What's a Ghoul to Do? (28 page)

"While the property is in life estate, can anyone sell off parts of it?"

"No, according to Bradley. The property would have to remain intact; however, if Steven Senior had a legitimate claim to the property and named an heir, the property would come out of life estate and be his to do anything he wanted with."

"In other words, our friend right here and his heirs can live on the property only until their deaths, but his father can lay full claim to it if Steven Junior is out of the picture and his father claims an heir?"

"Correct," Gilley said.

"Is the land that valuable?" I asked, turning to Steven.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Except for the lodge and Willis's house and Mirabelle's property, it's undeveloped forest. This is the only town for about fifty miles, and the nearest highway is forty miles to the east. I can't understand why my father would be interested in it—assuming he even is."

"Oh, I think he's interested, all right," Gilley said. "Think about it, Steven. He's been up here a lot, according to the locals, always with some other guy in a suit. And he brings a claim against Mirabelle for something that doesn't even belong to him. There's more to this story, and if I were you I'd watch my back."

Given the little swim we'd taken that morning, I didn't really like the way these little facts were adding up. "So, Steven Senior may have a vested interest in Steven Junior being out of the picture," I said, giving a knowing look to the doctor in the corner.

"If he's responsible for this morning," Steven growled, as our eyes locked, "I'll kill him myself."

Gilley swiveled his head back and forth between me and Steven as if he were watching a tennis match. "Am I missing something?"

I took that opportunity to reach into my jacket and pull out the copies I'd made of the file from Roger's office. "Given all of this new information," I said as I unfolded the paper, "I think you should have a look at this."

I put the papers on the coffee table in front of me and spread them out so that we could all see them. "Uh-oh," I said as I looked closely at them.

"What?" Gilley asked as he peered over my shoulder.

"Uh … it looks like I put the copies back in the folder, and these are the originals."

"Hopefully no one will notice," Steven said as he got out of his chair to come over.

Gilley reached forward and picked through the papers, studying them for a moment. "There are three separate deeds here. Look," he said, pointing to the second sheet. "The chain goes like this. This is the life estate to Maureen, which then reverts the property back to Andrew in nineteen seventy-four, when she died. This one, recorded in nineteen seventy-four, right after Maureen died, deeds the property to Mirabelle, which clearly lists her age as eighteen."

"Andrew must have wanted to make sure the property went to Mirabelle, maybe as consolation for her mother's death."

"That's plausible," said Gilley.

"Then why is there another one there?" I asked, pointing to the third.

Gilley picked it up and glanced at it before saying, "This date marks it a week before Andrew died. It's signed but not recorded, and it's a mirror of the other, only it lists Mirabelle's birth date of December second, nineteen fifty-seven—" Gilley paused as he looked back to the original deed. "And this deed lists her birth date as nineteen fifty-six."

"So Andrew knew he had to correct the original deed. This one," I said, tapping the unrecorded document, "is the deed that shows her true birth date and would ensure she gets to live in her house for the rest of her life."

Gilley sighed. "Yes. Because the first deed was recorded with a false birth date, it isn't legal. All that needs to happen now is to record it with the county clerk and be done with it."

"Then why hasn't Roger recorded it by now? My grandfather's been dead for three months. What's taking him so long?" Steven said, pointing out the obvious.

"And do you think your father was snooping around Roger's office looking for this, or something else?" I asked.

Gilley's head did the tennis-match thing again. "Wait a second," he said.
''Where
exactly did you get this from, M.J.?"

I gathered up the papers with a nonchalant shrug of my shoulders. "Never mind about that, Gil. I need you to keep doing what you're good at, which is to root out the info. This time I want you to concentrate on Steven Senior. We need to know why he's so interested in this parcel of land."

"Wait a minute," Gilley demanded as I got up and stretched with a yawn. "You two are holding out on me!"

Steven got to his feet as well and mimicked my stretch. "I am … so … like a shrub," he said.

Gilley and I both looked at him before I broke into a smile. "You're bushed, dear, not shrubbed."

