“You can’t prove it,” Alicia said, her voice very tight.
“That’s just it, Mrs. Gatley, Brookhouse Research did provide extensive proof that your husband’s offspring have every right to a portion of their father’s estate.”
“A portion?” Alicia’s voice went up a notch, hitting the shrill threshold. “They’re getting the best properties and all of the stocks and bonds.”
“You heard the estate lawyers and the judge. Mr. Gatley’s other family has every right to their share of the estate.”
Ella smiled benignly. “It’s not as if you didn’t get a very nice chunk of change yourself.”
Alicia turned on her. “I’m only getting a fraction of what I was supposed to receive. Bernie promised me that everything would come to me. Why in hell do you think I married him?”
There was a short, fraught pause. Lucy became aware of the hushed silence that had settled in the bar.
“I really don’t think you want to discuss such personal matters in here,” she said very softly.
“Don’t you dare tell me to shut up, bitch,” Alicia screeched. “If Bernie really did have kids, why didn’t they show up at the funeral?”
“The three people I found in Canada were small children when their parents split up,” Lucy explained. “They lost track of their father years ago. The reality is that he walked away from the family at some point and never looked back. They believed that he was dead.”
“Which he is now,” Ella pointed out cheerfully.
“I sacrificed two years of my life by marrying that old geezer. And what do I get? A measly few thousand dollars. And it’s all your fault.”
Evidently having noticed that Lucy, Ella and Hannah all had tight, secure grips on the stems of their wineglasses, Alicia spun around. She swept up a full beer glass from a nearby table and hurled the contents straight at Lucy’s face.
Before anyone could react, Alicia stormed back through the herd of fascinated happy-hour patrons, slammed open the glass doors and disappeared out into the late-afternoon sunshine.
Lucy sighed and picked up one of the three small cocktail napkins on the table. She used it to wipe some of the beer off her face. Ella and Hannah offered their own napkins.
The man whose beer glass had been commandeered for the drama gave Lucy an apologetic look.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I didn’t realize what she intended to do until it was all over.”
“Not your fault,” Lucy assured him.
“Disgruntled client?” he asked. “By the way, my name is Carl.”
“She wasn’t the client,” Ella said.
“Just a sore loser,” Hannah explained.
“Mind if I ask what it is exactly that you three do for a living?” Carl said.
“We work for a private investigation firm,” Lucy explained. “Brookhouse Research.”
“Cool. Lady private eyes?” Carl was definitely interested now. “Do you carry guns?”
“No,” Lucy said firmly. “Mr. and Mrs. Brookhouse are the licensed investigators in the firm. The three of us work in the forensic genealogy department.”
Carl was clearly disappointed, but he made an effort not to let it show. “So what kind of research involves forensic genealogy?”
“Generally speaking, we get most of our work from attorneys representing estates,” Hannah said. “We locate missing or unknown heirs and inform them of their inheritances.”
“And sometimes vice versa,” Ella added. “People who believe themselves to be heirs to an estate come to us to ask us to find proof.”
“Got it.” The man snapped his fingers. “You’re heir hunters.”
“The job description covers a lot of territory,” Lucy said.
She kept her tone cool and professional, wary of Carl’s reaction. Many people were not even aware that searching for lost heirs was a business. Those who did know about it often considered the work to be a rather unsavory side of the private investigation business.
There was no denying that there were some shady operators in the field. They worked the margins of the trade, hoping to score big by tracking down the rare heir to a multimillion-dollar estate who was unaware of his or her good fortune. The heir hunter’s goal was to convince the heir to sign a contract granting the investigator a percentage of the inheritance in exchange for revealing the source of the fortune. But Brookhouse Research prided itself on sticking to the respectable side of the business.
“Looks like I win the bet,” Hannah said.
“How do you figure that?” Ella asked. “The GW assaulted Lucy, just as I predicted.”
“Yes, but she didn’t slap her,” Hannah said.
“Didn’t toss wine in her face, either,” Ella said. “She used beer from a neighboring table.”
“That’s a mere technicality,” Hannah declared.
Ella smiled, triumphant. “As those of us in the forensic genealogy trade are aware, mere technicalities often make all the difference.” She held out her hand, palm up. “I believe you owe me five bucks.”
“Excuse me,” Lucy said. “While you two argue about the bet, I am going to go home and finish packing.”
The waiter bustled over with a clean bar towel.
“The manager says that there won’t be any charge for the three wines,” he said.
“Thanks.” Lucy took the towel and blotted beer from the jacket of her business suit. “I think I’ll put the dry-cleaning bill down on my expense sheet.”
“You should definitely do that,” Ella said.
Hannah nodded. “Absolutely.”
The waiter hovered closer and lowered his voice. “Mind if I ask what you did to make that woman so mad?”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential,” Lucy said.
