I spread the document on the desk and began to read various names aloud. “‘Anna and Harry Clark to Lydia Goldwin, Lydia Goldwin to Seth Burrows—’”
“What was that name?” my father demanded sharply.
“Seth Burrows. That’s the truth, Dad. Who knows, maybe it’s your old pal, Seth.”
“Are you making up that name?” my father asked skeptically.
I thrust the abstract into his hand.
“Here, read it for yourself, Dad. Burrows seems to be the present owner of the land.”
My father scanned the document.
“The land is held by a Seth Burrows. A strange coincidence.”
“I never heard of a Burrows family living near Greenville,” I said, reaching for a telephone book. “Did you?”
“No, but Burrows is a fairly common name.”
Turning to the “B” section, I went through the telephone list.
“There’s only one Burrows here,” I said, penciling a circle around the name. “A Mrs. Maud Burrows.”
“The name Maud Burrows doesn’t appear on the abstract,” My father said, as he continued to study the document. “There’s something funny about this.”
“Mr. Bronson seemed rather overeager to dispose of the land, didn’t he?”
“His price was a bit low, which surprised me,” my father said. “But I expect everything can be explained satisfactorily.”
“Then why not ask Mr. Bronson to do it? Explain it, I mean. He should be able to tell you something about his client.”
My father reached for the telephone.
“I’ll ask Mr. Bronson to come here at once.”
Chapter Seventeen
Mr. Bronson, completely at his ease, sat opposite my father and me in Dad’s private office.
“I came as soon as I could after receiving your telephone message, Mr. Fielding. Now, what seems to be the trouble?”
“Perhaps, I shouldn’t have bothered you,” Dad said. “However, in glancing over the abstract for the orphans’ camp property, I noticed that the land is owned by a man named Seth Burrows.”
“Quite true. I am acting as his agent.”
“It happens that I have had dealings with a man by that same name. Rather unpleasant dealings, I might add. I’m curious to learn if this property owner is the same fellow.”
“Very unlikely, I should think.” Mr. Bronson shrugged. “My client does not reside in Greenville.”
“Nor does the man I have in mind.”
“Can you tell us what this Mr. Burrows looks like?” I asked Mr. Bronson.
“I am very sorry, but I can’t,” Mr. Bronson said. “I’ve never met Mr. Burrows in person.”
“Yet you act as his agent?” my father inquired.
“All our dealings have been by mail or telephone.”
“I see. At least you can provide me with the man’s address.”
“I can’t do that either,” Mr. Bronson said. “Seth Burrows is a salesman with no permanent address. He communicates with me at fairly regular intervals, but until I hear from him, I have no idea where he will be the following week.”
“Your description seems to fit the man of my acquaintance perfectly,” my father said dryly. “But tell me, how do you expect to complete this deal? Will Burrows come here to sign the necessary papers?”
“Oh, that won’t be required. He’s already made out the sales documents and given me a power of attorney.”
“Mr. Burrows seems to think of everything,” my father said. “I was hoping for the pleasure of meeting him.”
“I really don’t see what all this has to do with the sale of the property. You feel that the site is a suitable one, and the price is right?”
“I have no serious objections to it.”
“Then why allow your personal feelings to interfere with the deal?”
“I have no intention of doing so,” my father answered.
“Then if you’ll give your approval, we’ll sign the final papers tomorrow at my office. The dedication of the new camp has been set for the tenth of the month, and that means no time can be lost.”
“Everything seems to have been settled without my approval,” my father said. “However, if you don’t mind, I’ll keep this abstract a little longer.”
“As you like.” The real estate man shrugged. “Have your lawyer go over the records with a fine-tooth comb. He’ll find no flaws anywhere.”
Mr. Bronson bowed politely and left the office. I waited until I was sure he was out of earshot before asking my father what he thought.
“Everything may be on the level,” Dad said. “Bronson’s given me no concrete reason to distrust him, and yet I can’t help feeling that there’s something peculiar about this land deal.”
