Drawing Close: The Fourth Novel in the Rosemont Series Read Free Page B

his
steps to the cramped work space. At least he knew what he was searching for. He
turned to the first file on top of the stack. Although the estate of Hector
Martin was large, its administration had been fairly straightforward. The bulk
of his liquid assets had been bequeathed to a mix of a few local charities and
the American Red Cross. Rosemont—and enough money to maintain it in
perpetuity—had been left to Hector’s living heirs. Haynes leaned back in
his chair. He had to prove that he was a living heir and that Paul Martin had
concealed that fact.
    He struck gold in the fourth file he went through.
The file contained an affidavit from the first attorney to administer the
estate—one Roger Spenser—attesting to the fact that he had
personally made a thorough search of the public records and found no evidence
of any other living heirs of Hector Martin. The date recited in the affidavit
was the day after the fire.
    Haynes pulled out the affidavit and went to the
counter to secure a copy. He now knew what his next move would be. He would
arrange a face-to-face meeting with Spenser. He needed the attorney’s written
statement that Paul Martin paid him to remove his mother’s birth certificate
from the public records so that Martin could establish his claim as the only living
relative of Hector Martin.

Chapter 5
    Maggie and John ambled along Chapel
Street, admiring the architecture and enjoying the balmy day. After yesterday’s
expedition to Land’s End and hike along the wind-swept cliffs, it was nice to
mosey along at a leisurely pace. They’d spent the morning poking in and out of
shops and galleries along Market Jew Street.
    John pointed to the small storefront of a quaint
tea shop just ahead. “Are you game? Or are you going to point to my waistline
and recommend we pass?”
    “Your waistline? I need to be worried about mine.
I’m beyond caring at this point. We’re on our honeymoon. When will we ever get
real Devon cream again?”
    “Exactly.” He held the door open for her.
    A pretty young woman showed them to a table next
to the window. They placed their order for a full cream tea and sank into plush
armchairs that showed the right amount of wear to be inviting without being
down-at-heel. They scooted themselves close to a round table dressed in a crisp
linen cloth.
    Penzance was busy during the summer holiday and
they watched tourists and tradespeople pass by the window. The waitress brought
their sandwiches, scones, and sweets on a tiered china server.
    Maggie studied the flowered pattern of the china
as she placed a sandwich on John’s plate and selected one for herself.
    “I know that look, Mrs. Allen,” John said. “You’ll
be wanting to know the name of that pattern, and we’ll be searching for one of
these thingies,” he said, tapping the server, “as soon as we get out of here.”
    Maggie smiled at him. Even though she had decided
not to change her name, she loved hearing “Mrs. Allen” on his lips. She pointed
to the divided porcelain dish that held jam on one side and thick Devon cream
on the other. “We’ll be needing one of these, too.”
    “I’d better fortify myself,” he said as he tucked
into the food. “I’m not complaining, but I don’t think you can call these tiny
things sandwiches.” He consumed a small round of fresh white bread topped with
cucumber and cheese in one bite.
    “You were expecting a sandwich like you would get
at a deli?”
    John shrugged. “All I’m saying is that if you’re
really hungry and want a sandwich, afternoon tea isn’t your best bet.”
    “Fair enough,” Maggie replied. She placed a silver
tea strainer onto his cup and poured strong black tea from the delicate china
teapot. She followed suit with her own cup and reached for a blueberry scone.
“What is it they told us? In Devon they put the cream on first and then the
jam, but in Cornwall they start with strawberry jam and finish with clotted
cream?”
    “I think we should try