’s the hot dress for?”
    “Oh, that’s tomorrow night; dinner with the D & D.”
    “Who?”
    “The Duke and Duchess of Kensington.”
    “Whatever you say,” she said, shaking her head.
    He left her and went back to his study. Another reading of Jack’s will provided no clues to the director’s state of mind. Jack had never mentioned the new will to him, but he had always been embarrassed about discussing personal matters.
    He rang Santacafé, his favorite restaurant, and booked a table for two.
     
    The owner, Jim Arno, greeted Wolf warmly at the door, and on the way to their table they passed three groups of people Wolf knew. Some greeted him; others waved half-heartedly. He didn’t introduce Jane to any of