Your House or Mine?. Cynthia Thomason

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ next completely unnerved him. Meg’s features slowly changed from righteous anger to a sort of chilling understanding. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Perhaps you had something to gain by ignoring my aunt’s unusual behavior.”

      He backed up a step. “What do you mean by that?”

      She gestured to the packages. “You’ll excuse me for saying so, Deputy, but I can’t help thinking that this wild spending was a sign of my aunt’s vulnerability and an open invitation for you to con her out of this house.”

      Anger flared inside him. “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t even express an interest in buying this place until after I made the deal to board my daughter’s horse. And then I only mentioned it as a sort of remote possibility. But Mrs. Ashford was more than willing to get an offer on this old place. She welcomed my interest, encouraged it. And another thing…your aunt didn’t start her spending spree until after she sold me her house. I didn’t observe her buying so much as a sewing needle before she accepted my offer. So much for your theory about me watching her odd behavior with some sort of sinister intent.”

      She didn’t seem to have a reasonable counterargument, so she sank back down in the chair and stared at the cartons around her. Then she looked up at him, some of the fire back in her eyes. “You won’t get this house, Deputy,” she finally said. “You are going to find that the contract you signed with Amelia Ashford is worthless.”

      “I hardly think so.”

      She leaned forward, fixed him with an unblinking gaze. “You’d better be ready to accept disappointment,” she stated defiantly. “Four years ago, Amelia deeded this house to me.”

      Okay, she’d finally presented an argument that could pose a problem. Had Betty Lamb overlooked something? Still, he couldn’t resist pointing out the obvious. “Then why didn’t that little detail show up when my Realtor did a title search?”

      “I intend to find out,” she said. “It has always been my aunt’s wish that I would get Ashford House when she dies, and she prepared the deed to insure that would happen.”

      For a moment, the cold grip of panic coiled in Wade’s gut. He’d given Amelia Ashford twenty thousand dollars, every penny he’d saved while working fifteen years for the New York City Police Department. There was no way he would stand by and watch the savings he’d scrounged from hauling in thugs and criminals squandered on the contents of boxes in an old woman’s dining room without getting what he’d paid for.

      He drew a deep breath to steady his nerves and stared hard at Meg. “It appears we both have documents we need to inspect,” he said.

      “That’s fine with me.” Meg stood up and walked around him toward the kitchen. “I’m going to take my suitcase upstairs now, and then I’m going to see my aunt. Perhaps she can explain what’s been going on here.”

      She disappeared into the dining room and he could visualize her threading her way back through columns of boxes that reached higher than her head. And, strangely, a bout of conscience, or more accurately, pity, washed over him. Meg Hamilton was obviously going to fight for Ashford House just as vehemently as he was.

      There was something about this place. Wade had felt its spirit the first time he came in the door. And his connection to the house had grown once he’d decided to buy it. Now, it was as if he’d been destined to find this old place and make it his. He sensed that after two and a half years of grieving over a senseless tragedy, he could finally put down roots again in this quirky old mansion.

      CHAPTER THREE

      MEG WAS THINKING about Ashford House as she drove back to Mount Esther, turned at the traffic light, and headed to the Shady Grove Convalescent Center. She also thought about Deputy Wade Murdock. While he’d been adamant about defending his claim to the property, she had to admit that he had treated her decently, especially considering that she’d accused him of taking advantage of her aunt’s confused state. Plus, the announcement that Ashford House had been deeded to her must have been a shock. Twenty thousand dollars was a lot of money to invest in property that was never going to be his.

      She chewed on the end of one nail as she scanned the side of the road for a sign that identified the drive to the nursing home. She wondered about what sort of contract the deputy had and if it was truly valid. It couldn’t be. She had legally owned Ashford House for four years. A man can’t just move into town and make a deal on a piece of property that has been given to someone else.

      In spite of this controversy, Meg did feel some compassion for the deputy. He was obviously a family man. He’d mentioned his daughter, and Meg supposed he had a wife and perhaps other children who depended on him. And now he would have to disappoint them when he explained about the house. This whole mess really was unfortunate, and certainly not a problem Meg had ever thought she would have to deal with. Just as she never thought she would pull into her aunt’s drive and find a good-looking lawman carting manure from the barn.

      She shook her head to dispel the very clear image of Wade Murdock standing so close behind her in the parlor of Ashford House. When she considered Wade’s appearance, which she shouldn’t, since he obviously had a family, she had to admit that Murdock had a certain appealing quality, in what she imagined was a down-to-earth, working man, New York sort of way.

      Shady Grove Convalescent Center, five hundred yards ahead.

      Meg slowed when she saw the sign and snapped on her blinker, putting Wade Murdock out of her mind. The gracious, solidly constructed two-story structure sat amid leafy mulberry and flowering sweetbay trees. An expansive green lawn displayed a riot of pink-and-white periwinkles clustered around wrought-iron benches. Shady Grove was a picture of pastoral serenity.

      Meg parked in front of the entrance and went inside. A pleasant young woman offered assistance and gave Meg directions to Amelia’s room. She walked down a long hallway with doors on either side. Each room had a window with the curtains drawn to let in the sunshine. Some patients appeared to have personal belongings in their rooms, a favorite chair, a painting, something that reminded them of home. Most of the occupants seemed confined to bed, confirming what Meg had thought when she saw a sign identifying her aunt’s wing as “continual care.”

      When she neared Amelia’s room, Meg heard a distinctive voice coming from a television. “Come on down. You’re the next contestant on The Price is Right.”

      She held a deep breath, stepped inside and looked at the thin, white-haired woman lying in the bed. A smile broke on her face as she recognized the ravaged but still familiar features of her beloved aunt. Amelia seemed to have aged a decade in the last few months.

      Meg followed her aunt’s gaze to the TV screen where a young, dark-haired Bob Barker welcomed his latest participant. She recognized the logo of the Game Show Network in the corner of the screen and realized Amelia was watching a repeat of a previous Price is Right broadcast. She came to the side of the bed and spoke softly, “Aunt Amelia?”

      Her aunt glanced briefly at her with pale gray eyes that seemed to have lost the spark of enchantment that always twinkled in their depths. She pointed at the television. “Did I order a set of those?”

      Meg looked back at the screen where an announcer was describing a set of golf clubs. Taken aback by the ambiguous greeting, she said, “Are you asking me if you ordered golf equipment?” She thought of all the boxes in the dining room and knew some of them were large enough to hold a set.

      “If I haven’t, I will. I’ve always wanted some.”

      Realizing СКАЧАТЬ