Chapter Three

Somehow, Ash had expected a solicitor's office to be… different. Piles of papers and files on filing cabinets, dusty horsehair wigs, that sort of thing. So she was slightly put out to find that the offices of Daniel J. Snythe Esq. were sleek and smooth and had plate glass windows overlooking the river.

"We don't just hand out inheritances willy-nilly, you know," Snythe said, lifting a bushy eyebrow at her.

"I'm well aware of that," said Ash who hadn't been aware of that at all but thought it was pretty much common sense. After all, you couldn't just go around handing over… things to people.

"So I will need to see your paperwork. A passport will do, a driving license at a pinch."

Ash handed over a folder of documents. "Can you tell me what exactly the inheritance is?" she asked, curiosity burning hot in her stomach.

Just this morning she'd finished a set of accounts and she'd almost let herself be distracted by the thought of this afternoon's meeting. Almost. But Ash didn't daydream, it was a waste of time and she never, ever wasted time.

"Hold your horses," Snythe said, surveying the paperwork she'd provided. He grunted and closed the file. "This was a rather… unusual case," he said, glaring down his nose at Ash.

"Really?" Ash said. She didn't like people glaring at her down their noses. Well, mostly she just didn't like people. They wasted her time and had penchants for small talk, which annoyed her. She had things to do, work, concerts, books to read. Things that didn't require talking about the weather or dogs or whatever it was that people thought was interesting.

"Really."

"Huh. I'd have thought that it was far more unusual for me than for you," she offered. "I mean, I don't inherit things everyday, whereas I assume you deal with inheritances all the time."

He glared harder and she bit her lip. Better not to irritate him too much, she was after his help. On the other hand, she was starting to feel like he might need to be punched. The Germans had a word for that. Backpfeifengesicht. A face in need of a fist. English could do with an equivalent.

"In what way, exactly, is this unusual for you?" he asked.

"Well, there's the fact that you won't tell me what I'm supposed to inherit," she said. Then she shrugged. "And I suppose the fact that I can't think of anyone that's died recently that might want to leave me something."

"Ah, that I can help with," he said, scanning down a document. "Here we go. Mary Wells."

Which enlightened her not at all. "Mary Wells."

"Mmm." He lifted an eyebrow. "Doesn't ring any bells?"

Ash thought hard then shook her head.

"Looks here like she was of a decent age. Perhaps a grandmother, an aunt maybe?"

She narrowed her eyes. Now that he mentioned it, Aunt Mary did sound a little familiar. "Perhaps."

"Well, like I said, we don't just hand out inheritances to anyone that comes knocking," he said, putting down his sheaf of papers. "This is an unusual case in that generally, a person either mentions the familial relationship in the will itself or, in most cases, there is an extended family to provide answers. In this case, neither of those things happened." He grunted again. "Which is what happens when one writes a will on the back of an envelope and doesn't employ a solicitor."

"It's on an envelope?" Ash asked, worried now that she was wasting her time.

"Don't worry, girl, it's all legal. Signed and witnessed."

Ash decided that if he called her girl again she would punch him. "So what makes you think that I'm the person in question then?"

"We do our research," he said grandly. "Wells is your surname, so there's a start. But a birthname isn't enough in cases like this, obviously. However, according to the electoral role you were born and lived in Ecclestown, Kent."

"Right."

"As did Mary Wells at an overlapping point. Furthermore, both she and your father, a Mr. Allan Wells, were born in the Queen Elizabeth University Hospital, Glasgow, which adds another layer of respectability to your claim." He did the looking down his nose thing again. "I would suggest that you question your father. His sister, perhaps."

"If I knew where he was, I might," Ash answered. Her father had left her mother when Ash herself had been less than two years old. She'd never spent time wondering why or where he was. She didn't particularly care.

"Your mother then?"

Her mother was busy eating guinea pigs in Peru or tangoing in Patagonia and was therefore unreachable. Ash shrugged. "I suppose I'll just have to take your word for it."

"That would be advisable," Snythe sniffed. He fumbled with another file.

