Read Online Grave Deeds by Betsy Struthers - Free Book Online Page B

woman you are.”
    â€œYou’re not being fair to me,” I insisted. “Aunt Beatrice was going to tell me everything. Do I have cousins?”
    â€œOne,” he sighed. “Beatrice’s granddaughter, Marilyn Finch.”
    â€œDoes she live here in the city?”
    He shook his head. “Never has. Her mother married an American. She lives in the Southern States somewhere. One of the Carolinas. Roger would know. He takes care of the trust fund Beatrice’s husband set up for his family.”
    â€œDoes she know about me?”
    â€œOf course she knows about you. Now. Beatrice said she wrote to her at Christmas and told her the whole story. She inherits the house — she won’t get much for it, I’m afraid. You saw what condition it’s in. Roger is taking care of all that for her.”
    â€œWhat does she do?”
    He shifted uneasily on the seat. “What does it matter?” he waved a hand dismissively. “She never bothered with her grand-mother except when she wanted the cottage for vacations. Never visited Beatrice in the city and made sure her time up north didn’t overlap with her grandmother’s weeks there. She didn’t even bother coming up when we informed her about Beatrice’s death. I doubt she wants to meet you. Especially now that you’ve got the cottage.” He chuckled. “Serves her right. Probably planned to sell the land and pocket the money. No flies on Beatrice, you’ve got to say that for her.” He cocked his head. “I wonder, now, if it wasn’t so much guilt about not carrying out her brother’s wish to give the land to you, but revenge on Marilyn that led her to contact you. Could be, could be.” He cackled.
    I shifted on the seat. The raincoat squeaked against the leather. “You can’t just leave it like that. You have to tell me something about her. Is she married? Does she have kids?”
    â€œAsk Roger,” the old man muttered. “He’s the one who deals with her.”
    â€œI will,” I said. “He’s waiting for me now.” I nodded towards the building.
    â€œRoger is?” Mr. Ross looked up in surprise. The cane slipped from his hands and fell to the floor. I picked it up. He took it from me quite roughly and used the rubber end to bang on the window. I leaned back into the seat, away from its erratic waving.
    Hunter opened the door and looked in. “Yes, sir?”
    â€œWhat’s Mr. Markham doing here?” the old man demanded.
    â€œI’m afraid I don’t know, sir. He arrived just after we did. You didn’t see him going in?”
    â€œOf course not. Go and ask him what he’s doing here. This is none of his business. I thought I had made that quite plain.”
    Hunter closed the door with a quiet thud. Mr. Ross wheezed heavily. I could hear him muttering to himself but couldn’t make out the words. A couple of minutes passed in silence. The door opened again.
    â€œHe says it’s something to do with Dr. Finch, some personal things about the family she thought Mrs. Cairns would like to know.”
    Mr. Ross glared at his driver for a moment, then nodded. His whole body seemed to shrink into his coat. I caught Hunter’s worried look. It was time for me to go.
    â€œThank you for bringing me these papers yourself,” I said. “I guess I should be going.”
    The old man waved one twisted hand in farewell. Hunter reached for my elbow to help me out of the car. I turned my face up to the sweet rain, glad to be out of that cloying atmosphere. Mr. Ross banged on the window. The driver reopened the door.
    â€œMrs. Cairns,” the old man called. “One moment please.”
    I leaned back inside the car, steadying myself with one hand on the roof.
    â€œRemember,” Mr. Ross said. “your grandfather’s wishes. If you don’t want to use the cottage yourself, the land is to go the province.