Fatal Inheritance Read online

  She tilted her head. “You said you knew him through the antique-car club, is that right?”

  “That’s right.” He released her hand and reached into the car. “I thought you might like this.” He handed her an eight-by-ten photo of Gran and Gramps posing by their Cadillac in their period costumes.

  “Oh, wow!” She savored her grandparents’ smiling faces. “Thank you so much. It’s lovely.”

  “Took that on our last tour together. Thought you’d like it.”

  Becki traced the hat her gran wore. “I used to love snapping Gramps’s suspenders and trying on Gran’s big floppy hats.”

  “Yup, those are great costumes. There’d be a lot of folks in the club who’d be happy to buy them from you if you wanted to sell. Might be interested in some myself if you have time for me to look them over.”

  “Oh.” She fluttered her hand toward the barn. “I think they stored those with the car in the trailer, which isn’t here right now. But I’m not ready to part with anything just yet.”

  “Of course not.”

  They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment.

  Becki hitched her thumb toward the house. “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

  “Oh, no.” He motioned toward her open trunk. “I can see you’re busy. I just wanted to see you got the photo.”

  She grabbed the last two boxes from her car and closed the lid. “C’mon, I could use the break and I’d love to hear more about your trips with my grandparents.”

  “Well if you put it that way... There’s nothing we car enthusiasts like to do more than talk about our cars. Except tour them, of course.”

  She chuckled, recalling countless Saturday afternoons sitting on the back porch, listening to Gramps and his buddies talk about cars. “What kind of car do you drive on the tours, Mr. Smith?” she asked, leading the way to the back porch.

  “Call me Henry, please. Sure is a beautiful place your grandparents had here.”

  “I think so. Of course, my ex-boyfriend thinks I’m nuts to want to live out here. He thinks the seclusion and wild animals are way scarier than street crimes.”

  “Sounds like someone who’s never spent a day in the country.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  Henry’s gaze drifted over her shoulder. “Not that fella, then?”

  She glanced back at Hunter, who blended into the tree in his camouflage. “Uh, no. He’s just a...neighbor.” She motioned Henry to one of the porch chairs. “Just give me a minute to get the coffee.”

  Henry followed her as far as the open patio door. “Your grandfather had some car trouble on his last tour. If he didn’t get the chance to fix it, I could take a look if you like.”

  Becki grabbed the coffee sweetener from the cupboard. “That’s okay. My neighbor already offered.” She poured their coffees and rejoined Henry outside. “So tell me about your last tour with Gran and Gramps.”

  “First, tell me about your plans. What will you do with the old Cadillac?”

  “Um, not sure yet.” Becki shoved away the guilty feeling that the car was too valuable to be lumped with “contents” in the will. She couldn’t bear the thought of parting with the “old gal,” knowing how much she’d meant to Gramps.

  Henry sipped his coffee and shared a couple of touring yarns.

  “Can you tell me about any more of my grandparents’ adventures?” Becki asked.

  He glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid they’ll have to wait for another time. I need to get on the road.” He patted his breast pocket, pulled out a pen and jotted a number on a scrap of paper. “Here’s my number if you run into any trouble with the car that your neighbor can’t handle.”

  “Thank you.” She stood next to the driveway until he’d driven away, then returned inside and leaned against the closed door. For the first time since she’d arrived, she really absorbed the sight of her beloved grandparents’ home. She inhaled, basking in the distinctive fragrance that was her grandparents’.

  But the air smelled a bit stale. From being closed up so long, probably. She meandered from room to room, flinging open windows. The scraped paint on the bottom of the too-low window in the main-floor bathroom reminded her of the time she’d locked the window on her sister, who used to sneak in and out through it. Boy, did she get in trouble that night.

  The house phone rang.

  Becki hesitated. She didn’t really want to talk to anyone else, especially someone who might not have heard that Gran and Gramps were gone.

  She swallowed. More likely it was a telemarketer. Or maybe Mom checking in to make sure she’d arrived safely. Becki let out a puff of air. Yeah, in her dreams.

  For most of her life, Mom had dictated what Becki could and couldn’t do, who she could date, what extracurricular activities she could join, what college she should attend, but the instant Becki had the gall to defy her and move into an apartment, Mom had stopped showing any interest in what she did. Which was just one more way to control her.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Becki snatched up the phone. “Hello.”

  No answer.

  She listened for a moment, expecting an automated voice to kick in with a spiel about how she’d won a cruise to a Caribbean island.

  “Hello?”

  The line clicked off.

  How rude. If someone dialed the wrong number, they should at least have the decency to say something. Then again...

  The caller might have expected Gran or Gramps to answer and been thrown off by her much younger voice. Next time she’d have to identify herself.

  Putting the call out of her mind, she grabbed a box marked Bedroom and meandered upstairs, letting memories whisper through her thoughts.

  The same frilly pink curtains adorned the window of the bedroom that she and Sarah had shared the summers they’d visited. Gran’s music box still sat on the nightstand, too.

  Becki turned the mechanism, and the strains of “My Favorite Things” filled the room. As the last notes died away, Becki returned the music box to the nightstand and wiped the moisture from her eyes.

