Wild Action. Dawn Stewardson
it was definitely winning this round, so he fixed it with one of his best cop glares. “I’m warning you, I’ve been up all night and I’m in no mood for your games. I need sleep, not exercise.”
Blackie made a low growling noise and arched his back. Nick muttered a few ungentlemanly words in reply. He’d spent the past fifteen hours convincing an escaped con to release his hostage, and he’d done a far better job of negotiating with the man than he was doing with Blackie.
Of course, the con had spoken English. The cat only spoke Meow.
He considered that for a moment. Then, telling himself nobody would ever know, he stared Blackie straight in the eye and hissed loudly.
The cat blinked, looking startled. He recovered in a second, but not before Nick made another grab— and this time lucked out.
Gingerly pulling the squalling animal to his chest, he pinned it with one arm and started back down the tree, thinking that if anyone ever tried to give him so much as a pet rat, he’d take off on the dead run.
“Oh, thank you so much,” Hilda said as he reached the ground and handed Blackie to her. “I don’t know what I’ll do after you move.”
“Well, with any luck your new neighbor will be a tree climber, too.”
He listened absently while Hilda promised him freshly baked cookies, wishing she hadn’t reminded him he was being evicted. He’d been renting this place for six years and he’d be happy to stay for six more. But when an owner decided to sell, the tenant generally had to go.
Once Hilda finished thanking him, Nick escaped into his house—grabbing the morning’s mail from the box and riffling through it as he went.
There was the usual junk, a couple of bills…and a letter from the firm of Evans, Broderick and Rowan, Barristers and Solicitors, in Toronto.
Staring at the return address, he wondered what a law firm in Toronto wanted with a police detective in Edmonton, Alberta. None of the possibilities that popped into his mind appealed to him.
He really wasn’t a superstitious man. But he’d seen bad news come in threes often enough to figure there just might be something to that one. And right now he was at two and counting.
First there’d been the bombshell that he’d have to find a new place to live—which he still hadn’t managed to do, even though time was getting awfully tight.
Then, just last week, the best partner he’d ever had announced he was taking early retirement at the end of the summer. So this letter…
Hell, the way things were going, he was probably being sued. Ripping the envelope open, he unfolded the letter and began reading.
Dear Mr. Montgomery,
I am writing to inform you that your late father’s brother, Augustus Montgomery, passed away on the second of July.
Nick paused to glance at the date on the letter. It had been written on the sixth, ten days ago. Canada Post must have routed it through the Northwest Territories.
Picking up where he’d left off, he continued reading.
His last will and testament names you as his only living relative and the sole beneficiary of his estate, which is primarily comprised of a rural property in Ontario and a company that operates under the name of Wild Action.
Please contact my office at your earliest convenience so that we may proceed with transferring legal ownership of these assets to you.
My direct line is (416) 555-1711.
Yours truly,
William Brown, LL.B.
His heart beating faster than normal, Nick tried to decide whether he should be feeling sad about Gus’s death—finally telling himself there was no reason to.
After all, he’d never even met the man, and he’d certainly never heard a good word about him. Much the opposite, in fact.
During his younger years, Gus had worked in the family business along with Nick’s father and grandfather. Then, one day, he’d vanished, and the others had quickly discovered he’d embezzled a small fortune from the company and left them on the verge of bankruptcy.
Gus had never been heard from again, and it was surprising he’d even known he had a nephew. So why hadn’t he left his estate to a friend? Or to charity?
The obvious answer was that he’d felt guilty and was trying to make restitution. Unless…
Nick skimmed the letter once more, warning himself not to get too excited until he had a few more details. According to the stories his parents used to tell, Gus had been a practical joker as well as a thief. Which meant he could be reaching out from the grave to play a final joke—by leaving Nick property that was worthless and a company mired in debt
There was an easy way to find out, though, so he picked up the phone and dialed Brown’s number, glancing at his watch as he finished. With the time difference, it was already past noon in Toronto, but hopefully the man took late lunches.
“Mr. Brown’s office,” a woman answered.
“Yes. My name’s Nick Montgomery. Mr. Brown asked me to get in touch.”
“Well, he’s in court all day today. But if you’d like to leave your number, he’ll return your call tomorrow.”
Nick swore to himself. He didn’t want to spend the next twenty-four hours wondering exactly what was what
“Are you familiar with the Augustus Montgomery estate?” he tried. “Could I ask you a couple of questions about it?”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t have any answers. I’m just filling in for Mr. Brown’s secretary while she’s at lunch. But if you’d like, I could ask one of the other lawyers to speak with you.”
“Great. That would be terrific.”
He waited for what seemed like forever—imagining how happy this call was going to make his long-distance carrier—until a different woman came on the line and introduced herself as Linda Weaver, one of Brown’s associates.
“I’ve pulled Bill’s file on Mr. Montgomery,” she said, “and I’ll try to answer your questions. What would you like to know?”
“Well, at the risk of sounding mercenary, is there even a ballpark figure on the value of the estate?” He waited again, this time listening to the soft rustle of shuffling papers.
“Not that I can see,” she said at last. “Bill would probably have a pretty good idea, but I’m new to the firm. I don’t know much about any of his clients.”
“So…for all you know the property could be a marsh.”.
That elicited a laugh. “I wouldn’t think so. There’s a house on it. That’s where your uncle lived. And let’s see…It’s a hundred acres in all, about an hour’s—maybe an hour and a half’s—drive from Toronto.”
Nick could feel his excitement growing. Even if it wasn’t much of a house, a hundred acres near Toronto had to be worth something.
On the other hand, what if the company was in the red? Was that where the joke came in? Was he liable for a stack of debts?
“And what about this Wild Action?” he asked. “Is it a money loser?”
Linda rustled some more papers, then said, “No, the financial statement shows it as profitable—with revenues of more than a million dollars last year.”
A sudden buzzing in Nick’s head made him afraid he’d misheard. “More than a million?” he repeated.
“Uh-huh, a million and ninety-one thousand, to be exact.”
Dollar signs began floating in front of his eyes. That was definitely a go out and celebrate with champagne kind of number.