The Survival Game by Tim Wynne-Jones

Author:Tim Wynne-Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Usborne Publishing Ltd
Published: 2015-05-31T16:00:00+00:00

19 THE PLAN

The next day there was work to do and Bea wasn’t around much, not so you could take her aside and look her in the eye.

The shop needed a major clean-up, so Burl found himself on his own pushing a broom. He imagined his mother fifteen years younger working in a motel on the Trans-Canada. The fantasy failed when he tried to imagine her actually talking to the Maestro. Maybe they would just have taken a lot of Valium together.

Palmateer came by around five as the sun was setting. “She wants you up to the house,” he said.

Bea was in a study off her living room. She was staring at her desk in a satisfied way. She picked up what was sitting there and brought it over to him for his inspection.

“Take a gander at this,” she said.

It was a photograph of Gow when he was a teenager. It was in colour, snipped from some magazine. His hair flopped over his forehead; his eyes were fiercely concentrating on something.

Burl knew he could look that way. He had seen his eyes staring back at himself in a mirror with that unwavering look. He studied the picture hard.

Then he handed it back to her. Maybe there was a bit of a smile on his face. A bit of longing that wanted to burrow right into those features. Bea seemed pleased with his reaction.

“Here’s what I’m suggesting.” Burl sat where she pointed, a low chair by the window. “I’ll advance you the money to get down to Toronto.” She said this as if Burl had driven a hard bargain but she had finally caved in.

“What?” he said. “Why?”

“Do you want Ghost Lake or not?”

“Yes…I mean…well, yes.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Bea. “Because this is going to take some backbone, kid.” She sat at her swivel chair, crossed her knees and leaned back. “I’d fly you down if I weren’t so busy. But, in a way, it’s best you go yourself.”

“But I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“I did a little digging,” she said. “Gow usually paid for his shipments in cash. But the last charter, he used his credit card. You following me so far?”

Burl managed a half-hearted nod.

“So anyway, I phone up the credit-card folks and I spin them a little fib, say I’ve got a problem. I tell them I just finished making a big haul of supplies when I find out my client has died. So what am I supposed to do? They try to tell me it’ll all be dealt with and I tell them I’m sure it will but I ain’t planning on waiting ’til Christmas to see if it’s under my tree, you know what I mean?

“Well, the long and short of it is, they got me the address of Gow’s attorney.” Seeing no acknowledgement of a shared victory on Burl’s face, Bea continued. “That means the estate: the folks you’re going to have to introduce yourself to if you want what’s yours.”

Burl looked hard at Bea. He had wrestled with his conscience all day, but now he found his mind drifting to other matters.

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