Read Online A Crossworder's Holiday by Nero Blanc - Free Book Online Page A

turned pained. “And then, I don’t know … she just fell apart. You wouldn’t have recognized her, Rosco … All the old spunk was gone, and then her brain …” Steve’s voice broke. “I mean, it was weird how quick she went.”
    Rosco nodded again, more in sympathy, while his friend shook his head sadly.
    â€œWhat was really peculiar was that she was in great shape for nearly a month after Uncle Amos’s passing …” He drew another troubled breath. “Meg was a great gal. I wish I’d paid more attention when she started talking about wills and things. Maybe she had a premonition she was going to die. Maybe instead of doing the hearty ‘you’re going to outlast us all’ routine, I should have been more attuned to her fears …”
    Rosco didn’t answer for a moment; when he did, his voice remained low-key. “You did what you believed was best.”
    â€œI try to tell myself that—”
    â€œIt’s tough …”
    â€œThe guilt’s the worst.”
    Rosco tried a lighter tone. “Hey, come on … Your aunt wouldn’t have wanted you to feel guilty, you know that, not in a million years.”
    But Steve’s shoulders sagged. “I know,” he said, clearly unwilling to lighten up.
    Both men were silent while Meg’s home, as if in sympathy with their feelings, echoed with the quiet sounds of all empty houses: a creak on the stair, a shift of a floorboard, the winter wind in the chimney flue, a clock still wound, still counting out its lonely minutes.
    It was Steve who finally broke the mournful spell. “I know I’m tackling the impossible—”
    â€œI wouldn’t say impossible ,” Rosco responded. “But it sure ain’t gonna be easy … So, there’s definitely no evidence of a new will, I take it?”
    â€œNone whatsoever … When we spoke on the phone, I mentioned that everything’s controlled by Amos’s third wife, Greta—and I mean everything . Hannah and I call her Greedy Greta. ‘Take the money and run’ is definitely her motto. That’s why Meg’s collection is about to be packed up and sent to a New York auction house. After that, Greta intends to sell the house. ‘To the highest bidder,’ she keeps saying. And she doesn’t give a hang whether it remains standing or succumbs to the wrecking ball.”
    â€œBut why would anyone want to tear the place down?”
    â€œThe street’s zoned commercially. It happened a long time ago—when the Farmer’s Market went in. Back then, the townsfolk thought commercial was the way to go: local produce sold locally, and all that … Now, everyone’s beginning to worry … Real estate’s gotten real valuable around here …”
    Rosco released a frustrated sigh and dropped his hands into his pockets as he looked around the room. The exposed beams had been hand-hewn, the wide floor planks lovingly polished, and every object seemed to embody the town’s credo of honest work and wholesome living. “You’re not painting a very optimistic scenario about Bird-in-Hand’s future.”
    â€œIt’s the truth, though, Rosco. Every one of these small communities in Lancaster County is facing the same challenges. The same threats, I should say.”
    Rosco nodded. “And I’m sure this collection contains some seriously valuable items.”
    â€œYou can say that again … Greta’s positively got dollar signs dancing in her head.”
    â€œNo ‘visions of sugarplums,’ huh?”
    â€œNot unless the plums are prunes.” Despite the gravity of the situation, Steve gave a brief laugh, then crossed to a painted sideboard decorated with unicorns and tulips, and opened the center drawer. “You know, my aunt had a lot in common with your Belle … Take a look at these.” He pulled out a stack of