Anna Denning Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1–3
Page 76
“Well . . .” Gavin began.
“It’s a miracle,” Esther said. Her eyes were alight, her hands dancing in her lap.
“I’m not sure about that,” Gavin said. “She planned it, and for a long time.”
“Zoey’s attorney,” Clovis explained. “I mean Emma’s.”
“The short of it is, Esther’s mortgage has been paid in full and the title has been returned to her. Per Emma Hollister’s instructions. She owns it free and clear. That plus four hundred thousand dollars—Emma’s insurance money, double the amount because of the manner of her death.”
“Why the manner?” Anna said.
“Accident or murder—a double-indemnity clause in her policy,” he said.
“I thought that was only in the movies, but he assures us it’s not,” Clovis said.
“And Emma has left Clovis Fleming thirty thousand, to do with as she wishes,” Gavin said.
If Anna hadn’t been sitting down she would have dropped to the floor. At one time she had thought Zoey a selfish child. But Esther’s troubles were over, thanks to Zoey, and a big dent had been put in Clovis’s.
“Emma prepared for this,” Gavin continued.
“How could she have?” Anna said.
“She arranged it months ago. Sold her father’s house, sheep, property. The ranch equipment alone brought sixty thousand. She kept an old car, that’s all. She was a very wealthy woman with few possessions.”
Esther looked to Anna, her eyes glistening with tears. “She rented a small apartment outside Elk Park. I thought she didn’t have a thing to her name.”
“But Zoey didn’t know she was going to die,” Anna protested.
“Death or not, Esther was to receive the title to her house as soon as . . .” Gavin fumbled through his papers. “Here. ‘As soon as the murders of Russell Thurman and Ruby Padilla have been solved or within one year, whichever comes first.’”
“She never intended to take Esther’s house,” Clovis said, her voice choked with regret.
“You weren’t to know,” Esther said. “No one was. She didn’t tell anyone except Mr. Adams what she’d planned.”
“So Zoey could afford to buy Esther’s house and give it right back to her,” Anna said.
“In a way,” Gavin said, crossing his legs. “This is where we left off, ladies.” He tipped his head at Esther and Clovis. “Emma—Zoey—had cancer. The same cancer that killed her father.”
“Dear Lord,” Esther said.
Again Gavin rifled through his papers. He extracted a pale blue sheet. “The cancer tends to run in families, but you don’t need to hear the details. Zoey had been diagnosed.”
“She was dying?” Esther said.
“Not exactly,” Gavin replied. “The prognosis was poor, but the doctors gave her time.”
“How much time?” Clovis said.
“A year or two.”
“Then why did she leave her home?” Esther said. “She could have stayed there, taken care of herself. Lived longer.” She searched Gavin’s face, trying to make sense of Zoey’s decision. “Isn’t that true?”
“If she’d kept the ranch, led a quiet life, possibly,” Gavin said. “She knew what selling the ranch might mean, but if she’d kept it, she would have lived there alone. She had no sisters or brothers, and her mother died in a fall from a horse when Zoey was eleven. She may have sacrificed the year or two she had left, but that was her choice. She didn’t want or intend to die—”
“Not in that horrible way,” Esther said. “No one could. If she had known what would happen, maybe . . .”
“She believed the people she was dealing with were evil, and she knew the possible consequences,” Gavin said. “She had a short time to live, and she used it to the fullest.”
Esther sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “This is so much. I can hardly take it in.”
“There’s one more thing,” Gavin said. He smoothed his tie, reshuffled his papers, and stuffed them into a folder. “I was to inform you at the earliest opportunity. You are now the owner of the Morgan-Sadler House.”
Esther gasped. “What on earth? How?”
“The Corporation for Historical Preservation has given it to you, that’s how. If Zoey died in an untimely fashion, by a means not related to her health, it was to be immediately transferred to you. Otherwise, you would have received it on her natural death.”
Anna’s hands flew to her mouth. Zoey. You clever, generous woman.
“I believe your friend has figured it out,” Gavin said.
“Zoey was the corporation, wasn’t she?” Anna said. “The organization that bought the Morgan-Sadler House from the last family to live there.”
“The same organization that asked the Elk Valley Historical Society to oversee the restoration?” Clovis asked. Her face wore a mild expression of disapproval, as if, though appreciating Zoey’s end result, she didn’t quite endorse her subterfuge.
Anna laughed.
“There’s one proviso,” Gavin said, handing his folder to Esther. “You have to tear down the house and its beehives.”
Clovis’s face fell. “Oh, no.”
“Oh stop it, Clovis,” Esther said. “I can’t stand that house and neither can you.”
Properly admonished, Clovis agreed. “No, I can’t. An awful roof on an awful place.”
“The land is yours to do with what you will,” Gavin added. “Emma’s—Zoey’s—will includes another one hundred thousand dollars for demolition and cleanup. Build a new house, a park, anything the town will allow.”
