Wild Action

patiently answering my “bear” questions. I hope all my

Ontario readers come to visit you.

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_ed41cfe7-67a6-5f84-9ed7-169309bc8a38)

Where There’s a Will, There’s a Way

“GOOD CAT,” Nick said, reaching the top of his ladder and swinging onto a main branch of the towering maple. “Good cat”

From above, Blackie peered down with a little cat smirk. Nick took that to mean the beast was contemplating one of its higher-and-higher routines, and the prospect made him swear under his breath.

He wasn’t a superstitious man, so it didn’t really bother him that Blackie made a point of crossing his path on a regular basis. But this trick with the tree was damned annoying—especially since he knew the cat would eventually come down on its own. At least, that’s what the several cat owners he’d asked had told him.

Unfortunately, his next-door neighbor didn’t believe it. Even more unfortunately, Hilda was eighty-three years old and Blackie was the most important thing in her life.

Nick swung up onto a higher branch; Blackie twitched his whiskers and glanced skyward.

“Okay, here’s the deal, cat. You stay right where you are, and I’ll let you out of this with all your nine lives intact.”

Blackie edged farther out on his branch to consider the offer. Nick climbed another foot or two, then tried a quick grab.

The cat managed to hiss, lash out with a paw and scramble backward all at the same time.

Nick checked his hand and saw the beast had drawn blood. Thus far, it was definitely winning this round, so he fixed it with one of his best cop glares. “I’m warning you, I’ve been up all night and I’m in no mood for your games. I need sleep, not exercise.”

Blackie made a low growling noise and arched his back. Nick muttered a few ungentlemanly words in reply. He’d spent the past fifteen hours convincing an escaped con to release his hostage, and he’d done a far better job of negotiating with the man than he was doing with Blackie.

Of course, the con had spoken English. The cat only spoke Meow.

He considered that for a moment. Then, telling himself nobody would ever know, he stared Blackie straight in the eye and hissed loudly.

The cat blinked, looking startled. He recovered in a second, but not before Nick made another grab— and this time lucked out.

Gingerly pulling the squalling animal to his chest, he pinned it with one arm and started back down the tree, thinking that if anyone ever tried to give him so much as a pet rat, he’d take off on the dead run.

“Oh, thank you so much,” Hilda said as he reached the ground and handed Blackie to her. “I don’t know what I’ll do after you move.”

“Well, with any luck your new neighbor will be a tree climber, too.”

He listened absently while Hilda promised him freshly baked cookies, wishing she hadn’t reminded him he was being evicted. He’d been renting this place for six years and he’d be happy to stay for six more. But when an owner decided to sell, the tenant generally had to go.

Once Hilda finished thanking him, Nick escaped into his house—grabbing the morning’s mail from the box and riffling through it as he went.

There was the usual junk, a couple of bills…and a letter from the firm of Evans, Broderick and Rowan, Barristers and Solicitors, in Toronto.

Staring at the return address, he wondered what a law firm in Toronto wanted with a police detective in Edmonton, Alberta. None of the possibilities that popped into his mind appealed to him.

He really wasn’t a superstitious man. But he’d seen bad news come in threes often enough to figure there just might be something to that one. And right now he was at two and counting.

First there’d been the bombshell that he’d have to find a new place to live—which he still hadn’t managed to do, even though time was getting awfully tight.

Then, just last week, the best partner he’d ever had announced he was taking early retirement at the end of the summer. So this letter…

Hell, the way things were going, he was probably being sued. Ripping the envelope open, he unfolded the letter and began reading.

Dear Mr. Montgomery,

I am writing to inform you that your late father’s brother, Augustus Montgomery, passed away on the second of July.

Nick paused to glance at the date on the letter. It had been written on the sixth, ten days ago. Canada Post must have routed it through the Northwest Territories.

Picking up where he’d left off, he continued reading.

His last will and testament names you as his only living relative and the sole beneficiary of his estate, which is primarily comprised of a rural property in Ontario and a company that operates under the name of Wild Action.

Please contact my office at your earliest convenience so that we may proceed with transferring legal ownership of these assets to you.

My direct line is (416) 555-1711.

Yours truly,

William Brown, LL.B.

His heart beating faster than normal, Nick tried to decide whether he should be feeling sad about Gus’s death—finally telling himself there was no reason to.

After all, he’d never even met the man, and he’d certainly never heard a good word about him. Much the opposite, in fact.

During his younger years, Gus had worked in the family business along with Nick’s father and grandfather. Then, one day, he’d vanished, and the others had quickly discovered he’d embezzled a small fortune from the company and left them on the verge of bankruptcy.

Gus had never been heard from again, and it was surprising he’d even known he had a nephew. So why hadn’t he left his estate to a friend? Or to charity?

The obvious answer was that he’d felt guilty and was trying to make restitution. Unless…

Nick skimmed the letter once more, warning himself not to get too excited until he had a few more details. According to the stories his parents used to tell, Gus had been a practical joker as well as a thief. Which meant he could be reaching out from the grave to play a final joke—by leaving Nick property that was worthless and a company mired in debt

There was an easy way to find out, though, so he picked up the phone and dialed Brown’s number, glancing at his watch as he finished. With the time difference, it was already past noon in Toronto, but hopefully the man took late lunches.

“Mr. Brown’s office,” a woman answered.

“Yes. My name’s Nick Montgomery. Mr. Brown asked me to get in touch.”

“Well, he’s in court all day today. But if you’d like to leave your number, he’ll return your call tomorrow.”

Nick swore to himself. He didn’t want to spend the next twenty-four hours wondering exactly what was what

“Are you familiar with the Augustus Montgomery estate?” he tried. “Could I ask you a couple of questions about it?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t have any answers. I’m just filling in for Mr. Brown’s secretary while she’s at lunch. But if you’d like, I could ask one of the other lawyers to speak with you.”