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for the past two years, and I love it."
    "Now that sounds like Dad," Jeremy whispered.
    Allison nodded. She found herself nodding an awful lot the rest of the week. In the end, she was glad she had stayed—her mother had been right, of course. One of the more important things she learned was that many people come by to make themselves feel better about a sudden tragedy. The whole week had struck her as an odd combination of voyeurism and real shock, but the experience of actively mourning did lend itself to a shared sense of grief that she found surprisingly helpful. She also learned that tuna casserole can be made in a myriad of ways—all of them awful.
     
     

Chapter 4
    Herbert Woods peered kindly at them over his glasses. “I'm very sorry for your loss, Vivienne, Ms. Ross, is there anyone else that is supposed to be present for the reading of the will?”
    “Thank you, but no, it’s just us,” Allison responded as she pointed to her mother and herself. Jeremy had an emergency and her mother did not wish to include Uncle Martin and his son, Bradley, in this very private moment.
    Everything went smoothly until the lawyer handed a property deed to Allison.
    “What’s this for?”
    “It’s for the summer house in Maine,” he responded.
    Allison sat frozen for a moment. “I can't believe this is happening! I thought that was sold after, um, after Uncle Joey died?” She looked at her mother.
    “No, your father always meant for you to have it.”
    “I don’t want it. Sell it.” She directed her attention to Mr. Woods.
    “I’m afraid I can’t do that Ms. Ross.”
    “Oh, of course, there’s probably a stipulation that says I have to hold onto it for a year before it can be sold.”
    Mr. Woods nodded in response
    She turned toward her mother accusingly, “And you knew about this.”
    “Yes." Her mother looked uncomfortable. "We'll discuss this later, now is not the time."
    "This is exactly the time—we're here now with a lawyer."
    “There’s one more thing.” The lawyer interrupted as he drew their attention back to himself. “Since you were named executor of your father’s estate, your first order of business is to find a replacement for your father as CEO of RossAir Industries."
    “Me? I don’t know the first thing about the business,” Allison protested.
    “Your father drew up a list of excellent candidates,” he said as he handed her an envelope.
    She opened it and looked at it quizzically, “My name is on this list.”
    “Indeed.”
    “Mother, what do you know about this?” Allison demanded.
    “Honey, let’s not take up anymore of Herbert’s time. There will be plenty of opportunities to discuss this. A decision doesn’t have to be made immediately.”
    The two of them silently left Mr. Woods' local office in West Nyack and went out into the sun-lit street.
    "Mom!" she exclaimed as she rubbed her temple. "All of this is crazy! I didn't know Dad still held onto the cottage. And me as CEO? Is that some kind of joke?"
    Two men interrupted her rant, introducing themselves and flashing their badges.
    “I’m Detective Robert Fitzsimons and this is my partner Detective Larry Notis. Mrs. Ross, we stopped at the house and your sister told us you might be here. We’re sorry to bother you at a time like this, but we have a few questions regarding the accident that claimed your husband’s life.” They directed their inquiry toward Vivienne Ross and gestured to a bench outside the building.
    “Was there anyone who had a grudge against your husband? Maybe a business deal that fell through or something of that nature?” Det. Fitzsimons began.
    “Nothing comes to mind, Detective,” Vivienne responded.
    “Was your husband visibly upset or distracted on the day of or the days prior to the accident?” It was Detective Notis’ turn.
    Vivienne paused for a minute as she rubbed her forehead, “He did come home unusually late from work that day."
    "Did he say why?" the detective asked.
    "No,