Jack by phone, only to discover that his number was no longer listed.
The estate included an insurance policy that would cover the fifty-five
percent federal inheritance tax, leaving Jack the unencumbered
six-hundred-acre Quartermass Ranch, the four-bedroom main house with
furnishings, the caretaker’s house, the ten-horse stable, various tools
and equipment, and “a substantial amount of cash.” Instead of a legal
document, six photographs were included with the single-page letter.
With shaky hands, Heather spread them in two rows on the table in front
of her. The modified-Victorian main house was charming, with just
enough decorative millwork to enchant without descending into Gothic
oppressiveness. It appeared to be twice as large as the house in which
they now lived. The mountain and valley views in every direction were
breathtaking. Heather had never been filled with such mixed emotions
as she experienced at that moment. In their hour of desperation, they
had been given salvation, a way out of darkness, escape from despair.
She had no idea what a Montana attorney would regard as a “substantial
amount of cash,” but she figured the ranch alone, if liquidated, must
be worth enough to pay off all their bills and their current mortgage,
with money left hadn’t known since she had been a small child and had
still believed in fairy tales, miracles. On the other hand, their good
fortune would have been Tommy Fernandez’s good fortune if he had not
been murdered. That dark and inescapable fact tainted the gift and
dampened her pleasure in it. For a while she brooded, torn between
delight and guilt, and at last decided she was responding too much -.
like a Beckerman and too little like a Mcgarvey. She would have done
anything to bring Tommy Fernandez back to life, even if it meant that
this inheritance would never have been hers and Jack’s, but the cold
truth was that Tommy was dead, in the ground over sixteen months now,
and beyond the help of anyone. Fate was too often malicious, too
seldom generous. She would be a fool to greet this staggering
beneficence with a frown. Her first thought was to call Jack at
work.
She went to the wall phone, dialed part of the number, then hung up.
This was once-in-a-lifetime news. She would never have another
opportunity to spring something this deliriously wonderful on him, and
she must not screw it up. For one thing, she wanted to see his face
when he heard about the inheritance. She took the notepad and pencil
from the holder beside the phone and returned to the table, where she
read the letter again. She wrote out a list of questions for Paul
Youngblood, then returned to the phone and called him in Eagle’s Roost,
Montana. When Heather identified herself to the attorney’s secretary
and then to the man himself, her voice was tremil she was half afraid
he would tell her there had been a mistake. Maybe someone had
contested the will. Or maybe a more recent will had been found, which
negated the one naming Jack as the sole heir. A thousand maybes.
Rush-hour traffic was even worse than usual. Dinner was delayed
because Jack got home more than half an hour late, tired and frazzled
but putting on a good act as a man in love with his new job and happy
with his life. The instant Toby was finished eating, he asked to be
excused to watch a favorite television program, and Heather let him
go.
She wanted to share the news with Jack first, just the two of them, and
tell Toby later. As usual, Jack helped her clean the table and load
the dishwasher. When they were finished, he said, “Think I’ll go for a
walk, exercise these legs.”
“You having any pain?”
“Just a little crdmping.”
Though he had stopped using a cane, she worried that he wouldn’t tell
her if he was having strength or balance problems. “You sure you’re
okay?”
“Positive.” He kissed her cheek. “You and Moshe Bloom could never be
married. You’d always be fighting over whose job it was to do the
mothering.”
“Sit down a minute,” she said, leading him to the table and encouraging