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someone had been foolish enough to cast Paul Bunyan in the role of an attorney, he couldn’t have appeared more incongruous than this churlish giant!
    Joseph Shepard's arrival cut short my musings. With an ill concealed glare in my direction, he took Annjenett's hand.
    “My dear Mrs. Hanaford. What a pleasure to see you again so soon. Although I’m sorry to inform you that, as yet, I haven’t been able to reach Mr. Wylde.”
    “I’m not here to discuss Mr. Wylde,” Annjenett informed him. “Miss Woolson wishes to call your attention to one or two items in my husband's estate.”
    Although I was prepared, it was nonetheless disconcerting when he produced that awful noise in the back of his nose.
    “Not only can I think of no possible reason to discuss Mr. Hanaford's affairs with Miss Woolson,” he informed us. “It would be unprofessional to even contemplate such a thing.”
    “Since Mrs. Hanaford has retained me to handle her affairs, I’m afraid you will have to contemplate it,” I told him evenly.
    I wouldn’t have thought it possible for the man's face to become any more suffused with color, but I was mistaken. It was now positively purple, and the noises issuing from his mouth did not in any way resemble the English language. Since he seemed incapable of coherent speech, and we had once again become a spectacle for the entire office—including the irascible junior attorney—I was forced to take the matter in hand.
    “Shall we adjourn to your office, Mr. Shepard? I would prefer to discuss my client's affairs in a more private forum.”
    “Your client. Your client—!”
    In the back of the room, I observed the ill-mannered associate guffawing in his glassed den. Since I had no wish to afford him further amusement at my expense, I motioned Annjenett in what I thought must be the direction of the senior attorney's office. As I’d anticipated, Mr. Shepard had little choice but to follow. At the end of the hall, he unceremoniously motioned us into an over-furnished office of pretentious proportions.
    “See here, Miss Woolson,” he began, seating himself behind a heavy oak desk. “You go beyond the boundaries of legal propriety.”
    “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Shepard,” I replied calmly. I was determined—not only for my own pride, but because my client had expressed such a high regard for my abilities—that no matter what the provocation, I would conduct myself in a professional manner. “I seek only to settle Mrs. Hanaford's affairs as quickly and efficiently as possible.”
    “That is precisely what this firm has endeavored to do,” the senior partner snapped. “May I remind you, madam, that we have represented Mr. Hanaford and his bank for close to twenty years?”
    “Regretfully, Mr. Hanaford is no longer with us. His widow, on
    the other hand, faces a domestic crisis that can no longer be ignored. Yesterday, I became aware of certain documents that will enable her to attend to these responsibilities while awaiting the resolution of her husband's estate.”
    Shepard's small eyes gleamed. Clearly he thought he had me at last. My ignorance of the law had betrayed me. His jowls quivered as he hastened to point out the folly of my feminine naivete.
    “Such a discover y would be truly remarkable,” he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “since I hold all documents related to the late Mr. Hanaford's estate. I can’t imagine what you think you’ve found that can abridge the due process of the law.”
    Silently, I placed before him the papers I had uncovered in Mr. Hanaford's safe, then watched his expression change from smug dismissal to unmistakable shock. “Where did you find these?”
    Briefly, I explained the events of the previous afternoon. “You may either transfer Mr. Hanaford's funds directly to her account at the bank,” I looked to Annjenett to make certain this arrangement was acceptable, then at her nod added, “or we’ll be happy to accept a note from you in