Читать книгу One Smooth Stone - Marcia Lee Laycock - Страница 4

Alex heard the boat, but couldn’t see it. He took his binoculars down from a nail on the wall and walked to the bank. Making sure he was screened by the low-slung branches of a spruce tree, he scanned upriver. He caught the long outboard, skimming with the current about a mile down. Adjusting the focus, he peered at the two people crouched in the back. He knew the one with his hand on the motor—the son of the town mechanic. Alex couldn’t remember his name. Probably hired himself out to the man in the suit.

The suit was hunched into himself, a large leather briefcase clutched in his arms, his knees drawn up, head down. His tie escaped now and then, flapping in the wind with sudden urgency until he caught it and tucked it in again. The sight of a man in a suit on the river was so out of context that Alex kept watching until the boat veered and headed directly toward him. He lowered the binoculars and squinted as it beached just below his cabin. Within seconds the men were out of sight, but he knew they were scrambling up the embankment. They missed the trail. He considered slipping into the bush and pretending not to be there, but his curiosity got the better of him. He went back into the cabin and waited.

As the two men breached the top of the slope Alex’s dogs erupted into high-pitched howls. The suit hesitated, peered around, and seeing the animals were chained, approached the cabin. Alex stepped back from the window and waited for the knock. When he opened the door he took in several things at once: the man looked young, no older than Alex himself, but smaller in stature. He was wiping his face with a handkerchief, but wasn’t breathing hard from the climb. His hair was the color of sand and short, spiked at the front, reminding Alex of a small porcupine he’d seen that week. The man’s eyes weren’t visible behind dark sunglasses, but Alex had the feeling he was being sized up in return.

“Mr. Donnelly? Alexander Donnelly?”

Alex kept one hand on the door latch, shoved the other into his jeans pocket, and willed his heart to stop racing. “Who’s asking?”

The man yelled over the barking. “I’m George Bronsky, of Adams, Ferrington, Lithgow and Bolt, attorneys at law, Seattle.”

When Alex didn’t respond the lawyer slipped off his sunglasses. “You’re a hard man to track down, Mr. Donnelly.”

The dogs continued their cacophony. Alex just stared. Bronsky stared back. Alex blinked first. He stepped out, turned his head and hollered, “Lie down!” When the barking subsided he turned back to the lawyer. “State your business, Mr. Bronsky.”

“I have some good news for you.” He glanced past Alex into the interior of the cabin and took a step. “If you’ll allow me.…”

Alex didn’t move. “I said state your business.”

Bronsky shifted the briefcase and slipped the glasses into his pocket. His head turned slightly to the young man standing behind him. “I suggest we speak in private.”

Alex tilted his head toward the mechanic’s son. “Mind waiting in the boat? This won’t take long.”

The young man shrugged and turned away.

Bronsky cleared his throat again and lifted his chin. “I’m pleased to inform you that you’re the recipient of an inheritance, Mr. Donnelly. Quite a substantial inheritance, in fact, and my law firm would very much like to—”

“You’ve got the wrong guy.” Alex turned his back on the man and stepped into the cabin.

Bronsky stepped forward. “You just turned twenty-one, isn’t that right?”

Alex glanced back. “So?”

“So this sum has been held in trust until your twenty-first birthday, which—”

“My parents died when I was a baby.”

Bronsky nodded. “I know.” Digging a sheet out of the briefcase he kept his eyes on Alex. “You were born in Seattle. Your birthday was three weeks ago.” He glanced at the paper. “July 30, wasn’t it?”

Alex hesitated for another moment, then turned and pushed the door wide. “That much I know,” he said. “Watch your head.”

Bronsky ducked under the doorframe and entered the dim room. Alex watched him take it in: the rough wood table, one chair, and the small bed in the back corner; the large worn chair by the barrel stove in the other corner; the wall lined with shelves holding his few items of clothing and a number of books. Alex was suddenly aware of the smell– wood smoke with a strong overlay of tobacco, sweat and animal musk.

Bronsky placed the briefcase on the table, flipped it open, and began removing papers. “I’ll need to see a birth certificate. Then we’ll need your signature to certify that you’ve been notified. You’ll have to come to our offices and sign the rest of the papers, and be sure to bring a bank account number where the funds can be deposited.” Alex felt his neck stiffen when Bronsky lifted his head and looked at him. “Uh...you do have a bank account?”

“Yeah, I have a bank account.” He took a step toward the table. “This inheritance—where’d it come from?”

Bronsky blinked. “Your parents.…”

Alex shook his head. “If my parents left me money, why didn’t I know about it before now? You sure you’ve got the right guy?”

“Well,” Bronsky read from the paper in his hand, “are you Alexander Gabriel Donnelly, born Alexander Gabriel Perrin, 6:45 a.m., July 30, 1982 at Virginia Mason Hospital, Seattle, Washington? Is that you?”

Alex cocked his head. “I know I was born in Seattle, but—”

“Mother’s name Janis Marie Perrin, father’s name Thomas Allan Perrin?”

“I never knew their names.” Alex’s voice was so low Bronsky leaned toward him, holding out the sheet of paper.

