Alice nodded. “That’s the mark carved into the lintel stone over the hearth at the Roost.”
“What’s a lintel stone?” Greg asked, a clue that maybe he shouldn’t be president of a historic preservation board.
Alice supplied the answer. “The lintel stone is a long slab of rock that spans the top of the fireplace in the main room out at the Roost. It supports the chimney above it.”
“And this same squiggly mark is carved into the stone at the Roost?” Greg asked.
“Exactlythe same!” Alice said. “It’s a little doodle at the top right of the stone. Most people think it was a simple decoration or a bit of graffiti. I think the Helga referenced in this letter somehow made her way to Virginia and may have even lived at the Roost. I think she is the source of the legend of Saint Helga’s Spring.”
General Epstein tossed the paper onto the coffee table. “Women don’t really believe that nonsense, do they?”
According to the legend, women who had difficulty conceiving a child should head down to the spring located behind the Roost at dawn. They were to stand on the rickety old pier that stretched into the water, and recite the Lord’s Prayer five times while facing the sunrise. Over the years, hundreds of women claimed to have conceived a child after visiting the spring.
“I have a cousin who tried for years to have a baby and nothing worked,” Daisy said. “She went to see the sunrise over Saint Helga’s Spring, and sure enough, she got pregnant the next month.”
The men in the room all looked mildly amused, but this was serious business for Alice . . . not because she believed the legend, but because her career could depend on discovering its origin. Her best chance of winning tenure had ended disastrously in London, but finding the source behind the legend of Saint Helga could be her salvation. It meant she could publishher findings in an academic journal and prove her scholarly merit to the college.
“This letter was written in 1672,” Alice said. “That’s thirty-three years before the Tuckers bought the Roost in 1705. I think that building is older than any of us know, and Helga was a real person. I need time to study the Roost with new eyes, and without Jack Latimer ruining the property. He’s left trash all over the place that’s attracting rodents and pests. I’d like him evicted until I can complete my study.”
Daisy pursed her lips, looking interested for the first time. “It’s private property, Alice. Jack and my husband have a business arrangement to let him stay there for free. We don’t have any grounds to meddle with that.”
Alice’s salvation came from an unlikely source. Greg McGarity’s knowledge of real estate law was deep, and his voice was laden with concern. “I’m not sure the Tuckers have the authority to let anyone live there. The Roost isn’t fit for habitation and it’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. According to Arlo, college kids dare each other to break into the place every Halloween. What if one of them tries to light a fire and burns the place down? The Roost is a temptation to vagrants and college kids, and the county could get sued for ignoring the danger it represents.”
Arlo straightened in his chair, adjusting his spectacles. “I suppose we could use the condition of the building as a means of getting him out in the short term. That will give us time to complete an inspection and search for anything of historic interest.”
Relief threaded through Alice’s spine. Reason and respect for history had won the day, at least in the short term. “So are we agreed?” she asked. “We’ll apply for emergency protection and keep the structure safe until I can determine if the building warrants landmark status.”
“We need to have a vote,” Daisy pointed out. She had gone back to filing her nails, and her expression was inscrutable.
Greg called for a vote. “All in favor of applying for an eviction while Professor Chadwick investigates the Roost for historic landmark status, raise their hand.”
Alice shot her hand into the air. So did the three men. Daisy continued filing her nails, the rasp a little louder than before. It was the only sound of her displeasure, and Alice feared their friendship might take a hit.
And yet, she’d won a chance to solve a mystery and hopefully save her career.
Chapter Five
“Are you sure you have nobody?” the lawyer asked. “No family? No close friends?”
Heat crawled up Jack’s neck, but he kept his face impassive. He hadn’t come to this swanky lawyer’s office to bare his soul to Ms. Lancaster, the estate attorney he picked out of an internet search. All he wanted was to get his will revised and signed.
He shot out of the chair to pace around the glass-and-steel office. A bank of windows overlooked the leafy greenspace of the town square below, but inside everything was as sleek and modern as the iMac sitting on the attorney’s tempered-glass desk.
“I don’t trust anyone to manage my affairs except someone I’m paying,” he said, hoping Ms. Lancaster would quit poking into his personal life.
Not too long ago, Jack was legitimately filthy rich after twelve years of building golf courses all over the world. Now he was gambling it all to complete the Tucker’s Grove Golf Course, the jewel in his crown. The Tucker family’s ailing finances offered Jack the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to actuallyownpart of a spectacular golf course instead of merely designing it. Rather than accepting a final payment and walking away, Jack would collect revenue from Tucker’s Grove in perpetuity. He’d have the freedom to continue his nomadic lifestyle designing golf courses to whoever paid him the most, but income from Tucker’s Grove would provide a financial safety net for the rest of his life.
Owning a partial stake in the golf course meant he needed to revise his will and appoint someone to manage the business in the event of his death. Teresa Gutierrez, the woman who would inherit everything, wasn’t the sort of person who could manage a golf course.
“Paying for long-term management will be costly and eat into your principal,” Ms. Lancaster cautioned.
“I want to designate my lawyer in New York to serve as the estate executor.”
Ms. Lancaster shifted uneasily. “Attorneys don’t always make the best executors,” she said. “Given that your estate will have an ongoing interest in a golf course, I think you’d be better served by having a trusted family member involved to ensure its viability.”
Why did she have to keep pushing this? He didn’t have any family and he never stayed in one place long enough to make lasting friendships. Cancer killed his mother when he was eleven, and an alcoholic father abandoned Jack into the foster care system a few years later. None of those foster homes workedout so well, and he ran away for good when he was fifteen, so no … there wasn’t anyone he trusted to administer an estate.
“No friends, no family,” he said tersely. “If this isn’t the sort of work you can handle, tell me now and I’ll find another attorney.”