The waiter nodded knowingly. “She thinks you’re seeing her guy, huh?”
Shocked, Lucy paused in the act of dabbing at the sleeve of her jacket. “That’s ridiculous. Why would two intelligent women get into a fight over a man?”
“That’s so last century,” Hannah said.
“What happened a few minutes ago was a much more serious matter,” Ella explained.
“Right.” The waiter brightened. “It was all about money.”
“A lot of money,” Lucy said.
Carl laughed. “Let me take a wild guess here. You three aren’t exactly the romantic types, are you?”
“Our profession tends to make a person somewhat jaded,” Lucy said. “After a while you realize that everyone has an agenda. At the top of most people’s lists there is, however, usually one of two possible priorities.”
“Yeah?” Carl looked expectant. “What are they?”
“Money or revenge,” Lucy said. “It’s amazing how often the two tend to go together.”
“Wow.” Carl was awed by the insight. “That’s heavy, real heavy.”
“No,” Lucy said. “It’s human nature.” She slipped out from behind the table. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I’m going home.”
“Found any other lost heirs lately?” Carl called after her.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Lucy said. She hitched the strap of her purse over her shoulder and started toward the door. “Me.”
4
Mason Fletcher lounged against the sales counter, a gleaming wrench gripped loosely in one hand. He regarded Lucy with a lot of interest infused with a dash of cool disapproval. She found the combination both annoying and unnerving.
But the real problem was that Mason looked even better now than he had thirteen years ago when he had figured so powerfully in her fevered teenage imagination. Her first reaction upon walking through the door of Fletcher Hardware had been primal and flat-out breathtaking. I’ve been looking for you.
The wolf-sized do
g that padded out from behind the counter to inspect her regarded her with an expression remarkably similar to Mason’s. The animal wasn’t just the size of a wolf—it looked like one as well. An aging wolf, she concluded. There was some gray around the muzzle. The beast’s eyes were not the standard dark brown associated with most breeds. Instead, they were a disconcerting shade of hazel gold that was a little too close to the color of Mason’s eyes.
“That’s Joe,” Mason said, nodding toward the dog.
She looked down at Joe and held out her hand. “Hello, Joe.”
Joe stared at her for a moment longer, his gaze unflinching. Evidently concluding that she was neither a threat nor prey, he sniffed her fingers. Satisfied, he sat back. Gingerly, she scratched him behind his ears. Joe chuffed a bit and licked her hand.
“He likes you,” Mason said. “Mostly he ignores people.”
“I’m thrilled, of course, that he doesn’t intend to rip out my throat,” Lucy said.
“He hasn’t gone for anyone’s throat for at least a week.” Mason tossed the gleaming wrench into the air and caught it with a barely noticeable twist of his wrist, making it look easy. “Heard you were in town to clean out your aunt’s place and put it on the market.”
“That’s the plan.” She stopped rubbing Joe’s ears and straightened.
She was determined to remain as cool as Mason. It wasn’t easy. She was still struggling to get past the shock of coming face-to-face with him. She had expected to see his uncle behind the counter when she walked into the hardware store.
The possibility that she might run into Mason while she was in Summer River had occurred to her, but she had dismissed it as extremely remote. According to the last update from Sara some six months ago, Mason was in Washington, D.C., where he and his brother ran a very expensive, very low-profile, very sophisticated private security consulting business.
“How long will you be around?” Mason asked.
She smiled. She couldn’t help it. She made a show of glancing at her watch. “Less than three minutes into this conversation and already it sounds like an interrogation. In hindsight I may have made a mistake when I advised you to go into law enforcement all those years ago.”
“You made the suggestion. I’m the one who made the decision.”
What in the world was that supposed to mean? she wondered. Suddenly she got that faint, tiny little inner ping of knowing, the same sensation she experienced when she was closing in on a missing heir. Something bad had happened to Mason Fletcher. She would have bet good money that it was linked to his career path. And, being Mason Fletcher, he was taking full responsibility for the decision that had sent him down that road. Mason hadn’t changed, she thought. He was the kind of man who would always take full responsibility—even for stuff that, technically speaking, wasn’t his responsibility.
She sought a neutral topic of conversation.
“I’m glad to see that the hardware store survived,” she said. “When did your uncle buy it?”
“A few months after he retired.”
“It’s the last store on the block that was here when I used to visit Aunt Sara. This town has really changed.”
Most of the old, traditional stores on Main Street had been replaced with upscale shops and trendy eateries. Fletcher Hardware—bordered on one side by a wine shop and on the other side by an art gallery—was a stubborn anachronism.
Mason surprised her with a wry smile. “Welcome to the new, improved wine-country boutique town of Summer River. But in case you’re wondering, the old Summer River is still here, just beneath the surface.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning it’s still a small town. News travels fast.”
Lucy nodded. “Which is how you knew that I was here.”
