Surprise Inheritance Page 10

  When he returned to his own chair, Jennifer noted the wall behind the desk, filled with Durham’s law degree, membership certificates for the Rotary Club and Chamber of Commerce, and a graphic painting depicting the massacre at the Little Big Horn, with George Armstrong Custer crouched beneath the standard of the Seventh Cavalry, surrounded by fallen troops and rampaging warriors, pistol drawn in futile self-defense.

  “The will is straightforward,” Durham said, handing her a copy. “You are the only beneficiary to the trust. Everything is in order.”

  “Is this all?” she asked, staring at the single sheet of paper in dismay.

  His deep brown eyes widened in surprise. “It’s over a million bucks after taxes. Isn’t that enough?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I hadn’t spoken with my grandfather in over ten years. I’d hoped he might have left a letter, or some kind of message.”

  She’d seen movies where the deceased had left a final farewell on video tape, and she’d dared to hope. But Grandpa Henry had never been on the cutting edge of technology, so the lack of such a greeting wasn’t a surprise, only another disappointment.

  Durham’s weatherbeaten face softened. “I’m sorry, Miss Faulkner. If your grandfather left any message, it wasn’t with me.”

  Swallowing her disappointment, she nodded. “Anything else I need to know or do?”

  “The estate’s pretty much cut and dried,” Hank told her. “Your grandfather’s farm is paid for, the proceeds from the sale of the hardware store were invested in mutual funds, and the lottery winnings went into the trust.”

  “What about outstanding debts?” Jennifer asked.

  Durham shook his head. “Nothing, aside from funeral expenses, electricity bills and property taxes, which I’ve already taken care of.”

  “No one’s come forward with a claim?” She couldn’t help recalling Finn’s words about her grandfather’s reaction to his Big Draw prize. What huge debt could Henry have owed that no one seemed to know about?

  “I’ve run the required notice to creditors in the local papers,” Durham said. “Even placed one in the Billings paper. That was weeks ago and nobody’s responded. I think you can rest assured that your inheritance will remain intact. The only monies anyone could touch would be the proceeds from the farm and the hardware store. The trust is yours alone.”

  “Even so, I’d like you to place the notice in national papers, like the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times and USA TODAY.”

  Durham looked puzzled. “That seems unusual, considering your grandfather rarely left Jester, much less traveled outside the county.”

  Jennifer explained Finn Hollis’s conversation with Grandpa Henry and his reference to a huge debt.

  Durham rocked slightly in his chair and tapped the tips of his stubby fingers together. Sunshine streamed in the window behind him, revealing his scalp pink beneath his thinning hair. “I’ll place the additional ads, but I’m doubtful anything will turn up. Nothing in your grandfather’s papers indicated a debt of that magnitude, and Henry Faulkner was meticulous about his record-keeping. He still had all his ledgers from his years in the hardware business.”

  Jennifer had thanked Durham for his work on the estate and promised to contact him with a forwarding address before leaving Jester. In turn, he’d agreed to call her if there was a response to the nationwide notices to creditors.

  “This could get expensive,” he warned.

  “They’re just classified ads. They can’t cost much.”

  He shook his head. “When people get a whiff of easy money, the rats come out of the woodwork. These ads will generate a flood of falsified claims, and every one will have to be investigated and eliminated.”

  “Wait until I check the farm for paperwork on the debt before placing the ads. Still, I’d rather pay to sort out the frauds,” Jennifer insisted, “than to let a major debt of my grandfather’s go unpaid. Especially when the money is there to rectify it.”

  Durham’s eyes had lit with admiration. “You’re a remarkable woman, Miss Faulkner. Most folks I know would just take the money and run.”

  She allowed herself a self-deprecating smile. “I’m not saying I don’t enjoy the prospect of all that money. But my grandparents taught me that doing what’s right is more important than being wealthy.”

  Durham’s face twitched in his own self-effacing grin. “You’d make a lousy lawyer.”

  As Jennifer was leaving the office, Cassie Lou stopped her. “I’m really sorry about your grandfather. I met him a couple times when he visited the office, and he was a kind and gentle man. I’m sure you miss him very much.”

