Grave Deeds Read Online Free PDF Page A

woman is a relative of the deceased?” he asked the old lawyer again.
    â€œOf course, young man. I helped Beatrice locate her. There’s not much of the family left and she felt badly about what had happened. She wanted to make amends.”
    â€œWhat did happen?” Wilson asked.
    â€œIt was long ago,” the old man waved a hand. “Nothing to do with this. An old story.
    â€ “I’d like to know,” I said.
    â€œThe point is,” Markham added, “that she will now inherit considerable property.”
    â€œWhat?” I said at the same moment that Gianelli asked, “This house?”
    Mr. Ross shook his head. “No, no. Her grandfather’s summer home. Did your mother never tell you about the Cooks?” he said to me.
    I shook my head, staring down at the yellowed photograph in my hand. Posed in front of a draped curtain and Grecian urn were two children, the boy dressed in a sailor suit with knee pants and a white cap, the girl in a lacy dress that reached to her ankles.
    â€œWho are they?” I asked, handing the picture to Mr. Ross.
    He studied it, holding it out at arm’s length. “That would be your grandfather and your great-aunt Beatrice when they were children. This must be in the library of the Cook house over on Brunswick Avenue. It’s gone now.”
    â€œExcuse me,” Gianelli broke in. “But what property are you talking about? That she inherits?” He jerked his thumb at me.
    â€œThe original Cook claim: one hundred acres of farm land up north. Beatrice wanted Mrs. Cairns to have it. It’s rightfully hers after all, has been for years.”
    â€œThat’s not exactly true,” Markham interrupted.
    Mr. Ross turned on him. “You, boy, you don’t know the half of it. There’s what’s legal and there’s what’s right. Beatrice wanted to do what’s right and I, as her lawyer and the executorof the estate, am going to carry out her wishes.”
    â€œOther people have interests here,” Markham objected.
    â€œOther people have no business in what doesn’t concern them,” the old man snapped. “Your job is to manage accounts, not make decisions about my clients. Not that you’ve left me that many. But Beatrice trusted me, and I made sure her will was up-to-date and binding. There’s no question of contest. No question at all.”
    â€œPerhaps you’ll explain what you’re talking about?” Gianelli asked.
    â€œWe’ll begin at the beginning,” the old man leaned back in the chair, his voice already slipping into the slight singsong of the raconteur.
    Wilson sighed. He patted a pocket as if looking for cigarettes. He shook his head and began to pick idly at a loose hair on the arm of the sofa. He must have just quit smoking. He had that yearning look.
    Mr. Ross launched into his story. “The Cooks came over from Belfast in the middle of the last century and took up land in Haliburton. One hundred acres of rock and swamp on the shore of a big lake they named for themselves. The oldest boy left for the city, went into the undertaking business, while the daughter’s husband, a McDonnel, tried to keep the farm going. There were two younger boys, but they went out west and lost touch with the others.”
    â€œSo there are McDonnel cousins and other Cooks as well?” I asked.
    He ignored my interruption. “The McDonnels fell on hard times while George Cook prospered, as did his son. He paid the taxes while the McDonnels worked the land. Then your grandfather decided to give his new wife a summer home. This was about 1925 or ’26, something in there. He claimed the lake property back.”
    â€œWhat about the McDonnels? Wasn’t the place theirs?”
    The old lawyer shrugged. “Those who pay the taxes own the land. And remember, George had title. The McDonnels threatened to sue, but they didn’t have a leg to stand