Lost Are Found (A Prairie Heritage, Book 6)

by Vikki Kestell

  “But—” Kari didn’t finish. She stared at the sheet in front of her, her finger running down the page, through each item and its relative value. An uncontrollable giddiness was taking hold of her. She kept shaking her head. Finally she looked up. Washington was watching her, a grin tugging at his mouth, his happiness for her apparent and unfeigned.

  Very, very slowly she smiled back.

  The room began to relax then. “Congratulations, Miss Kari.” Jeffers stood and offered his hand to her. “I know it will be an adjustment, but we are all quite happy for you. Quite happy!”

  Clive was a bit more formal. “We must get through probate, and that is sometimes an ordeal. But the estate is in good shape and all the paperwork is ready. Taxes will take a sizable slice, of course, but we have planned and prepared for them as well.” He gathered his papers and shuffled them into his portfolio; then he, too, offered his hand to Kari.

  Kari turned, in a daze, toward Clover.

  “So,” he murmured. He was smiling, the twinkle creasing the folds about his eyes more than usual. “Not just a spoon collection, hey?”

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 6

  The conference room emptied except for Kari and Clover. He was still smiling, but his mouth held that hint of sympathy Kari had seen earlier.

  “Miss Kari, if you agree, I propose that we take the car this afternoon and I show you the house you will inherit. Does my suggestion meet with your approval?”

  Kari fumbled around in her spinning thoughts for a moment. “I—yes; I certainly have nothing better to do. But . . . it seems I am taking up a great deal of your time, Clover.”

  Clover chuckled. “My dear, this estate has been our firm’s largest client for decades, and we draw fees from the estate for its executorship. My time is quite devoted to its administration, as is my son Oskar’s time. We certainly have time for you—even a great deal of time.”

  Clover fixed Kari with an intensity from which she was unable to look away. “Miss Kari, the probate will take a number of months, yes, but we have no doubt of its outcome. As of this moment, Brunell & Brunell, rather than serving solely as the executor of this estate, now serves you as the estate’s sole heir. I think you have not quite yet grasped . . . the change in your circumstances.”

  Kari tore her eyes away from Clover, her head shaking a slow “no” to the implications of what he said. “I . . .” She had no words left.

  Clover again laid a light hand on her shoulder. “It is too much to take in all at once, I warrant, Miss Kari. Shall we do this? Shall we put the enormity of your new circumstances aside for the rest of the day? Tomorrow I have set aside time for us to meet again—you, myself, and Oskar—to discuss particulars.

  “Shall we see the house this afternoon and let your cares go by the way until the morrow? Nothing of any import need be decided until probate is over, months from now, as we mentioned. You have ample time to think on and plan how you will go forward.”

  Kari nodded, relieved. “Yes. See the house. That would be . . . lovely.”

  Clover helped her from the town car and signaled the driver to wait for them. “We took the liberty of having the house more thoroughly cleaned and set in order a few days past so that you would see it as it should be seen,” he murmured.

  Kari stood on the sidewalk and stared toward the house. It was a wide, two-story structure not, she admitted to herself, as fine as Clover and Lorene’s Colonial, but breathtaking to Kari in any regard.

  I own this? I own this house? Kari kept shaking her head.

  According to Clover, they were a distance from the truly wealthy historic homes in the city, but Kari was in awe and a bit giddy over this house. Giddy?

  When have you ever been “giddy” or even used such a word? she questioned herself. That doesn’t sound like you. With an internal caution against allowing her newfound circumstances to go to her head, she followed Clover.

  The house was constructed of beautiful chiseled stone that had weathered to a pale golden patina. The house was roofed in pink or rose colored slate. Clover led her to the front entrance centered under a great portico supported by eight pale gold posts.

  The portico was enclosed waist high (except for where the steps led up to the entry) in the ornamental wrought iron so common to the Garden Area. As she tried to take it all in, Kari realized that every window on the ground floor was also covered in beautiful but protective wrought iron.

