The Dream Thief by Kerry Schafer Page A

her death and I have zero interest in discussing her life and times. You sent me a letter that you wanted to meet with me. I'll sign whatever I need to sign, and then I have other things that need to be done."
    For a long moment she looked at me, her face giving nothing away. "Perhaps I was wrong; you really don't resemble her at all." Reaching into a drawer she drew out a folder, opened it, and turned it around to face me. "Sign where the tabs indicate, please."
    All I wanted was to be out of that office. Away from the cloying scent of roses, away from this woman who seemed to hold my mother in some regard. The pain had reached the stage where it felt like a metal band clamped around my brain, and the words I was trying to read swam before my eyes. I needed time to think, but if I didn't hurry up I was going to be incapacitated before I'd found out what I needed to know.
    Jenny handed me the pen. I'd already started signing when a thought that had been nagging at me all day shook loose from the muddle in my head and came clear.
    Â I stopped mid signature and laid down the pen. "How did you find me?"
    "It's not so difficult to track somebody down when you need them, Jesse."
    Â "That's not an answer."
    It was also a lie. I'd been gone for ten years and got around a fair bit during that time, taking care to stay off the grid as much as possible. A determined PI could find anybody, I suppose, given enough time and connections, but an attorney needed a damn good reason to persist to that extent.
    "It's all the answer you're going to get. Now—were you going to sign the papers? Or do you need me to go through them with you?"
    "Just give me a minute." Pain or no pain, this time I was going to read before I signed.
    I squinted my eyes to make the words hold still, and waded in. The legal language was convoluted and misdirecting, but beneath all that the gist of things seemed pretty straightforward. My mother was leaving me everything she owned. This included the house and property, as I'd already been told. And also any bank accounts, possessions, or debts.
    That stopped me. "Wait a minute. What debts?"
    Jenny's eyes behind her half glasses gleamed with an emotion I couldn't read. "It's standard legal language in these cases."
    "And I'm asking a standard legal question. She had debts?"
    "Not debts, as such. Projects in need of completion, you might say."
    "And if she wills her projects to me they are legally mine? As in, I'm obligated to take care of them?"
    "True, I'm afraid."
    I leaped to my feet, the chair skittering away from me on the hardwood floor. "That's total bullshit! What happens if I don't sign?"
    "The signature is a formality, really. You inherit whether you want it or not. You can always sell or confer on somebody else."
    "Fine. I confer this—project—to somebody else."
    "Jesse, I recognize that all of this must be difficult for you—"
    "Look—I need to go now. I'm not signing anything until I have time to think."
    "Fine. But I am obligated to give you this. You can do whatever you wish with it."
    Â She reached into a different drawer and held out a small key. It was plain and ordinary, too small to be a house or a car key. The silver on the wards had worn a little with use.
    "What is it?"
    "Safe deposit box. Go to the Credit Union and ask for Bev. She's expecting you."
    "What's in there, Jenny? Part of this 'project'?"
    "I have no idea. She didn't confide in me. How old were you when she left town?"
    "Ten."
    "Right. Well—she showed up here last winter. Said she wouldn't be long and it wasn't worth it to evict the renters. She moved into an apartment—"
    My head now felt like a giant hand had reached in through my skull and was squeezing my brain in a death grip. I was running out of time. "Listen—I really don't care. I don't care what happened to her, and don't need to hear about her last known movements. I came home because I care about the house and the land. That's it. So