  Thank goodness Josh wasn’t there to see her sniffle over every knickknack. It was one thing to cry at a funeral. Everyone expected that. But almost a month had passed since her grandparents’ deaths.

  She glanced out the window. Across the yard, Hunter stood, scrutinizing the cameras he’d positioned. Josh wasn’t taking any chances on missing her prowler the next time around.

  If only he’d been as diligent investigating the cause of Gramps’s headache.

  She bit her lip, ashamed by the thought. Logically, she knew her grandparents’ deaths weren’t Josh’s fault. She certainly didn’t blame him. But...

  Ever since Anne had told her about Gramps’s headache, Becki couldn’t stop thinking about how differently things could have turned out if only...

  She shoved the pointless wish from her mind and unpacked the box she’d carried up. She set her jewelry box and hairbrush on the dresser next to the flip book of Bible promises that had been there for as long as she could remember. The visible page, yellowed and curled at the edges, read, “And we know that all things work together for good to them who love God...”

  Becki tossed the book into the empty box and trudged downstairs. Passing the thermostat, she flicked it off.

  If the weather hadn’t been so humid the night her grandparents had died, Gran would have had the windows open instead of letting Gramps turn on the air conditioner. The carbon monoxide wouldn’t have had a chance to build up and claim their lives. If God really cared, He would have worked things differently.

  Josh’s promise to pray for a new job whispered through her thoughts. How could he be so confident God would answer that prayer when He hadn’t protected Gran and Gramps?

  The phone’s
ring fractured the silence. She drew in a deep breath, mentally prepared her greeting, then lifted the receiver. “Hello, Graw residence, their granddaughter Becki speaking.”

  Again silence greeted her.

  “Hello, is anyone there?” She strained to hear any background noise. The faint whirr of traffic maybe. Was Josh calling from the quarry and unable to hear her? “Hello,” she said more loudly.

  The line clicked off.

  She dialed star sixty-nine to find out who her caller was. The automated computer voice informed her the number was private.

  Had the caller deliberately blocked his or her identity?

  What if it was the prowler calling to see if anyone was home?

  Now he knew who she was!

  A knock sounded at the back door. She jumped, sending the phone toppling off the end table. She grabbed the phone and peered around the corner to try to catch a glimpse of who was there.

  “Miss Graw? It’s Hunter.”

  Her breath whooshed from her chest. Of course. Idiot. The phone call had scrambled her brain. She set down the phone and hurried to the back door. “Sorry, I was—” she waved toward the other room “—on the phone.”

  “No problem. I just wanted to let you know the cameras are up and I’m heading out. You can hang on to them as long as you need them.”

  “Will do. Thank you so much. Can I get you a coffee or something before you go?”

  He tipped his cap, his mouth spreading into an amused grin. “That’s okay. Maybe some other time when Josh is around.” He winked, then strode across the yard back to his SUV.

  Great, now he’d think his friend’s new neighbor was a nervous Nellie. Of course, if he was in the habit of always dressing like Rambo, he probably got that reaction a lot. She flipped the dead bolt and returned to her unpacking.

  A door upstairs slammed shut, making her jump yet again. It’s just the wind, you ninny. She should probably shut the windows now that she was alone again.

  She made quick work of the downstairs ones, then grabbed another box marked Bedroom and climbed the stairs. She wrestled the end room’s window closed first. It opened to a meadow with a stand of trees beyond. Movement in the trees caught her attention. She squinted, hoping to spot a deer and her fawn. She’d have to find Gran’s binoculars.

  The phone rang as she reached her grandparents’ bedroom. She snatched up their bedside extension, an old-fashioned rotary dial. “Hello.”

  Once again, an ominous silence greeted her.

  “If you don’t want to talk to me, stop calling.” She slammed the phone down with a satisfying thwack. If the creep called one more time, she’d have him blocked. There had to be a way for the phone company to do that, even if he was hiding his number. She shut the back windows and was about to move to the front bedrooms when the phone rang again.

  If she had a whistle, she’d be tempted to let it blast. She smiled to herself, then puckered up and put her thumb and forefinger between her lips as she lifted the receiver. She didn’t say a thing and when the person on the other end didn’t either, she let loose for a full ten seconds.

  After a second’s pause, a voice came on the line. “Bec? Is that you?”

  “Josh? Uh, sorry about that. Someone’s been calling here and not saying anything and then hanging up. I figured I’d give him an earful.”

  “When? How many times?”

  His staccato questions set her pulse racing all over again. “Three times in the last half hour or so. I tried star sixty-nine, but the guy blocked his information.”

  “I’m on my way now. That’s why I called. If the phone rings again, don’t answer it. When I get there, I’ll get hold of the phone company and have them trace the call.”

  Outside, Tripod started barking.

  Sure, where was the dog an hour ago when Rambo showed up? “Your dog’s going nuts over something outside.”

  “Probably a cat again. Can you see him?”

  Becki unwound the phone cord from behind the night table and moved to the window to try and see what had him riled. A noise sounded from downstairs. The dog?

