Also by Kristin Butcher
Truths I Learned from Sam
The Last Superhero
For my mother one more time
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter One
Sam died on November 11th. Remembrance Day. Like I could ever forget.
It’s been four months already, but my feelings are still raw, simmering just below the surface, ready to bubble over all the time. The littlest things make me cry — a baseball commercial, a cooking program, the cowboy boots in my closet. Anything even remotely related to Sam sets me off. Anything. It’s dumb — I know, but I can’t help it. Sam was my father. I can’t just get over him. Mom says healing takes time, but I have a feeling nothing less than a miracle is going to get me past this.
I don’t want to accept that Sam’s gone. I still think I’m going to see him again. If I hop on a bus for Webb’s River, he’ll be waiting outside the motel at the other end — tall and skinny, all blue jeans and cowboy hat, his smile hiding behind that huge moustache, his piercing black eyes looking right through me. I hold the memory of him tight to my heart. Sam and I only had one summer together, but he changed my whole life.
I look down at the letter in my hand. Dear Miss Lancaster. I’ve already read it twice, but my brain is too fried to make sense of the words. Either that or legalese is a foreign language. The logo at the top is impressive, though — lots of scrollwork and gold lettering. Morgan, Munson, and Bradley, Barristers and Solicitors. Aren’t barristers and solicitors the same thing? The letter is from Mr. R.A. Morgan. I wonder what the R and A stand for. Reginald Alfred? Rupert Angus? What about Rowland Ames? I run a few more lawyer-type names through my head, but I can’t settle on anything I like so I abandon Mr. Morgan’s name and turn my attention back to his letter.
This time it sinks in. I have to read around a bunch of hereinafters, in as much ases, gift causa mortises, and remaindermans, but I get the general idea. Bottom line — Sam left his estate to me, but there are papers to be signed before Mr. Morgan can turn it over. He doesn’t say what it is I’m inheriting, but I assume it’s Sam’s trailer, truck, and land. If he had anything else, I don’t know about it.
The only problem is the lawyer is in Kamloops and I’m in Vancouver. That means a road trip. I could take the bus or a plane, but then I’d have no transportation when I got there. Of course, I have no car either, but a vehicle has been on my wish list ever since I got my driver’s license. The savings account my mom started when I was born and turned over to me on my last birthday could make that happen.
As for how long it will take to go and come back, that doesn’t matter. I fast-tracked my way through high school and finished at the end of January, the day I turned eighteen. Two of life’s milestones in one swoop. Anyway, until I start university next fall, my time is my own. I was going to look for a part-time job, but that can wait until after I meet with the lawyer. The only thing that might stand in my way is my mother.
“If we book an appointment with the lawyer, we can return the same day,” she says when I tell her my plan. “There are lots of flights between Kamloops and Vancouver.”
I shake my head. “You’re not listening to me, Mom. This is something I want to do on my own. It’s between Sam and me,” I say.
She clucks her tongue and rolls her eyes. “Only you could romanticize something like this. We’re talking lawyers, Dani. You are barely eighteen. You have no experience with something like this.”
What she says is true, and I am a bit nervous about tackling it by myself, but I’m not about to admit that to her. “Sam had a will. All I have to do is sign some papers.”
“And then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“After you sign the papers, then what will you do?”
I scowl. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on what’s in Sam’s will.”
“According to the letter from Mr. Morgan, Sam left you everything. That would be his property, his trailer, and all its contents.”
“And Lizzie,” I add.
Mom cocks her head quizzically.
“His truck,” I explain.
She nods impatiently. “Whatever. What are you going to do with all these things?”
“Do I have to do something with them?”
“Are you saying you want to keep them?”
“I don’t know. I can’t decide that yet. I have to live with the idea a bit. What’s the rush?”
Mom shuts her eyes. When she opens them again, they are shiny with unshed tears, and I am reminded that she loved Sam too. Though they never married and they split up before I was even born, I’m pretty sure part of her never got over him, and I know he never got over her. The only thing that came out of their relationship was me.
“Joanna, maybe Dani has a point,” my stepdad, Reed, says. Until now, he’s been sitting in the corner, saying nothing. “There really isn’t a need to steamroll through this. Let Dani collect her inheritance and think on it for a while. What’s the harm? We’re talking land and a trailer.”
My mother jumps right back into the fight. “And this nonsense about a car and driving to Kamloops?”
Reed licks his lips. “To tell you the truth, I think it’s time Dani got a car. In the fall she’ll be off to university and she can’t always be relying on public transit.”
Mom leaps out of her chair, waving her arms. “You think it’s a good idea for her to drive across the province by herself?”
Reed holds up his hands. “That’s not what I said.”
“Well, that’s what it sounded like.”
“Just hear me out — okay? What if I help Dani choose a car? I’ll make sure it’s mechanically sound. Make sure it’s not a lemon. Make sure she doesn’t get ripped off. How would that be?”
My mother looks slightly mollified, but not completely. “I still don’t want her driving to Kamloops alone. She’s never driven outside Vancouver, for God’s sake!”