"Yes, that too," Steven said with a flip of his hand. "If you need me, I'll be in my room."

"Me too," I said, following him toward the stairs.

"Hey!" Gilley squawked. "Come back! You're not playing fair!"

"Night, Gil," I said with a wave of my hand.

"It's against the law to be mean to the handicapped!" he squawked.

* * * *

Later, after I'd put Doc to bed, I heard a soft knock on my door. I hurried to answer it, afraid the noise would wake my sleeping bird. I opened the door to find Steven in a pair of black boxer briefs and a matching T-shirt. In his hand he held two snifters with some sort of amber-colored liquid. "Nightgown?" he asked.

I leaned against the doorjamb and folded my arms together. "I thought you were shrubbed and headed to bed?"

Steven raised one of the snifters to his lips and, looking at me over the rim, he sniffed the contents. "Do you like scotch, M.J.?"

I smiled, liking the mix of his foreign accent with the deep, masculine timbre of his voice. "I've been known to knock back a few shots in my day."

Steven held out the other snifter to me, his eyes lingering on mine until I took it. When I did, he pushed into my room. "Come on in," I said sarcastically.

He ignored the comment. "I like this room. It has … how do you say … luck?"

"Luck?" I asked, closing the door.

"Yes, I think that is the way you say it when something is warm and inviting."

"Do you mean charm?"

"Yes, yes, that's it," he said, swiveling around to face me.

I cocked an eyebrow at him and asked, "So, what are you really doing here?"

"Having a nightgown."

I rolled my eyes. "It's a nightcap, not nightgown."

"Even better," Steven said as he eased over to my bed and sat down. When I shook my head at him, he patted the bedspread and said, "Come, sit with me and drink your scotch. I promise not to nibble you."

"Bite me," I corrected.

"That is not very nice," he said, sounding slightly offended.

"What?"

"Bite me. That is what the kids are saying when they are not so nice, correct?"

I giggled and moved over to the bed, sitting next to him. "The expression is not, 'I promise not to
nibble
you,' it's, 'I promise not to
bite
you.'"

"Ah, well, that makes no sense. Why would I promise not to bite you when you taste so good?" he purred.

I put my hand on his chest as I gave him a stern, "Buddy, let's just drink our drink and talk our talk, okay?"

"My way is more fun," he replied, giving his eyebrows a wiggle.

"So you tell me," I answered. "Now, about this little land deal that your father seems to be so interested in. Do you have any idea why he would care about the property you own up here?"

"None. Of all the property my grandfather owned, this seems to be the least valuable. Yes, it is a lot of land, but it's not nearly as valuable as some of the other holdings he had."

"Did you know your grandfather put the property in life estate?"

Steven nodded. "Preferably."

I gave him a quizzical look and cocked my head to the side. "Come again?"

"Preferably. You know, on the edge, or the outside."

"Peripherally?"

"Yes, what did I say?"

"Never mind. Anyway, you were saying?"

"I knew, but it didn't click in my head. His attorneys called me in Germany, and I was still so stunned to hear of his death. I remember them filling me with details, but my brain was not keeping with it. I didn't even realize the importance of it until Gilley was talking about it downstairs."

"I see. So let me ask the million-dollar question: Do you think your father is trying to kill you?" I had finally said the thing that was really bothering me. And even though I knew that Steven and his father had no real love for each other, I still couldn't fathom a father killing his own son.

Steven swirled the amber liquid for a long moment. He then took a sip and, without looking at me, said, "He's always been the kind of man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted."

My chest tightened. "In other words, now that we know he has a motive, you and I need to be especially careful about what tunnels and paths we follow in the dark, huh?"

"I would say yes, that is correct."

"So let me ask the other question that's been bothering me—"

"The answer is the same, M.J.," Steven said, cutting me off. "He is the type of man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Even shoving his own father off a roof."

