The Wanderer. Робин КаррЧитать онлайн книгу.
old jeans. He had a scarf or rag bandanna tied around his head and a gray ponytail, circa the sixties. He walked right up to Cooper.
Cooper stuck out his hand. “Rawley?” he asked.
The man’s expression didn’t even change. Rather than shaking Cooper’s hand, he put a thick envelope in his grasp. Then he turned to go back to his truck.
“Hey,” Cooper said. “What’s this?”
But Rawley kept walking and Cooper kept watching him. When Rawley got back to his truck, he didn’t get in. He leaned against the passenger side, crossed his legs leisurely, arms folded over his chest. He gave a nod and waited.
Cooper opened the envelope and pulled out a thick document, folded in thirds. When he unfolded it, he found a will that had been drawn up by Lawrence Carnegie, Attorney-at-Law. It was pages long. But on top was a lime-green sticky note that said, “Take care of things, Coop.”
He looked up at Rawley. “He wants me to take care of this?”
Rawley rolled his eyes as if to say, Right, stupid. What did the note say?
Cooper glanced through the document quickly. He’d assumed that Ben wanted him as executor, but it took about two seconds to see that Ben was leaving this place to him. Looking a little further, it appeared that included the structure and the land. And the beach? The document was four pages of legalese. There was probably something in here that explained special conditions of some kind, but that was going to take a closer, slower look. Meanwhile, he became aware of a key inside the envelope.
“To the bar?” he asked Rawley.
Again Rawley rolled his eyes, saying nothing.
Cooper almost eye-rolled him right back. But he took the key in one hand and the document in the other and walked around the deck to the ocean side, where he slipped it into the lock on a set of double doors that could open wide onto the deck. The seal on the doors was good, probably to protect against heavy storms or tsunamis. He pulled open the door and was immediately assaulted by the foulest smell he’d ever encountered. Hadn’t they said Ben had been buried? Because this smell was worse than a rotting body. It took about three steps into the bar/bait shop to realize they had septic issues, combined with what smelled like rotting fish and maybe garbage. The electricity had been turned off. He yelled, “Rawley!”
The response he got was the sound of a truck. Departing.
* * *
An hour later, Cooper placed a call to Mac’s cell phone. It was late afternoon now and the sun was shining, which did not cheer Cooper. It not only helped cook the smells in the bar/bait shop but also brought people out to the beach, walking dogs, nosing around or jogging. It was too chilly for swimming or picnicking. At the sight of someone opening doors and windows at Ben’s place, a few brave souls came close, curious. By the time they made it to the deck, they covered their noses and retreated. Quickly.
“Mac,” Cooper said into the phone. “Boy, do I have a situation.”
“What’s up?”
“Start with, Rawley brought me what seems to be a will. It’ll have to be verified, but it looks in order. Ben left this place to me.”
“Whoa. Did you see that coming?”
“He never even hinted at such a thing. Second, there was a key and I went inside. Holy mother of God, there are too many rotten things in there to count. The electricity was turned off and his bait tank is full of dead fish, stagnant, moldy water and God knows what all. And I’m pretty sure I smell septic backup. I have the doors and windows open, but the place is impenetrable. Do you know anyone? Like maybe a crime-scene cleanup crew? Or something?”
“There’s a flood and environmental cleanup company up in North Bend. Also a hazardous chemical cleanup crew up there.”
Cooper couldn’t stop a cough. “Oh, yeah, definitely some hazardous chemicals in there. Got a number?”
“Let me call ’em,” Mac said. “I’ll book the first available slot for an estimate. You planning on cleaning it up?”
“It’s not how I planned my week, but someone has to do it. I wouldn’t count on Rawley. He handed me the will and a key and took off like a bat out of hell.”
Mac laughed.
“Come out here and take a deep breath and then laugh, sucker,” Cooper said. “We might need a wrecking crew if the smell can’t be conquered.”
“I think I will come out. I mean, I’m curious. Let me make a couple of calls on the way.”
To keep from inhaling poisonous gases, Cooper took up residence on the dock. Even there, he could smell it. He was not entirely surprised when he caught sight of the Sheriff’s Department SUV coming at him, not from the road but right across the beach.
Mac pulled up to the dock and got out. He was wearing his uniform.
“You working?” Cooper asked.
“I’m pretty much always working, but I don’t drive the company car unless I’m in uniform. It’s for official business only. We have rules.” He looked up the steps to the bar and wrinkled his nose. “Hoo, boy.”
“Tell me about it. I never took Ben for a prankster. ‘Here, I’m leaving you all my worldly goods, but you might have to torch it all.’”
“You think the will is legit?” Mac asked.
Cooper pulled a thick document folded into thirds out of his back pocket and handed it to Mac. “You know Lawrence Carnegie?”
“Yup. He’s a lawyer in town. He takes care of some local stuff. I guess Ben hired him.”
“Appears so. I gotta say, I never expected anything like this. Don’t you tell someone if you’re planning to do something like this?”
Mac shrugged. “I have a will and I haven’t told anyone the details, mainly because I don’t want my kids thinking if they kill me in my sleep they’ll get a car or something. My aunt Lou, who’s in charge anyway, is the executor. And hell, I don’t even have anything worth leaving. Do you have a will?”
“Nothing fancy,” he said. “I have savings. It’ll be divided between my nieces and nephews if there’s anything left when I go—I was thinking it could help with college. And no, I never told anyone.”
Mac was flipping through the few pages. “I think I can explain Ben’s reasoning, or at least the history behind this place. Ben’s father was kind of old when Ben came back to Thunder Point. He was sick, had a stroke. That was right before I was transferred here. He was failing.”
“I remember, Ben got out of the Army ten years ago or so to help his dad,” Cooper said. “I heard something about a store here. Obviously he wasn’t real specific....”
“Well, everything was transferred into Ben’s name so that several years later, when his dad passed, there was no will, no probate, and most important, no tax issues.”
Cooper put his hands in his pockets. “How would you know something like that?”
“Purely gossip, I’m afraid,” Mac said. “The talk is that when the old man passed, there were a lot of interested buyers who assumed these hicks who ran a run-down bait shop and bar hadn’t prepared for the worst. The land is worth some money, Cooper. If there hadn’t been a trust or a transfer, the inheritance tax alone could’ve foreclosed Ben, forced him to sell. You know, there are a bunch of little moth-eaten towns around here, but we also have big resorts, the kind that host PGA tournaments or world-class hunting and draw some big money. And this area, oceanfront and five miles of natural beauty to the freeway, is prime for something like that. Something that could improve local economy. There are lots of people in town who wanted Ben to let it go. And, hey, you coming into the property...that might make people happy, assuming you’ll just sell it.”
Cooper reached into his