Free Grave Deeds by Betsy Struthers

It’s not to be sold, you hear.”
    â€œI wasn’t planning on selling it.”
    â€œIt’s not to be sold,” Mr. Ross repeated. His cough shook his whole body. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
    Hunter eased the door shut. “I’ll see you in, ma’am,” he said.
    â€œWill he be all right?” I nodded toward the car.
    â€œHappens,” Hunter replied. “He’s got an inhaler in there. And a spittoon. Doesn’t like people to see him use it. He’s got pride for an old fellow.”
    We reached the door. Markham was reading a newspaper he’d pulled from a stack on the floor. He began refolding it when he saw us. I was about to go inside, when Hunter stopped me with a slight pressure on the elbow.
    â€œWatch out for him,” he whispered.
    â€œWho? Mr. Markham? Why?”
    Before he could answer, Markham opened the door. “That took long enough,” he grumbled. He eyed the envelope I clutched in my hands. “Hunter, you can leave now.”
    â€œYes sir,” the driver snapped a salute.
    Markham flushed.
    I stifled a grin. “Thanks for the umbrella, Mr. Hunter. And the advice.” I held out my hand to him. After a moment, he shook it, then turned and left.
    â€œWhat advice was that?” Markham asked.
    I just shook my head.
    â€œShall we go upstairs then?” He nodded at the door.
    â€œTell me your business first.”
    â€œIt’s to your advantage.” He saw that I wasn’t about to invite him in. He sighed. “You know your aunt had a granddaughter? Dr. Marilyn Finch.”
    â€œYes. I didn’t know she was a doctor, though.”
    â€œNot a medical doctor. A professor. Like you want to be.”
    â€œWhat’s her field?”
    â€œWhat difference does that make?”
    â€œI’m curious.”
    â€œArchaeology.”
    â€œWhat university?”
    â€œShe’s not at a university any more. She’s freelance, does consultations for developers, some museums, collectors. That kind of thing. Anyway, she wants to make an offer for the land.”
    â€œWhy doesn’t she make it in person, then?” I snapped.
    â€œShe lives in the States, in North Carolina as a matter of fact, when she’s not on the road. Her work involves a lot of field locations. She asked me to talk to you about the cottage, to explain her sentimental attachment. She’s always thought of the place as her one true home. You can imagine how she felt when she found out her grandmother had left it to you, a stranger.”
    â€œShe’s known about it for nearly five months. Aunt Beatrice told her at Christmas, your uncle said. Why hasn’t she bothered to get in touch with me if she’s so concerned?”
    â€œMrs. Baker simply told her of your existence. We didn’t know about the bequest until after she died.”
    â€œI thought you looked after the estate?”
    â€œI only administer the trust that Beatrice’s husband and father provided. My uncle kept the wills in his personal safe. She was more than a client to him, as he keeps reminding me.”
    â€œAnd what is Dr. Finch’s relationship to you?”
    He flushed. “I will ignore that remark. You may want to know that she has asked me to fax her a copy of both your grandfather’s and her grandmother’s wills. She doesn’t want to cause trouble, but she’s talking about contesting them.”
    â€œIs that a threat?”
    He held up both hands. “No, no. I’m sure we can come tosome amicable arrangement.”
    â€œI haven’t even had a chance to look at these papers.” I waved the envelope at him. “I won’t say yes or no. I plan to go up to Cook’s Lake soon and see the place. After that we can talk.”
    â€œShe’s willing to buy the land,” he said. “Five hundred thousand dollars. Cash.”
    â€œHalf a million dollars? That’s an awful lot of