The room fell quiet as we both thought about that. I tried to think of something comforting to say, but nothing came to mind, and just as I was about to try to change the subject by mentioning the weather, Steven said, "I think it's time for both of us to hit the straw."

"Hay," I corrected, but Steven didn't seem to notice, because he was already up and walking toward the door.

"I shall see you in the morning?" he said, more question than statement.

"Yes," I said, giving him a sympathetic smile. "Get some rest, Steven, and thanks again for the nightgown."

The next morning I woke early, anxious to be up and moving. I crept downstairs and poked my head into the kitchen to say hi to Helen, who was busy preparing blueberry pancakes. "You going out for a run?" she asked me.

"Yeah, should be back in time to gobble up some of those, though," I said, pointing to the batter she was preparing.

"Good to know." She smiled. "Does Doc like blueberries?"

"Does Polly want a cracker?" I laughed. "That bird will devour any kind of fruit except pineapple. For some reason he's got an aversion to it."

"I'll put some in a bowl for him and you can feed him when you get back," she said.

"Thanks, Helen. If the boys wake up before I return, just tell 'em I'm out for a run."

I went outside and did a few stretches, more just to say I did than to really stretch. Once I'd gone through the motions, I crossed the street and began to jog.

For me, there is nothing better than a nice run, especially on a clear spring morning, when the air is still crisp and the dew is heavy. I felt the usual aches and pains associated with that first half mile, but as the rest of my joints and muscles woke up, I really got into it and began to push myself.

I headed in pretty much the same direction I had the other day, wondering if it was a good idea to ran down the street where I'd seen Steven's car parked in front of a certain waitress's cute little ranch.

I hadn't remembered to check the driveway for his car this morning—my mind had been on other things. Now I was faced with the moral dilemma of sticking my nose into business that wasn't mine. After a little back-and-forth I decided,
The hell with it,
and pointed my toes down that street, concentrating on appearing disinterested and aloof.

As I passed Annalise's house I allowed my eyes to roam over the driveway, and what I saw there nearly brought me to a halt. Parked neatly in front of her garage was a shiny silver Rolls-Royce, indicating Steven Senior was in residence.

"Son of a bitch," I panted as I made a U-turn and jogged over to get a better look. I paused along her fence and pretended to stretch out a charley horse, keeping one eye on the house, hoping someone would come out and I might catch a bit of conversation. Nothing happened, and I began to worry that all my massaging of my leg might be overdoing it a little, so I turned and began to run again.

When I'd gone about a half mile I doubled back as an excuse to get another look, and to my surprise the car was gone. "Shit," I said as I passed the house. If I'd hung out a little longer, I might have seen something.

I picked up the pace on the way back to the B and B so I could fill Gilley and Steven in. Once I reached the inn I stood outside for a minute, holding the stitch in my side and waiting to catch my breath before going inside.

"I've been looking for you," Steven said from the doorway as I walked up the stairs. "Did you have a good run?"

I nodded. "Yep. And a good thing I did, because I saw something mighty interesting a few blocks that way," I said, pointing.

"What?"

"Your father's car parked in front of that cute waitress's house."

Steven's face went purple in less than two seconds. "You are pulling on my leg," he said in a voice that sounded dangerous.

"Nope," I said, just a wee bit smugly.

"That bastard," Steven spit as he stormed down the steps.

I watched with surprise as he passed me and headed to his car, fishing around in his jeans pocket for his keys. When he hauled them out he looked back up at me and asked, "Coming?"

I nodded dumbly and moved back down the stairs, belatedly realizing that I must look—and smell—like hell. "I don't suppose I have time for a quick shower?" I asked as I approached.

"This won't take long, and you look good. I like you hot and drippy," Steven said with a small grin.

"Gee, stop with the love talk," I said sarcastically as I got into his car. "It's gonna go to my head."

We arrived at Annalise's house in short order, and Steven wasted no time marching right up to the house and pounding on the door. It was opened a moment later by the very pretty woman I'd seen but never met. "Steven!" she said with warmth. "I didn't expect you. Are you here to check on Shanah?"