The Inheritance. Janice Carter
hung limply from the walls and, here and there, tendrils of loose paint curled upward. Roslyn guessed this floor had probably once accommodated servants. Out of sight and removed from the rest of the house and its visitors, it had been left to fend for itself over the years. She eyed the ceiling once more.
Must be damage from a leaky roof, she thought, and immediately conjured up Jack Jensen’s face. If he’d been looking after the place for the last few years, as he’d suggested, he’d obviously forgotten the roof. But then, perhaps his work had focused on the grounds rather than the house itself. Yet he had supposedly come that morning to clean the eaves troughs. Maybe his real purpose all along had been to check out the competition. Namely, her.
Roslyn smiled. He certainly didn’t seem like the kind of guy whose motive for helping little old ladies was to inherit their estates.
Roslyn navigated the steep staircase leading to the second floor. After exploring this level, she thought that if she were to move into the house, she’d definitely take the back bedroom across the hall. Twice the size of the other, it featured two gabled alcoves and four windows. The room would always be bright, especially in the summer, and had an unrestricted view of the fields and woods beyond. Roslyn stared out one of the windows and realized all that land could belong to her—if she wanted it.
She shook her head at the image of herself as a landowner. Somehow, it didn’t match her Chicago persona. But she’d take a walk through town, if only to see the rest of what she’d be relinquishing when she returned to the city.
AS SOON AS SHE WALKED in the door, Roslyn knew the teenager she’d spoken to in the convenience store had been the wrong person to ask about a good place to eat in town. She stood indecisively on the threshold. A quick look around the café told her no one present was over the age of twenty. The pulsing bass of a rock group pumped from a sound system guaranteed to be heard in the next county. Guys and girls in crisp white shirts and blue jeans whizzed about with trays of impossibly tall drinks and enormous desserts. A few heads turned Roslyn’s way, but nobody showed more than a fleeting interest in the newcomer. Their dismissal of her presence made her feel twice her thirty-two years. She couldn’t leave the place fast enough.
Back on the sidewalk of Plainsville’s main drag, Roslyn debated between finding a grocery store and making lunch at home or tackling the other side of the street. The street won, merely because the idea of preparing a meal in an unfamiliar kitchen was more than she could bear.
Jaywalking in Plainsville was a rare occurrence, judging by the number of stares she received as she dodged a few cars to cross. Safely on the other side, Roslyn walked toward the heart of Plainsville—a small grassy roundabout in the center of the street dominated by a bronzed statue of a man astride a horse and with a hawk perched on his shoulder.
Roslyn viewed this centerpiece from the sidewalk. Plainsville’s founding father, she wondered, accompanied by his loyal pet hawk? She smiled. Not for Plainsville the lure of modern sculpture! Still, she had to admit the town was pretty, its sidewalks lined with graceful trees and planter boxes filled with plants not yet in bloom. She caught the reflection of light in one of the trees and noticed that its branches were festooned with strings of Christmas bulbs. The streetlights were replicas of gas lamps and arched gracefully over the parking lanes.
“I see you’ve already managed to find the best diner in Plainsville.”
Roslyn whirled to her left. Jack Jensen was standing inches from her shoulder and she brushed against him as she turned. “You startled me,” she gasped.
“Sorry, I should have tapped you on the shoulder or something. Either way, guess you would’ve jumped.”
“I—I was just looking at that statue,” she said, pointing to the roundabout.
“Oh. I figured you’d just had a bite to eat at Laverne’s place.” He craned his neck behind him.
Roslyn noticed for the first time the diner with the sign Laverne’s Coffee Shop propped against the plate glass window.
“Don’t be fooled by the name,” he added. “It’s not one of those trendy coffeehouses where you pay exorbitant prices for designer coffees and monster-size pastries that have no taste.”
Several corners in downtown Chicago popped into Roslyn’s mind. “Actually,” she said, “I was looking for a place to eat when the guy on the horse caught my eye. Right out of Main Street, U.S.A., isn’t it?”
He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “The guy represents every pioneer and settler who had the guts to leave a safe home behind and head out for the unknown.”
Roslyn felt her face flush.
“And the hawk,” he continued, “well, anyone who knows their geography knows that Iowa is the Hawkeye State. Named after one of our famous Native Americans.” He waited a beat, then leaned into her face to say, “So much for the history lesson. Care for some lunch?”
“Great,” said Roslyn. “Maybe if I put some food into my mouth, I won’t be able to fit my second foot in.”
He smiled, stepping aside to let her go first. But then she heard him mutter. “Geez, I forgot I’m supposed to be meeting Lenny.”
“At Laverne’s?”
“Nah. This place is too old-fashioned for Lenny. He was going to wait for me near the roundabout.” Jack moved toward the edge of the curb and scanned the parkette surrounding the bronze statue.
His eyes crinkled against the sun and he pushed the tip of his baseball cap back off his forehead to get a better look. It was Roslyn’s first chance to get a better look, too. At Jack Jensen. Tall and lean rather than thin, he obviously kept in shape. His profile had strong lines without sharpness. Ordinary features that merged to form an attractive, though very un-Hollywood face. For some reason, that pleased her.
His head swiveled unexpectedly, catching her mid-stare, and Roslyn knew her face was red. “A dead giveaway,” he murmured softly.
“Say again?”
“Your skin tones. I bet you can’t ever tell a lie convincingly,” he teased, adding quickly, “Not that I’m suggesting you ever would!”
She grinned, just as Lenny’s shout got his attention.
“Damn!” he whispered, pulling his eyes from hers and staring down the street. Lenny was running toward them.
Lenny pulled up right in front of Jack. “Thought you were leavin’ me behind again,” he began, then stopped, catching sight of Roslyn. “Oh, sorry.” He looked from one to the other.
“I just bumped into Roslyn here,” explained Jack, “and, well, I was thinking of getting a bite to eat with her at Laverne’s.”
Lenny frowned. “Here? I thought we were going to Murphy’s!”
Jack stared silently at his nephew.
Willing him to shut up? Roslyn wondered. “You two go ahead with your plans,” she said. “Besides, I’m sure you have a lot of work to do today.”
“Yeah,” said Lenny, brightening at the reminder. “Aren’t we supposed to clear some brush for old man Watson?”
Jack flipped the cap off his head and ran his fingers through his hair. Little spikes stood on end, moistened by perspiration. “We can do that any day,” he said.
“Not with me, ’cause next week final exams are starting and I won’t be available.”
Jack sighed loudly and turned to Roslyn. “Look,” he began.
She held up a palm. “Another time. Just recommend something at Laverne’s for me.”
He gave a faint smile. “Anything. For lunch, maybe the club sandwich on whole wheat.”
“Sounds good,” she said, keeping her eyes on Jack’s face but catching the scowl on Lenny’s at the same time.
“Okay