  Kari was used to doors and windows protected by wrought iron, Albuquerque’s break-in rate being what it was, but nothing as ornate as what protected this house.

  They stepped into a large foyer where, with the press of a few buttons, Clover deactivated an alarm system. “This house has sat unoccupied for twenty-seven years. We have done our duty to ensure that it remained undisturbed by thieves and vandals.”

  Kari looked up and turned in a circle to take in the beauty above her. The ceiling of the foyer was high—at least fifteen feet. Its edges and corners were coved and corniced, and the ceiling plaster itself was intricately carved. A glimmering chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, still at least ten feet above the parquet floors.

  Her eyes swept up to the rail of a mezzanine where the stairway reached the second floor. The wide staircase, on her right, wound to the mezzanine, its rounded, polished banisters beckoning upwards.

  Kari tore her eyes away. A door straight ahead was open, so Kari glanced through. She saw a room that had obviously been used as an office. The desk and chair and bookshelves were inviting, as though their owner had merely stepped away for a few moments.

  Clover beckoned her. Two wide doors on the left opened into a small sitting room or old-fashioned parlor. Beyond the parlor lay a sizable living room and a large dining room.

  Kari sniffed the air in the house. It was pleasant—neither musty nor stale—with a lemony tang.

  “A very fine family, the Bodeens, are caretakers here,” Clover continued. “Three generations of Bodeens have cleaned and maintained the house and its grounds, first for Mr. Peter, and then for us. Oskar oversees all aspects of the house now. The groundskeeper lives in a small house at the back of the yard and also keeps watch on the house.

  “We have cared for the house and its furnishings all these years, as specified by Mr. Peter,” Clover was murmuring. “Every object in the house has been photographed and itemized in detail. The furniture is kept draped in protective cloths but is uncovered and dusted, polished, or vacuumed as appropriate on a weekly basis. Three times a year we do repairs and preventive maintenance.”

  Kari stared around at the beautiful furniture and the dining table and chairs gleaming with fresh oil. Her gaze wandered over lamps, paintings, carpets, and other décor.

  All this is mine? Kari couldn’t grasp it. Her eyes passed over a tall stack of white dust covers folded and left on the seat of a side chair.

  “We store the items that are more susceptible to decay, such as carpets and paintings, in a special room we built in the attic,” Clover’s hand pointed up, “those things to which Louisiana humidity could do damage. We installed a de-humidifier in that room to keep moisture from becoming a problem. Because we knew you were coming, we had the Bodeens bring them out of storage and place them where they belong so you could see them as they ought to be seen.”

  Clover led her slowly through the rooms on the ground floor until they entered the kitchen through a wide, swinging door. There, Kari gaped. Someone—a long while ago, she realized—had taken the time to make the room a delight—the soul of the home.

  The kitchen’s cupboards, all heart of pine, glowed with warm light and rose from above the counters all the way to the high ceiling.

  Why, even as tall as I am, I would need a ladder to reach those uppermost cupboard doors, Kari noted.

  Copper-bottomed pots and pans of every size and shape hung from iron hooks over an authentic butcher block island. Bright crockery lined several rows of shelves. The floor was of hard wood and shone spotl
essly.

  A bay window overlooked the back yard. Around the inside of the window were built-in heart of pine benches and a half-round table forming a charming, cozy nook.

  Did Daddy eat his breakfasts at this table? Kari wondered. Did his mother serve him cookies and milk here after school?

  Clover opened cupboards and drawers to display their contents. “Every dish, every piece of cutlery, every glass. All maintained and accounted for. Of course, they were boxed up until a few days ago.”

  He pointed to the stove—a black, commercial-sized gas range. “About ten years ago we upgraded the wiring, plumbing, and gas lines in the house. We had the chandeliers and this gem,” he placed his hand on the stove’s cold surface, “upgraded as well. The pilot lights and the gas to the stove are turned off, naturally.”

