Free Josiah's Treasure by Nancy Herriman Page B

when a man leaves money to a single young woman who isn’t a relation.”
    Daniel let the innuendo pass; Miss Whittier had claimed Josiah was like a father to her and Daniel believed her. “Could you look into it? As you can see in that telegram, Josiah claimed to have made more money off his gold strike, and I wouldn’t put it past him to have hidden some away if he did.”
    “I might be able to uncover additional assets.” He examined Daniel. “For an extra fee.”
    “I’ll pay it.”
    “Good. Very good.” Another smile, all white-teethed smugness. “For her sake, I hope Miss Whittier has been aboveboard on reporting all known assets. Any deception will not sit well with Judge Doran. As it is, she’ll see her share of the inheritance severely curtailed.”
    “How much might she get?” Enough to support that shop of hers? He hadn’t calculated how much her expenses might be or asked how much money her supporters were going to supply. He’d presumed the funds would be enough; he hadn’t wanted to learn otherwise. “She has a business she’s trying to fund.”
    “A business? Really? Are you certain it’s legitimate?”
    Daniel’s jaw tightened. “It seems legitimate to me.” If that shop wasn’t, it was a pretty elaborate hoax.
    Sinclair shrugged. “Let’s just say it’s best for us to be on our guard when it comes to dealing with Miss Whittier.”
    “How much might she get after probate’s settled?” he repeated.
    “Judge Doran will make some provision; several hundreddollars, maybe even a thousand. More than she probably had when she came to this town, but not much to men like you or me, right, Mr. Cady?” Sinclair chuckled. “After all—and I quote the Roman who first said it—‘money alone sets all the world in motion.’”
    A quote Daniel’s grandfather would have appreciated. An opinion, he had to admit, he’d started to share.
    “I can recommend the name of an excellent real estate agent for the auction of the house once you obtain ownership,” Sinclair continued.
    “I’m sure you can,” Daniel said. That was his plan—sell the house, get his money, and go back to Chicago where he belonged.
    Sinclair slipped a card from his coat pocket and flipped it to its blank side. He produced a pencil from the same pocket and wrote down a name. “Contact my friend at this office. If you hire me as your attorney to represent you, you wouldn’t even need to remain in town to see the transaction through. I could handle everything for you and send the proceeds to Chicago.”
    He made it sound so simple. So painless. But it wouldn’t be painless for Sarah Whittier. Daniel wondered where she would go. Back to her relatives in Arizona, possibly, even though she claimed to love San Francisco. She must have friends in town who would take her in if she wanted to stay. Where she ended up really wasn’t his concern. And neither was whatever would happen to her needy girls and her shop. If he kept that in mind, he would be fine.
    Daniel slipped the card from Sinclair’s fingers and stood. “Let me know what you find out about Josiah’s assets.”
    “Absolutely, Mr. Cady.”
    Before the man could rise to see him off, Daniel strode across the Turkish rug covering the office floor and stomped down the stairs and out onto the street. He sucked in the San Francisco air, wanting to clear his lungs of Sinclair’s citrus-spice cologne andthe stale smell of greed. But he couldn’t, and he had a feeling the stench would cling to him a very long time.

    There were worse places in San Francisco than the streets near the wharves. Worse neighborhoods, where prostitutes and opium dens and gambling houses coexisted, impoverished immigrants crammed tight into dilapidated quarters, and excrement mingled with rainwater to form a soupy, disgusting mix on the cobblestones. But not by much. If it weren’t the middle of the day, Sarah would never dare come here.
    She stood in the doorway to Phoebe’s apartment