Aunt Mary. Auntie Mary. Now that she thought of it, she was sure there'd been an aunt there somewhere. She could even almost conjure up a picture of her. A cap of unnaturally dark hair and a scent of something too strong and alcoholic smelling. She sat forward in her chair. "So, the will?"

Snythe frowned at her, then returned his attention back to the paper in his hand. "Let's see then. Ah, yes, it appears that you have been left… a bookshop."

A BOOKSHOP? WHAT was she supposed to do with a bookshop? Ash stared at the map on her computer screen. According to Snythe, the obvious thing to do was to visit her inheritance, which, given that she had yet to sign the papers wasn't technically hers yet.

So perhaps she shouldn't waste her time.

Tetherington was by the sea though, which had a lot to offer. Ash liked the sea, liked walking down long isolated beaches. She could, perhaps, do with a break, getting out of London for a while. She could work from anywhere, so that wasn't a problem.

She was, she admitted, curious about the bookshop. She was more curious about Mary Wells, whoever she'd been. But there was one huge factor that was weighing into her current decision. Today was Wednesday.

Tomorrow was Thursday.

She clicked over to a new tab and started the process of renting a car. A car would waste less time than the train and she'd be independent, which was important to her. And by this time tomorrow she would have some idea of what this inheritance business was all about.

Property was a sensible investment, she thought as she filled out her credit card information on the site. But then again, house prices were at a high, so she might be better off selling the place and investing elsewhere. Rental properties required management and she wasn't willing to add to her list of things to do.

She finished the rental process and stood up, time to pack.

It took her precisely thirty minutes to pack. She then ate a healthy and balanced dinner of Pot Noodle and microwaved broccoli, spent half an hour watching the news, took a shower, read her latest book and turned out the lights by eleven.

Before she fell asleep she found herself wondering just what kind of person ran a bookshop. Then what the bookshop would look like. Then whether or not one sold whole bookshops or had to sell the books first and then the shop. Which all resulted in a troubled night's sleep plagued by dreams of books falling off shelves onto customers' heads.

When the alarm went off, Ash woke up, made coffee, ate muesli, showered again, and was tugging her suitcase out of her front door exactly forty five minutes later.

Which was just in time to see Amanda Brown open her own front door to see one of her blonde children off to school

"Oh," said Amanda. "This is unexpected."

Ash, who had been planning on knocking on Amanda's door anyway and who was pleased with the added efficiency of her already being out and saving her the knock, nodded. "Very unexpected," she said seriously. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to water the plants."

"I see," said Amanda. "But it's Thursday."

Ash let herself smile a little. "Yes," she agreed. She forced herself to look serious again. "So I won't be able to make dinner tonight, I'm afraid."

Amanda squinted at her as though testing to see if she was serious.

"Death in the family," Ash added. Technically true.

"Oh dear," said Amanda, looking suitably consoling. "I'm so sorry. Don't worry about dinner, obviously."

"Thank you," said Ash who hadn't been worrying about dinner, at least not since she'd realized that going to Tetherington to see the bookshop would give her an excellent excuse to miss dinner.

"We'll just reschedule for when you get back," Amanda said brightly. "I've got your key, I'll take care of the plants. And my condolences to your family."

For just a second Ash seriously considered not coming back at all. That way she'd be sure to avoid an excruciating evening of baby pictures and talking about Amanda's husband's job. Ash could never remember what exactly it was he did.

"I'd, um, better be off," Ash said, pulling at her suitcase. "Don't want to get there too late."

"Right, yes, of course. Have a safe trip." said Amanda. "And do knock when you get home."

"Mmm," said Ash, which she hoped conveyed both the positive answer that Amanda was looking for and the truth which was that she had no intention of ever knocking on the Brown's door ever again if she could help it.

She carried her case down the stairs and out into the early spring sunshine perfectly on time for her pick up at the car rental office. Then it was the matter of a couple of hours of driving and she'd be in Tetherington in time for lunch.

She'd probably even have time to get a little work done this afternoon and maybe take a walk by the sea. After all, how much attention could a bookshop really need?