“Bronson has been rushing things through at such a furious rate,” I said. “Another thing, Seth Burrows is a well-known forger.”
“What makes you think that? Any real information?”
I revealed everything I had learned that day from the store detective in Clackston.
“I am more than ever convinced there is something phony about Burrows’ connection with this affair,” my father said grimly. “We’ll see what my lawyer has to say.”
My father personally carried the questionable abstract to a reliable law firm, Adams and McPherson. The report from the lawyers came back late in the afternoon and was relayed to me by my father at the dinner table.
“Mr. Adams says that the abstract seems to be drawn up correctly,” Dad said. “He could find no flaw in it or in any of the records at the courthouse.”
“It seems we jumped too hastily to conclusions,” I said.
“I’m not so sure. Mr. Adams tells me that the ownership of the property is a very muddled affair.”
“Muddled?”
“Yes, it has changed hands many times in the past year, and oddly, none of the buyers or sellers seem to be known in Greenville.”
“What does Mr. Adams think about that, Dad?”
“He advises that the records be inspected very carefully. It will take weeks though, for they are quite involved.”
“I suppose that will hold up the opening of the camp.”
“It may,” my father acknowledged. “However, it seems wise to take every precaution even if the camp isn’t opened this year. Too much money is involved to risk paying for land which may have a faulty title.”
The following day, Dad conferred with members of the Camp Fund board, telling of his findings. To his chagrin, Mrs. Vanhee did not share his views.
“I trust Mr. Bronson’s judgment implicitly,” she insisted. “I am sure the property will be satisfactory in every way. If there should by chance be any flaw in the title, he would make it good.”
“We can’t possibly delay the dedication another week,” another member of the board chimed in. “The summer is nearly over now.”
“At least postpone making the final payment until after I have had another report from my lawyers,” my father pleaded.
“Very well, we’ll do that,” Mrs. Vanhee agreed. “Mr. Bronson is so obliging I am sure he will allow us to set up equipment on the land, even though we don’t actually possess the title.”
The entire transaction seemed very unbusinesslike to my father, but he did not attempt to force his opinion upon the members of the board. Plans went forward for the grand opening of the camp. Stories appeared regularly in the Examiner, playground equipment and floored tents were set up on the campsite, and the dedication program was announced.
“You might know Mr. Bronson would be invited to make the main speech,” I said to Flo as I read the latest story of the coming affair. “Every day, in every way, Mr. Clark Bronson gives me a bigger and bigger pain!”
Throughout the week, both Florence and I were very involved in helping at the new campsite. The land was cleared of underbrush, trails were constructed, and a well dug. While supervising the setting-up of slides, merry-go-rounds and teeter-totters, I upon several occas
ions had had disagreements with Mr. Bronson. The man haunted the site like a lovelorn ghost, imposing his wishes upon everyone.
“A great deal of time and money has been spent getting that place ready for the dedication,” I commented to my father. “If anything should happen so that the final papers aren’t signed, it would be a pity.”
“I’ve had no report from the lawyers, as yet,” Dad said. “Adams tells me he’s never delved into a more involved case.”
“What does Mr. Bronson think about the investigation?”
“He seems to be agreeable. However, I suspect he’s been working on the various board members, behind the scenes, trying to get them to conclude the deal without waiting.”
“How long will it be before you’ll have a final report, Dad?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I expected to get it long before this.”
In the flurry of preparing for the camp dedication, I had no opportunity to give much thought to other affairs. I did not see Sam McKee, the sheriff had nothing to disclose concerning Sidney Dorner’ disappearance, and the Black-Hooded Hoodlums seemed to have become an extinct organization.
On the morning of the camp dedication, I was out and about early. Florence and I planned to drive to the ceremony together. We made plans to arrive before the grounds were congested. I ate breakfast in a hurry. While we were at the table, my father was called to the telephone. He was gone from the dining room nearly fifteen minutes. As he returned to the table, I pushed back my chair, ready to leave.
