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The Inheritance
Janice Carter
A mystery inheritance–with strings attached!Roslyn Baines can't believe what she's hearing. A great-aunt–someone she's never even heard of–has left her a large estate in rural Iowa on condition that she give up her career in Chicago for a year and live in the house. Otherwise, the alternate beneficiary–Jack Jensen–will inherit the place.Well, maybe he should. After all, he helped take care of it for years, while Roslyn didn't even know this side of her family existed; her grim-faced grandmother never discussed relatives. But Roslyn's curiosity draws her to Plainsville, Iowa, and once there, Roslyn–with help from Jack–uncovers the painful reasons behind her grandmother's silence.Now, also thanks to Jack, she's beginning to feel comfortable in the home of her ancestors. Trouble is, if she stays, Jack loses his inheritance. If she leaves, she may never see him again. And that's a risk she can't bear to take.
“I don’t understand that man at all.”
Roslyn looked at Sophie and continued. “I mean, I practically had to beg him to take this house off my hands. And how does he react? By implying that I don’t appreciate what’s being offered here. What does he expect? That I’ll just walk away from my life in Chicago because a great-aunt I never even knew existed left me this monstrous home with the condition that I have to live here for a whole year to look after a rosebush. A rosebush!”
Roslyn gave a half shrug, palms up in surrender. She sensed the housekeeper was waiting for something more, so she continued.
“The woman obviously didn’t give a hoot about my taking the place or she wouldn’t have made it so difficult. So when I decide to give it to the other beneficiary, he gets all prickly and accuses me of not caring about any of this.” Roslyn’s right hand swept an arc across the room.
“Jack would never—”
“Well, he did.” In fact, Roslyn thought, none of the conversation with Jack had gone the way she’d imagined. She thought he’d beam, offer a humble thank-you for her generosity and maybe even suggest some kind of celebration later.
An unexpected wave of disappointment flowed through her.
Dear Reader,
Writers are often asked the question, “Where do you get your ideas?” It’s a good question, but a difficult one to answer. Because writers are usually storytellers and daydreamers. They absorb anecdotes and snippets of passing conversation like sponges, holding on to them for future use.
When my friends, Jane Baldwin and Paul Christianson, recently married, they received a cutting from Paul’s family treasure—an antique rosebush brought to America generations ago by his Scandinavian ancestors. One day, as I admired this plant flourishing in their wonderful cottage garden, they told me the story of their Iowa rose.
I was captivated by the notion of a plant being passed down through generations as reverently as a piece of sterling silver. I could envision blooms from that plant in wedding bouquets, christening posies and funeral arrangements. A celebration of all aspects of life, the rosebush was a living tradition and heirloom.
If the rosebush could speak, it would have hundreds of stories to recount. In this novel, with its imaginary setting and characters, I’ve constructed one possible tale from the Iowa rose.
I am indebted to Jane and Paul for urging me to spin my own story about their family tradition.
I’d also like to send a big thank-you to my pal Linda Christensen for helping me to develop an investment-fraud scenario for the book.
Janice Carter
The Inheritance
Janice Carter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Peter, with love
A special thank-you to Jane Baldwin and Paul Christianson for the story of their family’s Iowa rose.
And to Linda Christensen for the investment information
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ud2c14c24-9b7d-5497-be5c-288f91db5975)
CHAPTER TWO (#u963aeb8e-f483-542d-b671-d6a3c8a22c17)
CHAPTER THREE (#u15f97d21-2fd5-5ed4-9827-91faca15a2ca)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u1c0d9bfc-9951-55c4-95ea-6e5ac7a69310)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
“THAT’S MY INHERITANCE? A rose?”
Randall Taylor, solicitor and executor of the estate of Ida Mae Petersen sighed from the other end of the line.
“Miss Baines, your aunt was concerned about keeping the family home in the family.”
“A bit late for family,” Roslyn cracked. “I haven’t seen nor heard from this Great-Aunt Ida and her side of the family my entire life.” She edged forward in her chair, setting her elbows on the desktop. “That’s the part I don’t understand. Why the contact after all these years? And why me? Can you give me some help here, Mr. Taylor?”
