The Inheritance. Janice Carter

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СКАЧАТЬ reason, she was loath to have her first meeting with Jack Jensen—the other beneficiary—hang on such a sour note.

      Abandoning makeup, she fought with her hair, twisting it through an elastic band. A quick brush of her teeth and her toilette was complete. One last glance in the mirror on her way out the door made Roslyn realize that no one in her office would even recognize her at that moment. But for Plainsville, she thought wryly, it would do. She headed for the first floor.

      The hesitant tapping at the front door almost made her laugh. Were they afraid of her now? She pulled hard on the heavy door, calling out a hearty “Come in.”

      A short, plump woman of about sixty stood before her. “Miss Baines?”

      “Uh, yes. Sorry,” Roslyn stammered. “I—I was expecting someone else.”

      “You were?” Disbelief echoed in the voice. “Mr. Taylor’s secretary asked me to be here by nine at the latest. And,” she peered at the tiny watch face on her thick wrist, “I make it to be five minutes to…on the dot.”

      “No, no, you misunderstand. You see—”

      “There was no misunderstanding at all, from what I recall.” She squinted hard at Roslyn. “Unless you changed the instructions without letting me know.”

      Roslyn sighed. “Please, come in. You must be my aunt’s housekeeper. Mrs.—?”

      “Warshawski. Folks call me Sophie.”

      “Sophie. Nice to meet you. I’m Roslyn.” She extended her hand, which the other woman ignored. “Mr. Taylor’s secretary mentioned in her note that you’d be coming by this morning.”

      “So there was a note!” Vindication rang in her voice.

      Roslyn looked past the woman’s shoulder to see the men staring up at her from the bottom of the veranda steps. The one who’d introduced himself as Jack had a smile on his face that seemed almost pitying. There was an exchange of glances between the two of them that Roslyn couldn’t read. Perhaps telepathic agreement that the woman from Chicago was indeed a major nutbar?

      Weary of explanations, Roslyn swung the door open wider and made an ushering motion with her left arm. “Please! All of you, come on in.”

      Mrs. Warshawski frowned, then hesitantly peered round her shoulder. Her face softened. “Jack! Didn’t see you standin’ there.”

      He nodded. “Mornin’, Sophie. Hope you brought some coffee.”

      The woman beamed. “Sure did. Even a dozen biscuits right out of the oven.”

      Lenny took the steps two at a time and plucked the canvas bag out of Sophie’s hand. “I’m starvin’. Let’s go.” He crooked an arm through Sophie’s and the two squeezed past Roslyn and headed into the house.

      Jack paused on the door stoop.

      Up close, Roslyn felt dwarfed by his height, a good four or five inches more than her own of five-nine. It was a sensation she hadn’t experienced many times in her life and it made her feel strangely vulnerable.

      “Sophie’s baking is legendary,” he explained, giving an apologetic smile for Lenny’s rush into the house.

      His eyes crinkled in weather-etched lines. Dark as midnight, but kind, Roslyn decided. He swept off the faded baseball cap to reveal a thick head of short, black hair.

      “Well? Shall we join them?” He grinned down at her and before she could reply, was halfway down the hall.

      Roslyn slowly closed the door. She was beginning to feel like a character in a quirky novel. Not Alice in Wonderland exactly, but close enough. She recalled a title from her college days. Yes. More like Stranger in a Strange Land.

      Their voices led her along the wood-paneled hallway to a kitchen she was seeing for the first time. She watched from the door. The three were bustling about the large, airy room as if they’d spent their whole lives in Ida Mae’s house.

      They went about the task of making coffee, getting plates and mugs out of tall, wooden cupboards and extracting jam jars and plastic containers from Sophie’s canvas bag in a routine that appeared to have been performed many times. All the while, snippets of conversation ricocheted off the walls. Bits of talk beginning with “Did you hear that…?” or “Well, I never…” and even “I guess you knew that…” were followed by occasional lapses into brief silence.

      Finally they noticed Roslyn, turning almost as one toward the doorway. Jack placed the cutlery he’d just taken from a drawer onto the rectangular harvest table in the center of the room and took a step toward her.

      “Miss Baines—please come and sit down. We…uh, well I suppose we got carried away there. Thinking it was like old times when we’d gather for coffee on a Saturday morning with Miss Ida Mae after we’d done the yard work. Sophie here always made a pan of biscuits or cinnamon buns, and Lenny and I—or Miss Ida, if Lenny wasn’t with us—would get the coffee ready.” He stopped. “I’m babbling. Please,” he pulled out a ladder-back chair from the table, “sit down. We’ve forgotten our manners. This place is your home now.”

      Silence doused the energy in the room. Sophie’s lips tightened, and Lenny gazed out the window. Roslyn returned Jack’s smile and perched stiffly on the edge of the chair. When the coffee was poured and the biscuits set on a platter, the three other chairs were pulled out in unison.

      Roslyn sipped carefully on the hot brew. “Since I’m only here a few days, I’d like to visit Plainsville’s main attractions,” she said to break the silence.

      Sophie’s face smoothed into a smile. “Not many attractions so to speak, but I’m sure Lenny could drive you around the center of town. We’ve got some shops and restaurants that some people drive all the way from Des Moines to visit.”

      Roslyn hastily interjected, “I’m sure Lenny has plans for the day. I can wander into town myself. The ride from the bus station last night didn’t take longer than twenty minutes.”

      “You musta got Morty Hermann,” Lenny stated.

      Sophie shook her head. “That man. He’d cheat his own mother.”

      “One of our three cabbies in town,” Jack explained. “Unfortunately, he takes advantage of newcomers. The ride here from the station should only have taken five or ten minutes, max.”

      “Oh, well,” sighed Roslyn. “That happens all the time in Chicago, unless you know exactly where you’re going.”

      “You’re right. Happened to me a few times,” Jack agreed.

      “You’ve spent some time in Chicago?” Roslyn asked.

      “A bit,” he said. “I lived there for almost ten years.”

      “Oh,” was all that Roslyn could think to say, feeling foolish for assuming he’d spent his whole life in Plainsville.

      “Lenny’s tied up today,” Jack continued, “but I’m free. How’d you like a guided tour around the Petersen property?”

      Roslyn looked across the table at him. His eyes were bright СКАЧАТЬ