  Kari opened a door and found brooms, mops, cleaning supplies, and the odd gadget. Then Clover turned the deadbolt in the back door and pulled it open, stopping to show Kari something. “We took the original exterior doors down and had them and the doorframes “re-engineered” so to speak,” he chuckled.

  “The doors are solid wood—but now they are banded in steel with reinforcing plates. We also replaced the doorframes with metal ones, and then placed the original wood trim over and around them. These modifications should keep the doors and jams from splintering should someone attempt to break in.”

  He pointed to the lock. “And these are twin deadbolts, custom made for these doors and frames.” His long fingers motioned to the bay window. “The doors and all the windows are wired into the alarm system. We upgrade the system every two years to keep up with advances. I can scarcely conceive of all the new things they dream up these days.”

  On the covered and screened rear porch, Clover gestured again. “That’s the garage just there behind those shrubs. Over yonder, almost hidden in the trees, is the groundskeeper’s cabin. Toller Bodeen is our current groundskeeper. You will see him around during the day, most likely.”

  Kari looked where Clover pointed and nodded when he commented, but it was all too much to retain. I would like to spend some time here just wandering about, she decided. I want to see this house through Daddy’s eyes and imagine him here. Maybe I will keep a few things as keepsakes for when I return to Albuquerque.

  In Kari’s mind she was already negotiating with the new owners to buy back her house—the house she had worked so hard to make her home. If all that Clive had listed in the estate was true, surely she would have enough money to buy back her house? Because Kari fully intended to return to Albuquerque.

  Clover ushered her back inside and opened a door behind the wide swinging entrance to the kitchen that Kari hadn’t noticed. He switched on a light and she peered up a narrow staircase.

  “These are the back stairs,” Clover murmured, “but I would much rather take you up the front way. It’s quite lovely, especially during the day.”

  Kari followed Clover back through the house until they reached the foyer. He led the way up the wide staircase. Kari ran her hand along the banister, its perfect, graceful curves and supple wood delighting her fingertips.

  At the first landing, she looked up and saw more of the foyer’s architecture repeated above her head. A stained glass window graced the outside wall there—at just eye level. Kari reveled in the blues, purples, and greens of a peacock looking over his shoulder and down upon his fully fanned plumes.

  “Breathtaking,” she whispered and grinned.

  Clover was smiling at her approval. “I particularly enjoy these stairs myself.”

  The staircase wound higher. The steps turned and Kari stepped onto a second landing. An intricately paned window, this one set in plain glass, provided natural light.

  Kari turned left, took three more steps up, and followed Clover onto the wide mezzanine overlooking the foyer. She paused a moment, looking down on the foyer.

  Did Daddy lean over this banister on Christmas mornings, excited for the festivities below? she wondered as she reluctantly trailed after Clover.

  The second floor enclosed four substantial bedrooms and two bathrooms. Clover led her into what had to have been the master bedroom. “Mr. Peter had a bathroom installed ensuite in his last years,” Clover murmured. “It is, I confess, in need of modernizing. That is something I wager you will enjoy doing yourself.”

  Kari started to comment then stopped as what he said sank in. Things that had been impossibilities were becoming possibilities and they were rushing into her head all at once. It was as though the earth was shifting under her feet, and she was losing her balance. So she said nothing.

  But I’m not staying here, she reassured herself, trying desperately to reestablish her equilibrium, because this—all this!—is not me.

  So I’m not staying here.

  Am I?

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 7

  Kari was exhausted when the long day was over, but she was also “wired.” Nothing she tried seemed to calm her down or slow her racing thoughts. The looming inheritance and its responsibilities settled like an immense weight in the pit of her stomach.

  At the same time, oh, the possibilities—the many things she could do or see—stretched endlessly before her, and her mind jumped from one idea or thought to another, like water skittering and spitting its way across a red-hot stove top.

  She ate a late dinner alone in the hotel dining room, went for a long walk, and then wandered around the lobby for a while trying to relax. When she returned to her room, still unsettled, she knew she could not put off calling Ruth any longer.