  Tears welled in Jennifer’s eyes at the woman’s sympathetic words and kind tone. Cassie Lou was compassionate as well as gorgeous. No wonder Luke wanted to marry her.

  The prospect went through Jennifer’s heart like a knife.

  That was a wound she might as well get used to, she reminded herself as she descended the stairs to the boardinghouse dining room for breakfast the next morning. Luke McNeil was out of her life for good, and the sooner she was gone from Jester and away from him, the better.

  Before she reached the bottom step, she raised her head and sniffed, wondering if Gwen had burned breakfast, because the air was heavy with the stench of smoke.

  LUKE ENTERED HIS OFFICE and headed straight for the coffeemaker. He hadn’t slept well and wouldn’t make it through the day without a heavy fix of caffeine. After he’d left Jennifer at the boardinghouse the night before, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. And even when he’d left his car, the subtle fragrance of roses had seemed to follow him, all the way to his bed.

  He’d tossed and turned, unable to rest, until he’d finally reached a decision. For his own peace of mind, he’d have to confront her, make her tell him why she’d abandoned him ten years ago without so much as a goodbye. Maybe if he knew the reason—even if he didn’t like it—he could close that chapter of his life and move on, without comparing every woman he met to Jennifer and having them all come up short.

  He scrubbed his weary eyes with his fists. Lordy, he needed coffee and needed it bad.

  Before he could take off his coat, however, the phone on his desk started ringing.

  “Sheriff’s office,” he answered.

  “Luke, it’s Jimmy.” Luke recognized the voice of the custodian at the school. “I’ve already called in the fire but I wanted to alert you.”

  About that time, Luke heard the siren wail from atop the fire station on Mega-Bucks Boulevard, next to the town hall—the signal alerting the volunteers of Jester’s Fire and Rescue Squad to assemble. Luke thought of the old two-story structure he’d attended for all twelve grades, where every child and teenager in Jester went to school, and his gut wrenched at the prospect of losing a landmark so filled with memories for so many people.

  “Is the school burning?” Luke asked.

  “Nope, the fire’s in the park. I spotted the smoke when I was opening up this morning. Looks like the pavilion.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy. I’m on my way.” Luke hung up, stifled a curse and cast a longing look at the coffeepot before bolting for the door.

  He pulled back before exiting, however, to prevent a collision with Sylvia Rutledge, who was pounding the pavement past his office on her way to the fire station. Slim and athletic, the thirty-year-old blond hairdresser, owner of the Crowning Glory, raced past him without a glance, the wind ruffling her already tousled hair, her hazel eyes shining with excitement and determination. Jester’s only female firefighter, she’d had to work her butt off to meet the requirements for the fire and rescue squad, and in doing so had won the respect and admiration of everyone in town.

  Luke glanced up the street and spotted Dev Devlin a block ahead of Sylvia in his race to the firehouse. From his garage past the town hall, Tex, who served as fire chief, was also hurrying toward the station.

  Luke turned back toward the park and nodded as Oggie Lewis thun
dered past. Oggie appeared scholarly and mild mannered, but when fire or other disasters threatened, there was no better member of the rescue team.

  Breaking into a sprint, Luke headed down Main Street toward the town park, where a plume of dark smoke curled into an otherwise cloudless sky. At the boardinghouse, he saw Jennifer with Gwen, Irene and Stella huddled on the wraparound porch, watching the blaze.

  He paused at the intersection of Lottery Lane to make certain no traffic was approaching. Behind him, the siren of Jester’s only fire truck signaled its approach. He waved Tex through the crossroads, then followed the firefighters on foot.

  Across the park, Olivia Mason and Jimmy the janitor were herding youngsters from the basketball courts and baseball field to the schoolyard, out of harm’s way and out from underfoot. Behind Luke a crowd was gathering, including the barbershop’s usual customers and the early-morning diners at the Brimming Cup.

  “Stay back,” Luke warned. “Let the rescue squad do its job.”

  “Anybody hurt?” His brother-in-law, Nathan, appeared at Luke’s elbow from the medical center that fronted the park on Lottery Lane.