“Well, I’ll see you at the campgrounds, Dad.”
“I don’t know what to do about the dedication,” my father said in a sober tone. “By rights, there should be none.”
I stared at him.
“I’ve just heard from my lawyers,” my father explained.
“Then, there is a flaw in the title as you suspected!”
“Decidedly. It’s a very mixed-up mess, and, as yet, we’re not sure what it may mean.”
“Tell me about it, Dad.”
“Seth Burrows—whoever he may be—doesn’t own the camp property.”
“Then in whose name is it?”
“The property doesn’t belong to anyone.”
“Doesn’t every piece of land in the world belong to someone?”
“Actually, the heirs of Rosanna and Joseph Shultz own this particular property. But there are no heirs.”
“What you say doesn’t make sense to me, Dad.”
“The whole affair is very involved,” Dad said. “In tracing the history of the land, Adams found that originally it was owned by Rosanna and Joseph Shultz, an elderly couple, who had no known relatives. They sailed for Germany more than fifty years ago. The ship sank, and presumably, they died at sea. Their land was never claimed, and somehow the state overlooked the case.”
“But I thought the property had changed hands many times in recent years.”
“Only theoretically. All those records appear to have been falsified.”
“By whom, Dad? Seth Burrows?”
“My lawyers are inclined to think Bronson may be at the bottom of it. He is a very shrewd real estate man, and in examining records at the court house, he may have learned about this floating property.”
“Then he deliberately tried to cheat the Camp Fund board.”
“It looks that way. Neither Seth Burrows nor anyone else owns the property. Had you not noticed his name on the abstract, it’s likely the fraud would not have been uncovered for quite a few years to come.”
“What will you do now, Dad? The dedication is scheduled to start within an hour.”
“I don’t see how it can be postponed,” my father said soberly. “It will have to go on according to schedule.”
“Afterward you’ll ask for Bronson’s arrest?”
“There’s no real evidence against him.”
“No evidence?” I protested.
“He claims to be a mere agent of Seth Burrows,” my father explained. “The deeds and legal papers were drawn up by some other person. If any accusation is made against him, Bronson can escape prosecution by maintaining that he knew nothing of the back records.”
“There’s one person who might be able to implicate him,” I said. “Seth Burrows.”
“Burrows should have it in his power to clear up some of the mystery,” my father agreed. “But how are we to find this elusive Mr. Burrows?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It looks rather hopeless unless the police just present him to us wrapped in pink ribbon.”
The clock struck nine. I was late to pick up Flo.
As we drove to the campsite, I told Flo of the latest complications.
“Mr. Bronson is one of the worst hypocrites in the world,” I said. “He pretends he wants to help the orphans, and all the while he intends to trick the board and make a nice profit for himself.”
“Your father won’t let him get away with it,” Flo tried to reassure me. “So long as the money hasn’t been paid over there’s no need to worry.”
When we arrived at the campsite, we went straight to the official tent. Mr. Bronson, Mrs. Vanhee, and all members of the board except my father were there. On the table lay various legal papers which bore signatures still moist with ink.
“You’re not buying this property, surely!” I said. “Not with so many questions unanswered.”
“It seemed unreasonable to keep Mr. Bronson waiting,” Mrs. Vanhee told me. “The transaction has just been completed.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Oh, Mrs. Vanhee, you’ve been cheated!”
The signing of the papers had taken me so by surprise that I did not weigh my words before speaking. Too late, I realized that I should not have revealed the facts of the case in such a blunt fashion. However, having said so much, I was determined to go on.
“My dear, what do you mean?” Mrs. Vanhee demanded.
“Any money paid for this land will be lost. My father has just learned—”
“I resent such loose talk,” Mr. Bronson broke in irritably. “Mr. Burrows, whom I represent, has taken a substantial loss on the property.”
