Janice Carter - The Inheritance

I’m beat either way, she thought. All I can do is try to come out of this clean. She looked up and down the street, hoping to hail a cab for the short distance to her condo. But rush hour had finished and most of the cabs were going farther into the city for evening events.

Roslyn sighed, turned up her trench coat collar against the bite of a brisk April breeze, and, sidestepping puddles from the recent shower, headed home. It seemed an appropriate end to the day.

THE CONGRATULATORY messages were already coming in via phone and e-mail by the time Roslyn walked off the elevator at eight-thirty Monday morning. Her secretary, Judy, looked up in surprise.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming in today. Too much celebrating on the weekend?”

Roslyn grinned. “I wish. Too much traffic, not to mention too much rain.”

“I know,” Judy agreed. “Do you believe this weather? I mean, April showers bring May flowers and blah-blah-blah, but this is ridiculous. Anyway, the word is out on your promotion and there’s a stack of callbacks waiting for you.”

“You’re a pal, Jude.” Roslyn was halfway into her office when the telephone rang. Judy waved her fingers, mouthed the word coffee and turned away. Roslyn shrugged off her coat and tossed it over a chair.

“Hello?” She cradled the receiver against her left ear and sat down in her black leather swivel desk chair. Before the caller could speak, she’d already reached for the stack of messages that Judy had left for her and was shuffling through them. The day’s work had just begun.

“Miss Baines? Randall Taylor here.”

Randall Taylor? Roslyn closed her eyes. Friday afternoon’s revelations had completely erased Great-Aunt Ida and her prized rosebush from her memory.

“Oh yes, Mr. Taylor. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to call so early.”

“Randall,” he reminded her. “Well, I have to leave Des Moines on business for a few days and I thought I’d check with you before I left regarding your thoughts on the inheritance.”

Roslyn sighed. “I’m afraid I haven’t made a decision. Something came up at work later on Friday, and I spent most of the weekend reflecting on that. Uh, when will you need a definite yes or no on this?”

There was a slight pause. “There’s no real rush, of course. Although I must admit I’d like to have things settled as soon as possible. Once the will has been probated, I should really move ahead with finalizing things. However,” his voice shifted to a less businesslike tone, “may I give you some friendly advice?”

Roslyn pushed aside the phone messages. “Certainly.”

“I know that to someone who’s spent her whole life in a place like Chicago, Plainsville, Iowa isn’t much of a draw.” He chuckled. “In fact, probably Des Moines itself isn’t a grabber.”

Roslyn nodded her head in silent agreement. She wished the man would make his point so she could get to some of her telephone calls.

“But please, take a few days and visit your aunt’s house before you decide.”

“Visit Plainsville?”

“It wouldn’t be that bad, seriously. Late April isn’t the best time of year for Iowa, I’m afraid, but you ought to see your aunt’s home before dismissing it.”

Roslyn sighed again. He must have been reading her mind. She’d been about to inform him to call Jackson or Johnson or whoever the other beneficiary was. “Randall, I’m really very busy here. I seldom have time to take a day off, much less a few days.”

“The house is very special. Trust me. It’s a heritage house, Roslyn, and is well-known in the county.”

“I doubt that would be a selling point with me, Randall. Living in a tourist attraction doesn’t appeal.”

“It’s not like that. People here are too respectful of other folks’ privacy. But the Petersen name is almost as famous as the house and a visit would be an opportunity to get to know that side of the family.”

“There’s got to be a good reason why my side of the family chose not to know the other, Randall. I think I’ll go with my parents and grandparents’ judgment on this.” Irritation bristled in her voice.

“I’m really botching this, I’m afraid. But any businessperson will attest that a property should never be turned down sight unseen. As a potential investment for you, the house in Plainsville ought to be given that chance at least.”

She admired his strategy, knowing it was one she’d have used with a client herself. “Tell you what, Randall, I’ll think about a visit. I believe I have your number in Des Moines—is there an e-mail address on the card?”

“’Fraid not. I personally avoid the computer as much as possible. Should you decide to visit before I return, I’ll leave instructions and a key with my secretary.”

Roslyn made her goodbyes and gave Randall’s suggestion a few seconds of her time until the telephone rang again. Then she retrieved her sheaf of messages and let the day’s business take over. Until shortly after lunch, when there was a gentle tap at her door.

It swung open at her “Come in” to reveal Jim Naismith standing in the frame and clutching a dozen red roses. Roslyn’s stomach pitched. A crescending drumroll pounded at her left temple. Feeling a rush of heat suffuse into her face, she managed a surprised smile and blurted, “For me?”

ROSLYN DIDN’T get a chance to confer with Ed Saunders until late in the afternoon. For hours, she’d sat in her office staring at Jim’s bouquet of roses, stuck somewhat unceremoniously in an empty coffee can. All the while, she kept replaying his gracious congratulations. Something had changed in his manner, she decided.

The old Jim would have hung around longer, teasing her about moving up the corporate ladder. All of the banter would have been delivered with sincerity and pleasure at such a reward of her hard work. The handful of times they’d dated had taught her that about Jim Naismith.

Or had it? she suddenly asked herself. Because this Jim hadn’t lingered for small talk and had, after giving her a quick hug, pulled back immediately. He’d been evasive about her general inquiry about his weekend, mumbling that he’d been into the office, and had become defensive at the surprise in her voice. He’d blurted that some people in the office had been dealt a bigger workload than others.

His reaction had startled Roslyn. Jim had never seemed to be the type of workaholic who felt that he was the only one with a heavy load. And when she’d casually asked him what account had kept him in the office all weekend, he’d simply shrugged and left her office. By the time Roslyn closed Ed Saunders’s door behind her later that day, she was beginning to think she might have been wrong about Jim.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said on Friday,” she began.

Ed frowned.

“About Jim Naismith.”

Her boss placed the pen in his right hand onto the desk. “Go on,” was all he said.

Roslyn swallowed. She couldn’t go through with it. Even after checking security’s sign-in log over the past three weeks and noting that Jim had come into work every weekend, she couldn’t ally herself with Ed against Jim. There had to be an explanation, even if it was the standard one—that all the investors were overworked and desperate to earn their commissions and bonuses.

But there was more to her emotional response, she knew. Staring at Ed’s florid face, the shock of white hair and rugged good looks that had many younger clerks swooning in his wake, she realized that she was reluctant to voice her thoughts about Jim simply because she feared jeopardizing her promotion. Still, experience had taught her that the truth would always come out in the end.

“I don’t think I’m going to be much help to you—about Jim, I mean,” she stammered at the question in his face. “You see, Jim and I’ve…well, dated a few times and although we’re just good friends, I thought our socializing might…well…”