Hidden by Blood. Laurie London

tell you the truth, I never knew myself until I helped Ida make up this new will. My predecessor at our law office here in Des Moines had been her personal lawyer up until the last few years.”

      After a moment’s pause, Roslyn asked, “Exactly what is the complete estate, then?”

      “All right, let’s go over it again. Do you have time?”

      “Certainly, my next appointment isn’t until one-thirty,” she said, without mentioning it was for lunch. Her fingers drummed lightly on the wooden desktop.

      “Ida was sole owner of the Petersen family home in Plainsville, Iowa. Current market value is about three hundred thousand dollars. That’s the value of the house of course, and it stands on five acres of prime land in town with another hundred acres adjoining and stretching into the outskirts. Plainsville’s become a kind of distant satellite community to Des Moines, so the eventual value of the land could be quite high.”

      Roslyn checked the time. “Go on.”

      “Well, except for some old stock certificates and what’s in Ida’s savings account, the cash assets of the whole estate come to about thirty thousand, on top of the house. Now, I haven’t factored in the land because that part of it is purely speculative at the moment. Someone in your line of work can relate to that.”

      “Sure,” she mumbled. Her fingers settled on the desk. She closed her eyes and massaged her brow. Then she glanced at her watch again. She had about twenty-five minutes. Why was she wasting her time going through all of this again? Why didn’t she just say, “Thanks, but no thanks” and get off the phone?

      As if reading her mind, Randall said, “I know this is a lot to take in but I’ll go over the conditions once more, as well. Then I’ll leave you to your appointment.” He cleared his throat and Roslyn pictured him squinting through his reading glasses at the document. “So, the main condition to inheriting the entire estate is that you must live in the house and take care of the rosebush. Should you decide not to reside permanently in the house, your share of the inheritance will only be a cutting from the plant.”

      Roslyn snorted. Great-Aunt Ida had to be some kind of crackpot. “And may I ask what happens to the estate in that event?”

      “The estate will be offered to Jack Jensen of Plainsville, Iowa. Under the same condition.”

      “Who’s he? Some distant cousin?”

      “No relation at all. But the Jensen family is as old and well-known in the community as your aunt’s. Apparently young Jack and Ida Mae forged a strong friendship in her latter years.”

      “So why didn’t she just leave everything to him in the first place?”

      “Because they’re not family—there’s no blood connection. She wanted you to have first refusal.”

      “That’s a good way to put it.” She thought for a moment and then added, “What’s to stop me from agreeing and then selling the house once it’s legally mine, without permanently moving in?”

      “You must actually reside in the house for a year before the deed is officially signed over.”

      “A year? In Plainsville?”

      “Your aunt explained to me that taking over the home ought to be a true commitment, both to the town and to the family heritage. I suggest you take the weekend or longer to think all of this over. Don’t make a decision over the phone.”

      Roslyn barely acknowledged his comment. A year in Plainsville was all she could focus on. What on earth could this great-aunt have been thinking?

      WHEN ROSLYN finished her summary of the telephone conversation with the lawyer, she reached for her wineglass and leaned back into her chair and looked at her boss.

      Ed Saunders poured the last of the wine into his own glass and reached into the inner pocket of his pinstripe suit. “Mind?” he asked, withdrawing a slender aluminum tube.

      “Come on, Ed. That’s why we had our luncheon here—so you could light up at the table afterward.”

      His grin was sheepish. “Got me there, I’m afraid. Well, this great-aunt of yours sounds like a real character.” He shook his head again and chuckled. “A rosebush! What was that line about a rose garden? Something from the seventies, wasn’t it?”

      Roslyn shrugged. “I think it was a song—or a book or something. Anyway, so much for luck, eh? First time an unexpected inheritance falls into my lap and it turns out to be a cutting from an old rosebush.”

      Ed rolled the unlit Cuban beneath his nose before moistening the end in his mouth. Roslyn peered down into her glass. She wished he wouldn’t light it, but didn’t have the nerve to object. They still hadn’t got to the heart of their meeting and she wasn’t going to jeopardize her chance to be a new junior associate of Saunders, McIntyre and Associates Investments over a cigar.

      She heard the metallic click of a cigarette lighter and looked up as a large smoke ring drifted across the table.

      “Thank heavens for my club,” Ed murmured, savoring his first puff. “Nothing like a decent Cuban after a fine meal.”

      “Isn’t that ‘decent’ Cuban illegal?”

      Ed winked. “Shhh! Not so loudly. ’Course—” he strained to glance over his shoulder “—I’m sure there are more than a few on the premises as we speak. Illegal, but not impossible to obtain.”

      “All adding to the enjoyment, of course,” Roslyn said.

      “That’s what I admire in you, my girl.”

      Roslyn tried not to wince.

      “Your quick and very insightful wit. And intelligence,” he added. “Which brings me to the purpose of our meeting.”

      Roslyn gripped the stem of her wineglass. She raised it casually to her lips before responding. Swallowing the slightly fruity wine, she tilted her head in mock interest and raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

      “As I intimated to you several weeks ago, Saunders, McIntyre and Associates Investments are taking advantage of the terrific market of the past year and the board has given the go-ahead to expand our operation. We’re setting up a new branch on the south side and want you to be in on it with us. As junior associate, with all the benefits and perks that come with the title.”

      The tension in Roslyn’s stomach melted in a rush of excitement.

      “So,” Ed continued, taking another drag on his cigar, “you’ve got to make a decision about this inheritance of yours, I suppose.”

      “Not really, Ed. I mean, can you see me in Plainsville, Iowa?”

      “I take your point,” he commented. “But before we leave, there is one more thing.”

      Catching the ominous tone in his voice, Roslyn had a feeling she was about to hear the string attached to her promotion. After all, it had been a day of conditions.

      HOURS LATER, on her way home, Roslyn let her forehead rest against the train window. She knew she ought to be feeling jubilant. Wasn’t making associate her primary goal since joining the investment firm five years ago?

      She sagged against the plastic seat. Her eyes swept across the commuters leaving the heart of the city almost two hours after the peak of the rush hour. They all looked as wrung out as she felt. An inner voice scolded her for yielding to such a dark mood on what ought to have been the best day of her career so far.

      She loved the erratic pace of her work days—the frenzy of buying and selling; urgent phone calls and spinning from one monitor to the next, checking stock prices around the world. Everything at her fingertips and everything demanding now, now!

      Then there were the calm times—the interludes of sanity that Roslyn and her co-workers dubbed the eyes of the hurricanes. Those rare moments gave them time to replenish before the next