Free "Q" is for Quarry by Sue Grafton

it go at that?”
    “Okay. Enough said. We just wanted you to know we’re still interested. We hoped yesterday’s visit to the ranch would provide an opening.”
    “Ah, that. How’d you find out?”
    “Arne Johanson called Pam. He said he saw someone who looked so much like your mother, it gave him goose bumps. I was surprised you’d even step a foot on the family ranch.”
    “I wouldn’t have if I’d known.”
    “Oh, I’ll bet.”
    “That aside, I do recognize what it costs you to keep in touch. I don’t mean to be quite so belligerent.”
    “No apologies necessary.”
    “Uh, Tasha? That wasn’t an apology.”
    “Skip it. I got that. My mistake,” she said. “The point is, I’m a lawyer. I deal with belligerence on a daily basis.”
    “I thought you did estate planning. How could anyone get belligerent about that? It sounds so dull.”
    “Shows what you know. Anytime you talk money, there’s the potential for folks to get nasty. Nobody wants to talk about dying and nobody wants to give up control of the family purse. When it comes to the beneficiaries, there’s usually an undercurrent of entitlement,” she said, and then hesitated. “On a related topic, you probably heard there’s talk of razing the Manse.”
    “The ‘Manse’? Is that what it’s called? I thought a manse had something to do with Presbyterians.”
    “It does. Our great-great-grandfather Straith was a Presbyterian minister. In those days, the Church didn’t have the money to build a parsonage so he paid for it himself. I think he intended to deed it over to the Church when he died, but cooler heads prevailed. At any rate, the house is a mess. It’d be cheaper, at this point, to tear it down.”
    “I take it Grand doesn’t want to spend the money to bring the old place back.”
    “Right. She’s tried to enlist the support of a couple of historic-preservation groups, but no one’s interested. The location’s remote and the house itself is a hybrid. Turns out it’s not even a good example of its kind.”
    “Why not leave it as it is? It’s her land, isn’t it?”
    “It’s hers for now, but she’s ninety years old and she knows none of her heirs has the money or the passion for undertaking the job. Besides, she’s got another house in town. She hardly needs two.”
    “That’s right. I remember now. Liza told me most of the family live within blocks of her.”
    “We’re a cozy bunch,” she said, dryly. “Meanwhile, she’s got all kinds of developers sniffing around. Mostly local vintners with an eye on the slopes. Turns out the soil’s perfect. Plus, she gets a lot of coastal fog, which means a longer growing period.”
    “How much land does she have?”
    “Twenty-three thousand acres.”
    There was a silence while I tried to compute what she’d just said. “You’re kidding.”
    “I’m serious.”
    “I had no idea.”
    “Doesn’t matter for now because she’ll never sell. Great-Granddaddy made her promise she’d keep it just as it is. The issue won’t get sticky until she goes.”
    “Hasn’t she put the estate in some kind of trust?”
    “Nope. Most of those old trusts were established in the thirties—people in the east who’d had wealth in the family for generation after generation. Out here, all we had were ranchers, down-to-earth types much more likely to form limited family partnerships. At any rate, nothing’s going to happen as long as she’s alive,” she said. “Meanwhile, if you change your mind about that drink just give me a call. You still have my number?”
    “I better take it down again.”
    Once I hung up, I had to sit down and pat my chest. I’d actually ended up entertaining a few warm feelings about her. If I didn’t watch myself, I was going to end up liking the woman and then where would I be?
     
On my way over to Stacey’s, I popped by the office to make sure all was in order. I opened a window briefly to let in a little fresh air and checked my machine for