“Please, call me Randall. I’ve a feeling we’ll be having more conversations after today. The Iowa rose has been in the family for generations. Ida didn’t want to see it perish from neglect or be uprooted.” He paused. “I’m afraid I can’t comment on any other family uh…difficulties.”
“Randall, then—I don’t expect you to comment on the peculiarities of my family, but you have the advantage of knowing my aunt and the rest of the family in Iowa. I don’t understand why she’s left me anything at all, frankly, since my parents have had nothing to do with the Iowa relatives. Most of all, I’m puzzled by the inheritance itself. I mean, a rosebush? Was she some kind of eccentric recluse—or worse?”
Randall chuckled. “Some considered her eccentric, certainly. But she had all of her faculties, believe me, and a few to spare.”
“And she couldn’t get anyone in the whole of Plainsville to take on a plant?”
“That wasn’t the point. She made it very clear to me when we drew up the will that the rosebush had to stay in the Petersen family. When Ida read your mother’s obituary last year in a Chicago newspaper, she decided to change her will. There were no other living relatives more immediate than you. Plus, as she explained to me, she wanted to set the record straight on a few things.”
“Set the record straight?” Roslyn frowned. “What does that mean?”
Randall sighed. “Frankly, I don’t know. Ida Mae was a very private person and detested anything that might have been construed as prying. I assumed that she was referring to some family matter.”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t know anything about a family matter. When I was growing up, the only family I had were my parents and grandparents in Chicago. I didn’t even know my grandmother had a sister, let alone a twin.”
“To tell you the truth, I never knew myself until I helped Ida make up this new will. My predecessor at our law office here in Des Moines had been her personal lawyer up until the last few years.”
After a moment’s pause, Roslyn asked, “Exactly what is the complete estate, then?”
“All right, let’s go over it again. Do you have time?”
“Certainly, my next appointment isn’t until one-thirty,” she said, without mentioning it was for lunch. Her fingers drummed lightly on the wooden desktop.
“Ida was sole owner of the Petersen family home in Plainsville, Iowa. Current market value is about three hundred thousand dollars. That’s the value of the house of course, and it stands on five acres of prime land in town with another hundred acres adjoining and stretching into the outskirts. Plainsville’s become a kind of distant satellite community to Des Moines, so the eventual value of the land could be quite high.”
Roslyn checked the time. “Go on.”
“Well, except for some old stock certificates and what’s in Ida’s savings account, the cash assets of the whole estate come to about thirty thousand, on top of the house. Now, I haven’t factored in the land because that part of it is purely speculative at the moment. Someone in your line of work can relate to that.”
“Sure,” she mumbled. Her fingers settled on the desk. She closed her eyes and massaged her brow. Then she glanced at her watch again. She had about twenty-five minutes. Why was she wasting her time going through all of this again? Why didn’t she just say, “Thanks, but no thanks” and get off the phone?
As if reading her mind, Randall said, “I know this is a lot to take in but I’ll go over the conditions once more, as well. Then I’ll leave you to your appointment.” He cleared his throat and Roslyn pictured him squinting through his reading glasses at the document. “So, the main condition to inheriting the entire estate is that you must live in the house and take care of the rosebush. Should you decide not to reside permanently in the house, your share of the inheritance will only be a cutting from the plant.”
Roslyn snorted. Great-Aunt Ida had to be some kind of crackpot. “And may I ask what happens to the estate in that event?”
“The estate will be offered to Jack Jensen of Plainsville, Iowa. Under the same condition.”
“Who’s he? Some distant cousin?”
“No relation at all. But the Jensen family is as old and well-known in the community as your aunt’s. Apparently young Jack and Ida Mae forged a strong friendship in her latter years.”
“So why didn’t she just leave everything to him in the first place?”
“Because they’re not family—there’s no blood connection. She wanted you to have first refusal.”
“That’s a good way to put it.” She thought for a moment and then added, “What’s to stop me from agreeing and then selling the house once it’s legally mine, without permanently moving in?”