  “Don’t know yet,” Luke said. “Just got here.”

  “I’ll stand by, just in case,” Nathan said.

  The fire truck skidded to a halt beside the pavilion wreckage, where flames flicked through the collapsed boards. Dev and Oggie unrolled the hose, while Sylvia, in full firefighting regalia, including a breathing tank strapped on her back, combed the wreckage, perilously close to the dancing flames, searching for anyone who might be injured or trapped.

  THREE HOURS LATER, Luke sank onto the front step of the empty and long-deserted Mac’s Auto Repair across the street from the pavilion. The acrid taste of scorched lumber filled his throat, and smoke stung his eyes. His body ached from crawling through smoldering wreckage, his energy flagged, and he was ready to kill for a cup of—

  “Coffee?” a familiar voice asked.

  He glanced up to find Jennifer standing in front of him with a large thermal mug in one hand and a napkin-wrapped pastry in the other.

  “What are you, a mind reader?” He accepted the coffee with a grateful smile and took a large gulp of the scalding brew.

  “I’ve been helping Gwen. We’ve already served the firefighters, but you’ve kept one step ahead of us.

  This was the first I could catch up with you.”

  He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she looked even more beautiful this morning than she had the day before. Her hair shimmered like spun gold in the brilliant sunlight, her aquamarine eyes glowed a deeper sea-blue, and the smudge of soot on her cheek did nothing to mar the flawless beauty of her face. Elegant in designer jeans, boots that appeared to be handcrafted Italian leather and a down-filled denim vest over a turtleneck sweater that matched her eyes, she looked like a model on a location shoot.

  He swallowed a bite of Gwen’s melt-in-your-mouth pastry and washed it down with more coffee. “I think you just saved my life. I’ve been in caffeine withdrawal for hours.”

  Jennifer folded her long legs and settled onto the step beside him, reminding him of too many summer days when they’d sat together on the front steps of Cottonwood Farm. He could feel her eyes studying him, as if searching for answers to some unspoken question.

  “You’ve probably been running on adrenaline,” she said with a hint of concern in her voice, “to make up for no coffee.”

  He must have read her tone wrong. Jennifer Faulkner had no reason to be worried about him. Luke kept his gaze fixed across the road, where Sylvia and Dev were rewinding the fire hose while Tex and Oggie checked the ruins for hot spots.

  Once the initial excitement had worn off, the crowd had dispersed, leaving only the firefighters and Luke to deal with the burning pavilion. The crime scene tape that he had just restrung around the scorched pavilion wreckage fluttered in the southerly breeze.

  “Damn,” Luke heard Sylvia holler.

  Tex looked up from his digging. “Got a problem?”

  Sylvia yanked off a glove and wiggled her fingers. “Broke a nail.”

  “Place up the street can fix that,” Tex said in a dry tone. “It’s called the Crowning Glory.”

  “I’m out of luck, then,” Sylvia retorted. “Hear the proprietor’s been called away on an emergency.”

  “I saw the mayor here earlier,” Jennifer said from beside Luke, craning her neck to search the area, “but looks like he’s gone now.”

  Luke stifled a curse at the mention of His Honor. “He’s on my back worse than before to let them clear the wreckage. Says now it’s even more unsightly.”

  “Will you?” she asked.

  “Not now.” He sipped the coffee, which was kept blessedly hot by the thermal mug. “Not until the structural engineer from Billings checks it out.”

  “Hasn’t the fire destroyed any evidence?”

  “Maybe,” Luke admitted. “But I want to make damned sure, especially now.”

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t think the fire was set on purpose? Folks were guessing it was a short circuit in the pavilion wiring.”

  Luke shook his head. “The electricity was shut off after the collapse.”

  “Was it arson?” Her throaty voice was tinged with disbelief, and he could understand why. Jester wasn’t a high crime area. He couldn’t remember a case of arson in all his years there.