Reed nods. “True. So what if I went with her?”
This time both Mom and I open our mouths to protest, but Reed shakes his head and continues talking, so we shut them again.
“I need to make a trip to the interior anyway. Remember, I said I wanted to set up a more central distribution centre for my brewery?”
I have no clue what he’s talking about, but Mom nods.
“Well, there are a couple of locations on the way to Kamloops that I need to take a look at. We can kill two birds with one stone. I can take care of my business, and Dani can have company on her drive.” He smiles at me. “Will that work for you, Dani?”
I nod. In a way I’m sort of relieved. The idea of driving all that way by myself was a little intimidating.
Reed turns to Mom. “And what about you?”
She frowns. “How long will you be gone?”
“Not more than a couple of days. I’ll fly home.”
Mom looks alarmed. “And what about Dani? How’s she going to get back?”
“Drive?” I offer sarcastically.
Mom’s mouth thins into a hard line. “I don’t want you driving alone. It’s only March. There could be snow.”
Reed sighs. “Okay. So how about when Dani is finished everything she needs to
do, one of us flies to Kamloops and drives back with her? We can play it by ear.”
Mom shakes her head and scowls. “I don’t like it.”
“Mother,” I protest, “I’m not a child, you know. In fact, I don’t even need your permission to do this. I’m eighteen — an adult.”
Reed sits back in his chair. His lips tremble as he tries to hide a smile. “She’s got you there, Joanna.”
Reed takes me vehicle shopping the very next day, and at the second car lot I fall in love with a little silver Honda Civic. It’s about eight years old but there’s not a scratch on it. So we get it checked out by a mechanic. Once it gets the okay from him, Reed and the car dealer start doing the let’s-make-a-deal dance. I am totally fascinated listening to them dicker over the price and what it should include. Finally, they settle on a number, I sign a bunch of papers and hand over a huge chunk of my bank account, and voilà: I am a car owner.
Next on the agenda, I make an appointment to see the lawyer, and two days after that Reed and I are on the road. I’m so excited, I don’t even mind getting up while it’s still dark. Instead of travelling the Coquihalla Highway, which is the most direct way to get to Kamloops, we take the southerly route through Hope and Princeton into the Okanagan Valley, because that’s the area Reed needs to check out.
Even at seven in the morning, there are a ton of cars on the highway, so to placate Mom, Reed navigates the Civic out of the city. Then I take over. It feels great to be driving my own vehicle. At Princeton we stop for a late breakfast, and then Reed takes the wheel again.
The locations he’s interested in are tiny towns between Princeton and Kelowna.
“I would’ve thought you’d be looking to put your distribution centre in a big city,” I say.
“It needs to be near a city, but out of the way is actually more convenient, as long as there’s easy access to a major highway. That way I have a better chance of getting the space I need at a price I’m willing to pay. It means less congestion too. Mostly the brewery relies on big trucks, and semi-drivers aren’t fond of manoeuvring through city streets. They prefer wide-open spaces.”
“So did you see anything that’ll work?”
He shrugs. “Nothing that blew my socks off. But I’m not in a rush. I’ll keep looking.”
It’s suppertime when we finally get to Kamloops and pull into the parking lot of the hotel Mom booked for us. It’s in the centre of downtown, and judging from the polished wood, sparkling chandeliers, and massive floral arrangements, it’s pretty high-end. If it was up to me, I would have found an inexpensive motel, which — when I stop to think about it — is probably why Mom booked us into this place. It’s her way of keeping me safe and under her wing. She also volunteered to pay for it, so who am I to argue?
Reed and I eat in the hotel dining room, complete with white linen, crystal, and gleaming silver. All I want is a hamburger, but that isn’t even on the menu so I have seared halibut instead.
And that’s when I run out of gas. Instead of recharging my batteries, dinner wipes me out completely. I can barely keep my eyes open through dessert.
“Go to bed,” Reed laughs. “You’ve had a long day.”
“Are you going to your room too?”
“In a while. My flight to Vancouver doesn’t leave until noon tomorrow, and there’s a lot of evening left. I think I’ll go to the bar for a nightcap and call your mother to let her know we arrived safely.”
“Okay,” I say. “Tell her hi for me. See you in the morning.” Then I give him a peck on the cheek and stumble off to my room.
Chapter Two
I’m excited about being in Kamloops on my own — until about three seconds after Reed’s plane takes off. That’s when the sense of adventure evaporates and all my mother’s arguments against the trip flood my brain. My stomach becomes a queasy knot Harry Houdini couldn’t have untied, and without warning my knees give out. Thankfully, there’s a bench behind me, and I drop onto it like a sack of rocks.
An elderly man standing a few feet away glares in my direction. I want to tell him my baby elephant impersonation wasn’t intentional but I know he won’t believe me, so even though it’s too late to be anonymous, I bow my head and hide behind the curtain of my hair. Then I shut my eyes and give myself a stern talking-to. Okay, so I’m alone in a strange city. I don’t know anyone and I don’t know my way around. That’s okay. I have a car, money, cellphone, hotel room, and an appointment with a lawyer.