“A lot of people know you’re here, Lucy,” he said.
She raised her brows in polite inquiry. “Is that a warning?”
“Maybe. The fact that you are Sara’s sole heir has stirred up some deep waters.”
“Yes, I know.”
She had been ignoring phone calls from lawyers and realtors for more than a month while she considered how to deal with her inheritance.
“That’s why I asked you how long you plan to stay,” Mason said.
“The answer to your question is that I don’t know how long I’ll be in town.” She was determined not to let him intimidate her. “A couple of weeks, I think. I need to make arrangements to pack and move my aunt’s belongings, and then I have to get the house ready to put on the market.”
“The place should sell fast,” Mason said. “It’s a real nice little example of the Craftsman style, and one thing that has come out of Summer River going upscale is that property values have skyrocketed. Folks looking for a weekend house in wine country love that kind of architecture. But the real value is in the property.”
“The old orchard?”
“It’s prime vineyard land. Worth a bundle in this market. Every new Silicon Valley billionaire wants to open his very own winery and put his name on a label. It’s a major status symbol.”
“I noticed that most of the orchards and farms are gone.”
“They’ve been disappearing for years. I’m surprised you didn’t know that. But then, you never came back to visit Sara after you left thirteen years ago, did you?”
The comment, freighted as it was with stern disapproval, hit her like a bucket of cold water. Anger flashed through her.
“Okay, that answers one question,” she said.
“What?”
“I knew the town had changed, but when I walked in here I wondered if you had changed. Clearly the answer is no. You are still in the habit of jumping to conclusions, assuming the worst and giving lectures.”
He thought about that for a moment and then inclined his head half an inch. “You know what? You’re right. Maybe I did jump to conclusions. So why didn’t you come to visit your aunt for the past thirteen years?”
“What makes you so sure I haven’t been back here?”
“Deke mentioned that you never returned.”
“Your uncle implied that I ignored my aunt all these years?”
“He just commented that you hadn’t come back, that’s all.” Once again Mason tossed the steel wrench casually into the air and caught it with fluid ease. “He said you never returned after that summer when I pissed you off by yanking you out of the party at Harper Ranch Park.”
That stopped her. “The old Harper Ranch is now a park?”
“The town took it over a couple of years ago. Grass, picnic tables, a ball field, playground, dog-walking areas, the works. You wouldn’t recognize the place.”
“I see. Well, as it happens, your uncle is right. This is the first time I’ve returned to Summer River since that night.”
“Why?”
She gave him a serene go-to-hell smile. “It’s really none of your business, is it?”
“Nope, just curious.”
Thirteen years ago everyone said you didn’t want to mess with Mason Fletcher. Nothing had changed except that he was now the man she had known that he would become and then some. It was as if he had been tempered in fire like the steel blade of some ancient sword. Everything about him had gotten harder, stronger, more relentless. The sharp planes and angles of his face had become fierce. Time had added some sleek, solid muscle and endowed him with the confident air of a man who knows what he wants, what he will tolerate and where he draws the line.
The years had given him something else as well—the rare, invisible aura of quiet, inner power that was the hallmark of a man in full control of himself.
He did, however, look considerably the worse for wear around the edges. She had a feeling he’d learned the hard way what every professional guardian angel probably had to learn—that you couldn’
t save everyone. For a man as determined and unyielding as Mason, that would have been one very tough lesson.
In spite of her irritation, she felt herself softening. It was hard to stay mad at a man who was born to do the right thing when the chips were down. He really couldn’t help it, she thought. He was what he was, and there was probably no force on the face of the planet that could change that.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said. “Just to clarify, Aunt Sara did not want me to come back here after that last summer. In fact, she didn’t want anyone in the family to visit her in Summer River. We respected her wishes. And while I certainly don’t owe you any explanations, I can assure you that I saw a lot of her. She and Mary stayed with me several times each year. Sara knew that I find the holidays stressful, so she made sure to spend them with me. After she and Mary sold the antiques shop, I joined them on some of their cruises. I can assure you that Sara was not neglected in any way.” Lucy took a breath. “I loved her. And I loved Mary, too, because she loved Sara and Sara loved her. There. Satisfied?”
Mason had the grace to look apologetic. “Didn’t mean to imply you had neglected your aunt.”
She gave him her best fake bright smile. “Of course you did.”
His jaw hardened. “I understand that family dynamics can be complicated.”
“No kidding. Especially when viewed from the outside.”
Mason exhaled slowly. “Okay, you’ve made your point. I liked Sara. Mary, too. I was sorry to hear that they had been killed.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said. She hesitated, wondering if it was too soon to probe for answers.
“I suppose you heard it was a car accident?” she said.
“Yes. It’s always a shock. Aaron and I lost our parents in a car accident.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s been a long time,” he said.
River Road Page 3