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  While his mind wrestled with the problem of the pavilion, his heart reveled in Jennifer’s closeness. He had only to shift an inch on the step to slide his thigh against hers, and while he longed for the contact, he resisted the temptation, afraid she would only scoot away. He took delight instead in the easy manner of their conversation, just as it had been all those years ago when he’d loved her so much it hurt.

  Hell, who was he kidding? He still loved her, and it still hurt, only the hurt was deeper, sharper now, because she didn’t return that love.

  Jennifer stared at the smoking ruins. “I thought arson was easy to spot.”

  “It is, if an accelerant was used.”

  “Accelerant?”

  “A fuel, like gasoline or kerosene, to hasten the spread of the fire. Tex says there’s no evidence of that.” Luke raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Between the fire, the water used to extinguish it and the destruction of any footprints by the boots of the firefighters, there’s little evidence left of anything. All we know for sure is that the fire started underneath the wreckage.”

  Jennifer looked thoughtful. “That means someone had to crawl under there to set it.”

  Luke nodded. “Or it could have been kids hiding out to neck or smoke, or a vagrant passing through town looking for a spot to build a fire and keep warm, out of the wind and snow.”

  Jennifer relaxed beside him. “So it was probably accidental.”

  “My gut says otherwise.”

  “Is your gut always right?”

  Except where you were concerned, he wanted to say. His instincts had failed him then. He hadn’t seen her desertion coming. Hadn’t understood it when it came. Sure as hell didn’t understand it now.

  “Ninety-five percent of the time,” he answered instead.

  “Why would anyone want to burn the pavilion?” she asked. “It was already ruined.”

  “To hide the evidence of how it was wrecked.”

  She placed her hand on his sleeve, and her touch jolted through him like an electrical current. He defied the desire to cover her hand with his own.

  “I remember what you taught me,” she said, “about motive, means and opportunity. Who has a reason to want the pavilion destroyed?”

  “You’ve just stated the crux of the problem,” Luke admitted. “The pavilion is town property. The structure was insured, so the town receives the insurance money. Those funds, however, will be used to rebuild the pavilion, so nobody really profits. Everything would be just back the way it was before, so what’s the point?”

&nb
sp; Jennifer narrowed her eyes. “What if someone doesn’t want things back the way they were before?”

  Luke drank more coffee, but didn’t reply. Bobby Larson and some of the city council members had been pushing for changes in Jester since the Big Draw wins, but did any or all of them want change badly enough to resort to crime to bring those changes about? And what good would burning the pavilion do? Its destruction only created a bigger mess in the park, something that definitely angered the mayor.

  “None of this makes sense,” Luke admitted.

  Just like Jennifer’s leaving him so long ago. None of that made sense, either. With the two of them alone on the steps of the deserted garage, Luke had his opportunity to ask her why, but his courage failed him. He was dead tired, frustrated over the pavilion and reeking of smoke. He’d had enough bad news for one day. He would wait for a better time.

  “Thanks for the coffee.” He returned the empty mug. “I’m going back to my office to place a call to the engineer.”

  Jennifer stood when he did, and he started to walk away.

  “Luke…” she called to him.

  He turned to find her staring at him, her eyes puzzled, her face puckered in a frown, her chin up and shoulders stiff, as if expecting a blow. “Yes?”

  The tension seemed to drain from her, her chin and shoulders relaxed and she shook her head. “Never mind. And you’re welcome for the coffee.”

  Ignoring the pull toward her, he turned again and trudged up Main toward his office. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn she had as many unanswered questions about their breakup as he did.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JENNIFER WATCHED Luke go, and cursed her own cowardice. She should have asked him the question that had preyed on her mind for a decade.

  Why had he abandoned her?

  Since her return to Jester, that question had become more perplexing than ever. Over the past years, with often thousands of miles between them, she’d been able to convince herself that the Luke McNeil she’d fallen in love with had been a fantasy, a fictional creation of her teenage mind, fueled by rampaging adolescent hormones. She’d decided that no man could really have been as honorable, trustworthy and dependable as Luke, or as friendly, handsome, romantic and exciting, so she shouldn’t have been surprised or disappointed when he’d never written or called. She’d simply made him out to be someone he wasn’t.