I glance at my watch. Holy crap! My meeting with Mr. Morgan is in fifty-five minutes, and though I have his address, I have no clue how to get there or where to park when I do.
Panic threatens to swamp me, but I squelch it with logic. My car has a GPS. All I have to do is plug in the address and go where it tells me.
I take a few deep breaths, stand up, and push my mother’s voice to the back of my mind. Then I grab my backpack, sling it over my shoulder, and head for my car.
The firm of Morgan, Munson, and Bradley is in a suburban shopping mall, which I locate without a problem. I even arrive with time to spare. I park at the back of the lot, away from runaway shopping carts and other cars. My little Honda may not be new, but it’s new to me, and I don’t want any dings in it.
The glass door to the law office looks like it should belong to a drugstore (I was sort of expecting polished mahogany) and as I push it open, I imagine the lawyers on the other side dispensing legal advice like prescriptions. Find two expert witnesses and call me in the morning. But to my surprise the office is actually very lawyerish and lavish, all plush carpet and wingback leather chairs.
The receptionist fits in perfectly. In fact, she could’ve come directly from the Forbes magazine lying on the lacquered coffee table. Her makeup is flawless, there’s not a single hair out of place, her lipstick is intact, and her designer suit couldn’t crease if it tried. When I present myself to her, she doesn’t smile. I’m guessing that might crack the makeup.
“Please have a seat.” She nods toward the collection of leather chairs. “Mr. Morgan will be with you shortly.”
She got that right. Two seconds after I sit down, a wiry little guy wearing brown dress pants and a white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves comes striding towards me. He must have had a tough morning because his tie is loosened and the top button of his shirt is undone. He looks to be in his mid-thirties. He’s not balding, but his straight blond hair is sparse, cut short except for a forelock that keeps sliding into his eyes. In the time it takes him to cross the room he brushes it back three times. His skin is pale and pockmarked. Teenage acne victim, probably. His blue eyes, watered down so much they’re almost colourless, practically disappear behind black-rimmed glasses. He smiles, baring crooked teeth.
But there’s an energy and friendliness about him that draws me in, and my anxiety starts to melt away. Unlike the receptionist, there are no airs about this man. I can see why Sam chose him for his lawyer.
“Bob Morgan.” He stretches out a hand. For a small guy, he has a firm handshake — but cold, as if he’d been making snowballs.
“Dani Lancaster,” I say. “I’m Sam Swan’s daughter.”
He nods. “Yes. I’m sorry. Your dad was one of the good guys.”
I’m not ready for that, and uninvited tears spring to my eyes. I try to blink them away.
I know Bob Morgan notices, but he doesn’t comment. Instead he extends an arm toward the hallway. “Shall we go to my office?”
By the time I take the chair he offers me, I have my emotions back under control, but considering why I’m here, it’s going to be almost impossible to banish Sam from my thoughts. I try to focus on the folder Bob Morgan is opening. It’s not very thick, and it pains me to realize that’s all that’s left of Sam’s life. I feel my throat tighten. Damn it! I can’t let myself think about him.
Bob Morgan cuts into my thoughts. “Your father made sure all his affairs were in order. He didn’t want to leave any loose ends. With the exception of his horse, which he
bequeathed to the Tooby family at Greener Pastures Ranch, he left his entire estate to you. He wanted you to know that he would have left you the horse too, but it wasn’t practical. However, I have been in touch with the Toobys, and they said to tell you that you are welcome to ride her anytime.”
I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “Thank you.” I can barely get the words out.
He offers me an encouraging smile. “This shouldn’t take too long,” he says. “It’s all pretty straightforward, exactly as I explained in my letter. I just need you to sign some papers.”
I sit forward in my chair and take the pen he offers. He explains each document before I sign, but my brain won’t let the words in. I don’t even remember writing my name, but I must have, because as I gaze down at the papers in front of me, there it is.
Bob Morgan is talking again, so I force myself to listen. “In addition to the acreage, trailer, and vehicle, your father left you some money.” He reaches into the folder again and passes me a white envelope. I just stare at it, so he says, “It’s a cheque — not a fortune but still a tidy sum. Sam didn’t specify how it was to be used — that’s up to you — but he thought it was sufficient to cover the cost of a university education. I suggest you deposit it in your bank account as soon as you can. You don’t want to be walking around with that kind of money in your pocket.”
He opens the drawer again, pulls out a manila envelope, and passes it to me. “A few other documents you may need,” he says. Then he sets a keyring on the desk in front of me.
I gaze blankly at it for several seconds. Sam’s keys. My keys now. My throat tightens again. I pick up the ring and wrap my fingers around the keys one at a time. The trailer. The shed. Lizzie. But I don’t recognize the last key. I hold it up and frown.
“Safety deposit box,” Bob Morgan explains. He flips through the papers in the folder. “The bank is right in this mall. Just present the key, your ID, and Sam’s death certificate — that’s in the manila envelope — and the bank will provide you with access. There’s a letter from this office in the envelope as well, verifying that the will has been settled and you are the heir.”
In Search of Sam Page 1