Page 11 of Found Objects

“You have bur oaks on three sides, and at the front are two Rocky Mountain junipers that are somehow growing together over the entrance.”

“Yes. Is there a question in there?”

“All those trees, as a rule, don’t even grow in this region,” he said, casting me a suspicious look.

“That’s true. Several of my ancestors brought them back as saplings from their travels. Do you have an interest in dendrology?”

“Not really, I’m just a fan of how the trees have been specifically planted. I mean, I can’t imagine that even in the winter months, with large accumulations of snow, there’s much out here or in the courtyard.”

He would be correct. “We still get a skip now and then.”

“Skip?”

“A dusting, you know.”

“I have to tell you,” Fletcher said, “I can’t wait to bring my mother and my aunts. It’s like an oasis. The windows looking into the courtyard from three sides are really beautiful.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“It is, yes,” Justin said. “But how is that collection of trees, and all these different—you have slate on the sides toward that stream in the back, and I know basalt when I see it, and⁠—”

“Are you a geologist?” I grinned.

His breath caught, and then he exhaled slowly. “Those are more hobbies. I’m a lawyer and oversee the legal aspects of the pack’s business dealings. The Swann Group buys and sells property all over the country. I’m excellent at getting what I want in negotiations.”

“I’m sure you are.” What else was I supposed to say to that? And now he was looking at me like it was my turn to say something. “Your father named his business after himself?”

“It was actually my great-grandfather.” He chuckled, taking a step closer to me. “He was the one with the inflated ego.”

I nodded. “So your father…?”

“Abel Swann.”

“He’s not a third?”

“No. That was my uncle, Anson Swann the Third, the firstborn, who passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, it was ages ago. After he died, my father took over the company, and steered the business in a very profitable direction, as well as growing our pack.”

Which was great and everything, but I had more important questions for him. “May I ask what makes any of you want to relocate to the middle of nowhere?”

All three men suddenly went quiet.

“I heard from a member of my staff that you were from New York,” I said to Justin, “is that right?”

“Yes,” he rasped.

Something bad had happened.

“I’m sorry.” I took a step back. “I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s—” Justin cleared his throat. “Six months ago now, we lost three members of our pack to three different regrettable, avoidable accidents.”

He explained to me that a college-aged student had died from a drug overdose, a young girl had been kidnapped and found murdered, and a toddler had been struck by a car.

“I’m so sorry,” I said to them.