  Kari didn’t know how to tell Ruth that not only was the whole “inheritance thing” real but it was more than either of them had imagined. And Ruth’s words, prophetic in hindsight, rankled under Kari’s skin:

  I have been praying for you over this whole inheritance thing, and I truly believe that something good is going to come of all this. Something wonderful and good from God himself.

  God, Kari snorted, deriding the word. As she scoffed, she felt a prick in her conscience, a tiny but firm warning. She looked inside, wondering what it was. She brushed it aside and dialed Ruth’s number.

  “Well, it’s about time!” Ruth grumbled when she picked up. “I’ve been waiting on pins and needles all day! In fact, I’d already given up and gone to bed.” Kari heard springs creak through the receiver as Ruth scooted to the edge of her bed.

  “I’m sorry; I couldn’t call earlier,” Kari lied. “It’s been a bit . . . overwhelming.” Well, that part is true.

  Ruth was quiet, and Kari knew that she was sensing Kari’s disquiet. Ruth’s ability to see her more deeply than Kari believed she let on was one of Ruth’s endearing—and exasperating—qualities. Ruth called it “spiritual discernment.” Kari didn’t know what to call it—except extraordinary. And sometimes downright annoying.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Ruth asked softly.

  Kari hemmed a moment before plunging in. “Well, I met with the lawyers this morning. Actually, with the three senior partners.” There. That would be Ruth’s first clue.

  “The three senior partners.” Now Ruth sounded wary. Good.

  “Uh-huh. And their lead investigator, Owen Washington. He’s the one who found me.”

  “All right.” The line was quiet as Ruth waited for Kari to continue.

  “So . . . it’s pretty big, Ruth.” Kari’s words were bare whispers across the miles.

  “The estate is big?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  With those two syllables, Ruth felt things between her and Kari shift. Things would be . . . different now. Ruth waited again.

  Finally, she cleared her throat. “Do you mind telling me, ballpark, how big? You don’t have to, of course. It is your business. Private. Personal and all.”

  “No, I . . . it’s . . . scary big, Ruth. Scary. I-I’m terrified.”

  Kari could hear Ruth’s concern. “Why? What have they done?”

  “Done? Nothing. It’s . . . I mean, the es
tate’s probate will take a while, couple of months or more. But then . . .”

  “What is it you are afraid of, Kari?” Ruth was always, if anything, to the point.

  “The responsibility, I guess. Clover—that’s Mr. Brunell—took me to see the house today and it is . . . huge. Gorgeous. Beautiful.”

  “The house?”

  “I, uh, one of the things I inherited is a house. And, no. There are no back taxes owing.”

  “Well, that’s good, isn’t it? And no ‘other shoe’ poised to drop, like you are afraid of, right? You will own your own house outright. See! That’s a good thing—a God thing! It’s what you’ve wanted—a home. A real home of your own.”

  A home isn’t just a house, Ruth; it is where your family is, Kari objected without speaking the words. All I find in that house are the remains of what should have been my family . . . but isn’t. Too late for that now.

  Ruth babbled on. “Of course the house isn’t here in Albuquerque. Are you thinking of selling it? I mean, that way you could buy a home here in New Mexico near your friends—if selling that house clears enough money, that is.”

  Oh, I’m pretty sure it would clear enough money to buy anything I wanted in Albuquerque.

  Kari exhaled. “Well, one thing I’m considering is changing my name. Back to Granger. You’d asked me, when the divorce was final, if I would keep David’s name. I wouldn’t mind having Daddy’s name again. It would mean something.”

  “I like the sound of that, Kari,” Ruth murmured. “I’m sure it would comfort you.”

  “Um . . . and there’s more. More to the inheritance. Lots of . . . assets and stuff.”

  “Lots of assets.” Ruth spoke the three words solemnly, and the line went dead quiet. Many beats of Kari’s heart passed before Ruth ventured another question. “Kari, did they tell you how much you are going to be worth when everything is said and done?”