Alex took it, stared at it, and scratched his dark beard. “This can’t be me.” He laid the page on the table.

Bronsky sighed. “Do you have a birth certificate here?”

Alex stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”

Bronsky raised his eyebrows. “You were adopted in 1985?”

“Yeah, when I was three.”

“Their names were Christopher and Anna Donnelly?”

Alex nodded. “They died when I was five.”

“That fits. Do you have any documents from the adoption?”

“No.”

Bronsky pursed his lips. “Child Welfare in Vancouver must still have them. We’ll have to verify everything, of course, but….” George smiled. “Congratulations, Mr. Donnelly. I think it’s safe to say you’re about to inherit one million U.S. dollars.”

Alex’s head jerked up. “What?”

Bronsky chuckled. “I thought that might get your attention. It appears your biological parents were rather wealthy. I believe the original amount was considerably less, but some good investments were made and interest does accumulate over twenty-one years.”

Alex shook his head. A hank of black hair fell into his eyes. He pushed it away. “But that’s...that doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Bronsky chuckled again and reached into his briefcase. “It makes dollars. Lots of them.” He handed Alex another sheet of paper, then pointed to a line on the bottom. “Now, if you’ll sign here please I’d like to get back to Dawson as soon as possible.”

Alex stared at the paper. He took the pen the lawyer held out, but didn’t move to sign it.

Bronsky straightened. “Go ahead and read it for yourself. All it says is that you’ve been informed.”

Alex picked it up and moved toward the window. He read it twice, then signed.

Bronsky handed him a business card. “Here’s our office address, our phone number and my extension. Call if you need anything. We’ll be glad to help.” The lawyer shifted the flap of his briefcase until it closed with the soft click of the magnetic clasp. “Uh, it would be expedient if you could arrange to come to Seattle as soon as possible. We’ve been looking for you for over six months and we’d really like to close this file.”

Alex stared at the card.

“Mr. Donnelly?”

He lifted his head and frowned. “I’ve never been to Seattle. Been back, I mean.”

“We’d be happy to make all the arrangements. How soon can you be ready to leave?”

“I don’t know.” Alex looked down at the paper again. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

Alex shrugged off the surprise in the lawyer’s voice. “Maybe.”

“Oh. Well, fine, that would be fine. I’ll see if I can make the arrangements this afternoon then. I guess that means we could travel together, at least to Whitehorse, if there’s a seat on the plane. It leaves at 1:15 so we should meet somewhere, say at 11:00? I’m staying at the Downtown Hotel.”

“I’ll have to arrange something for my dogs. If I can go, I’ll be at the Downtown at 11:00.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

Alex heard the boat motor roar as it pulled away from the shore and fought the current upstream. He looked around. For a moment nothing seemed familiar, nothing seemed real. He picked up the papers the lawyer had left, scanned them, then tried to read more carefully. The legalese got in the way. Tossing them down he ran a hand through his tangle of black hair and sighed. The last thing he wanted was to go anywhere near a city, but.… He pulled the papers toward him again and slid a callused finger over the smooth words. Janis Marie Perrin. Thomas Allan Perrin.

Slumped in the chair Alex let his mind search into corners he’d closed off long ago. A small boy sitting on a bench, his thin fingers outlining initials carved into the wooden arm. Swinging his legs over the edge, he made sure they didn’t bump and make noise as he listened to the voices of strangers coming through the half-open door.

“This one must have a black cloud. Twice in five years! Who’d wanna be number three?” The man’s voice sounded tired.

“He’s a cute little guy, though.” The woman’s softer voice was hopeful. “Maybe they’ll find somebody willing to take him.”

“A five year old? Not very likely.” The man sighed. “Well, he’s off to Clareshome for now. They can hold him and deal with the paperwork while he goes into the system. I’m swamped. There’s some legal stuff here from his biological parents. Perkins. That’s the name, right?”

“Something like that. His legal name is Donnelly now. Wonder how many more times it’ll change before he grows up?”

And there he was, that small boy being led down a long hallway by the clutching hand of a stranger.

He stood, hunched his shoulders against the memories that slipped like slivers of ice through his veins, and turned away from the table. That was then. Stay in today, Donnelly. Stay in today. He took a long-handled axe down from beside the door and went outside. The cold bite of late August air hit him like a slap, but he breathed it in and deliberately turned his thoughts toward preparations for winter. His wood supply was getting low. There wasn’t much left to split, but he fell into it with an easy familiar rhythm. It was the kind of work he loved—physical and mindless.

But now his mind wouldn’t stop. Questions swirled one upon another like small whirlwinds stirring up everything in their path. And in the midst of them two names glowed like red-hot brands. Two names he’d always wondered about.

He stopped, pulled off his T-shirt, and used it to wipe the sweat from his face and the back of his neck. His hand brushed the scar that ran down his neck from the base of his right ear. He tilted his head as though to hide it and dropped the hand quickly.

Resting the axe against the chopping block Alex left the wood where it lay and went back into the cabin. He stared again at the papers. He was tempted to toss them into the stove. I don’t need this. I don’t want it. It’s too dangerous to go back. But what if...?

He picked up the documents. It was then he realized his hands were shaking.