“A park,” Esther said, looking to the two framed photos on her mantel. “Like a dog park?”
Gavin shrugged. “It’s up to you. But Zoey would approve.” He got to his feet, shaking out the creases in his pants and smoothing his tie. “She left the rest of her money to a dog rescue group called Zoey’s Friends.”
“Hollister Dog Park,” Esther murmured.
“I like that,” Clovis said. “I have to say I like that much better than Morgan-Sadler House.”
Later, as Gene mowed Esther’s yard and Anna cleared it of glass and debris, she alternated between sadness over a life lost and laughter over the goodness of that life. Zoey had beaten them. She had beaten them all. She had been a sacrifice—but not Paul’s, not in the way he thought. She’d had the final word, a good word, and Paul, Maddy, and Alex had no idea how she had beaten them at their own game. Gone was that vile house, and with it, Anna hoped, most of Emerson Sadler. Whatever happened to Maddy and Alex from here out, they would never dance there.
Gene loaded the lawnmower into his SUV and Anna carefully placed a triple-layered trash bag filled with glass, paper, and thorny twigs on top of it. Gene had removed the sigil on the house’s foundation by scratching over it with the sharp edge of a stone—not a difficult job, so shallowly had the sigil been carved—and had searched for other symbols in Esther’s yard, but he’d found none. They climbed into his car and headed for the Buffalo Café, chuckling over the fact that they’d just helped a “poor widow” keep up with her yard work.
Anna knew she would never be able to erase what she had seen in Alex Root’s field. Schaeffer had suggested that Zoey had felt nothing after the first blow to her head—and maybe that was so. Zoey was young and still strong, and Paul’s first thought would have been to immobilize her with the wires and stakes—an impossibility unless he took her by surprise and rendered her unconscious. And he had to make sure she was quiet. It was conceivable that Zoey had felt nothing. Anna would cling to that. That thought—the hope in it—honored Zoey.
Gene ordered two pumpkin spice lattes from a smiling Grace, who told them how happy she was to have made it through the busy madness of October with her aching feet intact and bank account in better shape. November, if she could judge the month by its first day, would go easier on her feet.
“Let’s take a walk,” Gene said.
They headed out the door, walking west toward the rocky outcrop that marked w
here Summit Avenue curved sharply north.
“All Saints’ Day,” Gene said.
“That’s the second time you’ve said that.”
“In honor of all the saints, known and unknown. It’s a good day. Besides, isn’t November your favorite month?”
“It is.”
“Here’s Buckhorn’s,” he said.
Anna looked to her left and took a sip of her coffee. “Mmm-hmm.”
“And that’s where What Ye Will used to be,” he said, pointing with his coffee cup across the street at Frontier Wear. “Darlene Richelle’s witchcraft and wicca store. Farther up—that candy store? My dad’s been buying their taffy for thirty years.”
“Are you giving me a tour of my own town?” Anna asked with a grin.
“It’s my town too now,” he said. He paused at the rocks that seemed—at least to the perspective of tourists unfamiliar with the street—to bring Summit to an abrupt halt, turned back, and faced east.
“It’s a beautiful place,” Anna said. “A beautiful view.”
“I’m glad you said that,” Gene said. “I thought of a dozen places. Trail Ridge Road. I know you love it, but it’s closed for the season. The Bear Paw, the park, even your house.”
Anna groaned when her phone rang. She was enjoying standing here, doing absolutely nothing, talking to Gene and only Gene. “Hang on.” She pulled it from her jacket pocket and checked to see who was calling. Gene leaned in, grabbed hold of the phone, and answered it. “Not now, Liz.” He hung up on her with a tap of his thumb.
“What was that about?” Anna held out her hand, waiting for the phone.
Instead, he dropped it into her pocket then set his cup on a flat spot in the outcrop.
“What if that was important?”
“It’s not.”
“And you know this for sure?”
“Yes. We spent longer than I thought we would at Esther’s, and I’m sure Liz thinks we’ve finished here.”
Anna’s eyes narrowed. “You know I have no idea what you’re talking about, don’t you?”
Gene’s expression was serious—solemn, in fact—and it would have worried Anna except that there was a hint of playfulness in his eyes, as though he were about to introduce her to a new and very wonderful game. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out a black velvet box. “Anna . . .”
“Gene . . .” She put her cup next to his on the rock.
He opened the box. In white gold—or was it platinum?—was set a perfect, smoky blue stone. Liz, you sneak, you told him I loved blue topaz. Tears welled in her eyes.
“I love and cherish you with all my heart,” he said. “Will you marry me?”
She thought he had pulled away from her. She thought he was having second thoughts. How wrong she had been. Wrong, wrong. Poor Gene, he’d have to get used to that. “Yes. Yes!”
She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him—for a long time and without discretion. Right there on Summit Avenue.
opyright 2014 Karin Kaufman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Other Books
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Anna Denning Mystery Series
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