“And who is this Seth Burrows? You can’t produce him, nor prove that he owns the land. The title is faulty. Neither you nor Seth Burrows has any right to sell it!”
“Surely, this isn’t true?” Mrs. Vanhee asked the real estate man.
“Certainly not! You may be sure that if there is the slightest flaw in the title, I shall return your check.”
“Perhaps, considering the uncertainty, it might be wise to postpone payment until I have talked again with Mr. Fielding,” Mrs. Vanhee said.
The real estate man made no attempt to hide his annoyance. “My dear Mrs. Vanhee,” he said, “the deal already has been completed. I have tried to remain patient, but really this is too much.”
On the table lay several typewritten papers. Clipped neatly to the uppermost one, was the check endorsed by Mrs. Vanhee. Mr. Bronson reached to take possession of it, but he was too slow. Acting impulsively, I darted forward and seized the bit of paper. I tore the check into a dozen pieces and tossed them into the air.
“There!” I announced, a trifle stunned by my own audacity.
“Jane, you should not have done that,” Mrs. Vanhee said, but she smiled faintly.
“You are an outrageous woman!” Mr. Bronson had lost his temper completely. “What do you expect to accomplish by such a stupid trick? Mrs. Vanhee will merely write out another check.”
“Well, under the circumstance, it might be better to wait. I really shouldn’t have acted without consulting Mr. Fielding,” said Mrs. Vanhee.
“Unless the transaction is completed now I shall have nothing to do with the dedication,” Mr. Bronson declared. “I shall decline to make my speech.”
Mrs. Vanhee’s broad smile made it clear that she thought the loss of Mr. Bronson’s speech would not be any great detriment to the occasion.
“Furthermore, I shall ask that my recent
donation be returned,” Mr. Bronson resumed severely. “I shall withdraw this property for sale—”
“You will withdraw it?” I interrupted. “I was given to understand that you were merely acting as an agent for Seth Burrows.”
“I mean, I shall make such a suggestion to him,” the real estate man amended.
“I am sorry, Mr. Bronson,” said Mrs. Vanhee. “If you don’t wish to make the dedication speech, we will manage to do without your services. As for the check, I cannot make out another until I have discussed the situation with Mr. Fielding.”
The argument went on, but I did not remain to hear it. Florence took me forcibly by the arm, fairly pulling me out of the tent.
“Haven’t you caused enough trouble?” she demanded disapprovingly. “Such a mess as everything is in now.”
“I don’t care,” I said defiantly. “I saved the Camp Fund money. Mrs. Vanhee was happy I tore up the check, although she didn’t dare say so.”
“There will be no dedication. What will everyone think?”
Disconsolately, Florence gazed toward the area which was roped off for cars. Although it was half an hour before the formal program was to start, hundreds of persons had arrived. An orchestra played on a platform built specially for the occasion. There were picnic tables and a stone fireplace for outdoor cooking.
Jack pulled up in a press car and joined Flo and I as we wandered slowly toward the river. I told him what had happened.
“Good for you, Jane,” Jack said. “Serves that crooked old geezer right. I’d hate to see his ilk get away with taking advantage of the Orphan’s Home.”
A bus loaded with orphans arrived from the Greenville Home and disgorged its cargo of wriggling little bodies. With shrieks of laughter, the children swarmed over the grounds, taking possession of swings, sand pile, and slides.
“It seems such a pity,” Florence said.
By ten o’clock the grounds were jammed with visitors. I knew that my father must have arrived for the celebration, but although I searched everywhere, I could not find him. In roving about, I did chance to meet Mr. Bronson, who pretended not to see me.
How matters had been arranged, I did not know. However, promptly at ten-thirty, the dedication exercises began, precisely as scheduled. Mr. Bronson occupied the platform with other members of the board, and at the proper time made a brief and rather curt speech.
Jane Carter Historical Cozies: Omnibus Edition (Six Mystery Novels) Page 67