  She couldn’t see him from the window. From his barking, it sounded as if he was prancing back and forth along the west wall. She moved toward the bedroom door, straining to hear if the sound had really come from inside.

  Another thump sounded.

  “Josh,” she whispered, “I think someone’s in the house.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Upstairs.”

  A voice spoke in the background, and then Josh barked orders to send a cruiser to her address. “Help is on the way, Bec. I’m fifteen minutes out.” Through the phone, a siren whirred to life, while at her end, silence reigned.

  The dog’s not barking. She clenched the phone to her ear. “Josh, the dog’s not barking!”

  “It’s going to be okay. I want you to hide in the bathroom. Lock the door.”

  “But I’m on an old plug-in phone, I’d have to hang up.”

  “Listen to me. You need to hang up. If the intruder sees a light on the downstairs phone, he’ll know someone’s in the house.”

  Her fingers tightened around the receiver at the thought of breaking the connection.

  A loud pop and whoosh cracked the silence.

  She gasped.

  “What is it? What’s going on?” The urgency in Josh’s voice sent her pulse careening.

  “A... It sounded like a gunshot. Outside.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t one of the bangers that scare birds from the vineyards across the road?”

  Her heart pummeled her ribs as she tugged the phone as far as it would reach and tried to see out the front windows from the hallway. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  A second shot sounded. And a puff of dirt kicked up in the yard.

  She dropped to her belly. “No, it’s real. Someone’s shooting at the house!”

  FOUR

  At the sound of dead air swallowing Bec’s whispered “Hurry,” Josh floored the gas pedal. What kind of car thief shot at a house?

  Josh tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Was he reading the situation all wrong? Were the note, the incident in the barn and these shots really about scaring Bec off her grandparents’ property?

  He banked the corner too fast. His wheels bit into the graveled shoulder. He cranked the wheel hard to the left, then right, pulling the car straight, wishing he could get a grip as easily on what was going on.

  The guy Bec had surprised in the barn had to believe she could identify him, or else why expose his proximity by shooting at the house?

  Seven minutes out, his police radio blared to life. “We’re on-site. No sign of an intruder outside. But no one’s answering the door.”

  Josh snatched up the radio. “I told her to hide in the upstairs bathroom. Use the bullhorn.”

  Twenty long seconds later, an officer came back on. “Okay, we see movement... The front door’s opening... A lone woman, Caucasian, curly hair.”

  Relief washed through him. “Yeah, that’s her. Rebecca Graw,” he confirmed.

  “She’s fine,” the officer assured him.

  A second voice cut in. “Need first aid. West side of the house. Hurry.”

  “Hunter?” Josh careened onto his road, a whole other fear welling inside him. “What you got?”

  “It’s Tripod.” The harsh rattle in his friend’s voice clutched at his throat. “He’s been hit.”

  Josh screeched to a stop behind the row of police cars and raced to the side of the house. The circle of uniformed officers opened, and the officer in charge ordered a search for the shooter.

  Bec was kneeling in front of a whimpering Tripod. She stroked the pup’s head. “What a brave boy you are. A real guard dog.”

&nb
sp; Josh stared at them, his heart pummeling his chest.

  Hunter, dressed in street clothes—he must have picked up the call on his police scanner—glanced up from examining the dog’s lone back leg. “He’ll be okay. Just a graze. The force must have knocked his foot out from under him.”

  Josh let out a breath and nodded. Hunkering beside Bec, he squeezed her shoulder and ruffled Tripod’s ears with his other hand. “You did good, bud. Real good.”

  He cleared the emotions clogging his throat and rubbed slow circles on Bec’s back. “You okay?” he whispered close to her ear.

  She shook her head, moisture clinging to her eyelashes. “Why would someone do this?”

  “I don’t know. But I promise you we’ll find him.”

  Hunter swabbed the dog’s wound with antiseptic. “He should be as good as new in a day or two.”

  When Josh nodded his thanks, Hunter held his gaze. “We need Miss Graw to answer some questions.” The unspoken question in his eyes asked if Josh could handle the job without becoming emotionally involved.

  The answer was no, and Hunter clearly recognized as much. This was little Becki Graw, the girl he’d been getting out of scrapes since she was knee-high. Of course this was personal. “I’ll take care of it,” Josh said. “Can you run a trace on incoming calls over the past hour?”

  With a brisk nod, Hunter disappeared around the house.

  Josh gently scooped Tripod into his arms. “We’ll talk inside.”

  As they approached the front door, Hunter came out. A squirming cat leaped from his arms. Tripod tried to jump after it, but Josh held him fast.

  “How’d that get inside?” Bec asked.

  “Not sure. Found it cowering in the basement when I came in. Probably squeezed under the root-cellar door to get away from the dog. Knocked a canning jar off one of your shelves by the looks of it.”

  “That must be what you heard in the basement,” Josh said to Bec before turning his attention back to Hunter. “See if the cameras picked up anything useful, will you?”

  Bec led the way inside and spread a thick blanket on the carpet for Tripod. “Maybe the shots were from a hunter. Someone might have mistaken Tripod’s movements in the woods for game.”