“You must actually reside in the house for a year before the deed is officially signed over.”
“A year? In Plainsville?”
“Your aunt explained to me that taking over the home ought to be a true commitment, both to the town and to the family heritage. I suggest you take the weekend or longer to think all of this over. Don’t make a decision over the phone.”
Roslyn barely acknowledged his comment. A year in Plainsville was all she could focus on. What on earth could this great-aunt have been thinking?
WHEN ROSLYN finished her summary of the telephone conversation with the lawyer, she reached for her wineglass and leaned back into her chair and looked at her boss.
Ed Saunders poured the last of the wine into his own glass and reached into the inner pocket of his pinstripe suit. “Mind?” he asked, withdrawing a slender aluminum tube.
“Come on, Ed. That’s why we had our luncheon here—so you could light up at the table afterward.”
His grin was sheepish. “Got me there, I’m afraid. Well, this great-aunt of yours sounds like a real character.” He shook his head again and chuckled. “A rosebush! What was that line about a rose garden? Something from the seventies, wasn’t it?”
Roslyn shrugged. “I think it was a song—or a book or something. Anyway, so much for luck, eh? First time an unexpected inheritance falls into my lap and it turns out to be a cutting from an old rosebush.”
Ed rolled the unlit Cuban beneath his nose before moistening the end in his mouth. Roslyn peered down into her glass. She wished he wouldn’t light it, but didn’t have the nerve to object. They still hadn’t got to the heart of their meeting and she wasn’t going to jeopardize her chance to be a new junior associate of Saunders, McIntyre and Associates Investments over a cigar.
She heard the metallic click of a cigarette lighter and looked up as a large smoke ring drifted across the table.
“Thank heavens for my club,” Ed murmured, savoring his first puff. “Nothing like a decent Cuban after a fine meal.”
“Isn’t that ‘decent’ Cuban illegal?”
Ed winked. “Shhh! Not so loudly. ’Course—” he strained to glance over his shoulder “—I’m sure there are more than a few on the premises as we speak. Illegal, but not impossible to obtain.”
“All adding to the enjoyment, of course,” Roslyn said.
“That’s what I admire in you, my girl.”
Roslyn tried not to wince.
“Your quick and very insightful wit. And intelligence,” he added. “Which brings me to the purpose of our meeting.”
Roslyn gripped the stem of her wineglass. She raised it casually to her lips before responding. Swallowing the slightly fruity wine, she tilted her head in mock interest and raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“As I intimated to you several weeks ago, Saunders, McIntyre and Associates Investments are taking advantage of the terrific market of the past year and the board has given the go-ahead to expand our operation. We’re setting up a new branch on the south side and want you to be in on it with us. As junior associate, with all the benefits and perks that come with the title.”
The tension in Roslyn’s stomach melted in a rush of excitement.
“So,” Ed continued, taking another drag on his cigar, “you’ve got to make a decision about this inheritance of yours, I suppose.”
“Not really, Ed. I mean, can you see me in Plainsville, Iowa?”
“I take your point,” he commented. “But before we leave, there is one more thing.”
Catching the ominous tone in his voice, Roslyn had a feeling she was about to hear the string attached to her promotion. After all, it had been a day of conditions.
HOURS LATER, on her way home, Roslyn let her forehead rest against the train window. She knew she ought to be feeling jubilant. Wasn’t making associate her primary goal since joining the investment firm five years ago?
She sagged against the plastic seat. Her eyes swept across the commuters leaving the heart of the city almost two hours after the peak of the rush hour. They all looked as wrung out as she felt. An inner voice scolded her for yielding to such a dark mood on what ought to have been the best day of her career so far.
She loved the erratic pace of her work days—the frenzy of buying and selling; urgent phone calls and spinning from one monitor to the next, checking stock prices around the world. Everything at her fingertips and everything demanding now, now!
Then there were the calm times—the interludes of sanity that Roslyn and her co-workers dubbed the eyes of the hurricanes. Those rare moments gave them time to replenish before the next storm.
