Chapter 1

  Izak Frey woke to coffee dripping into his favorite mug, which was chipped after an angry client tried throwing it at his head. If it wasn't bad enough, his cases had dwindled to finding lost pets. Now, it looked like those would dry up as well.

  As a true pessimist, he started his day checking for new reviews and then email. It was equivalent to people beginning their mornings by reading obituaries.

  ★☆☆☆☆ Do not hire Izak Frey. He is a horrible detective. The man can't even tell the difference between a skunk and a ferret. It's amazing he can find his front door. Seriously, he's that bad.

  One star! I deserve at least two. I mean, really, who can tell a skunk from a ferret? Can anyone fault me?

  He tried to sit up, and the lumps of his office couch hit him from the small of his back to his left kidney. When he stretched, the smell reminded him that it had been days since his last shower. The pounding on his door was either a client or the landlord wanting her back rent. The knock sounded angry. Izak chose not to answer it.

  The knock came again, and then it sounded like a piece of paper slid under the door, scraping across a floor in need of a good sweeping or a power wash. The paper meant the second eviction notice, so there is no need to check.

  Izak opened his email. There was something from a lawyer. Not a good sign. Could some ungrateful client be suing him? His last real client threatened to sue. That was all a misunderstanding. Who with the name of Taylor with an "o" would marry someone named Tayler with an "e"? He followed the wrong spouse. Long story short. They were both cheating, and the client claims Izak took the pictures of the wrong spouse and sent them to the wrong Tayler. Oops. The divorce didn't end in Taylor's—with an o—favor.

  For a moment, Izak toyed with the idea of deleting the email rather than reading it. Someone can't sue you if you don't know about it. Right? From experience, he knew bad news tends to grow rather than go away. It's better to know the truth now.

  Dear Mr. Izak Frey,

  My name is Ephraim O. Bellamy. I represent your great-granduncle, Malcolm Frey. It has taken me a year to track you down. You are the sole heir of Malcolm Frey's business and the contents of his estate. The shop is yours immediately upon acceptance. The rest of the estate will be yours upon fulfilling a list of items over the next year. Please contact my secretary at your earliest convenience to arrange the transfer of the shop and key to the premises. If we have not heard from you, the shop and estate will go up for auction at the end of the month.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  Best regards,

  Ephraim O. Bellamy Esq.

  Izak read the email three times before he took it all in. Uncle Malcolm? Maybe it sounded vaguely familiar. Whoever the man was, he was quickly becoming Izak's favorite relative. No one had ever left him anything. His dad hadn't ever talked a lot about his family. They were an odd lot. That's it. Why didn't the estate go to his dad instead?

  He sent a text to his dad. They didn't talk on the phone or text much, either.

  Who's Uncle Malcolm?

  My crazy uncle. I took you there once. You said his pawn shop tried to eat you. Why?

  Izak dropped his phone, "No, No, No! That had been a dream, a nightmare." When Izak was six, his dad took him to see his grandparents for the first and only time. The whole trip was a blur, except they stopped to see Uncle Malcolm at a creepy little store on their way back home. The place had tried to eat him. Could he take over such a place? He reasoned with himself, "It can't be that bad. Dad freaked me out about his family before the visit, and my imagination got away with me. Buildings don't eat kids." Besides, it was a free place to live. Right now, there were few choices: borrow money from his parents, find a new job, or both. Neither of those appealed to Izak. A big change would be nice. It was time for a road trip and a new life in a new state. He looked around the office; there was nothing to miss here and no one to miss in town.

  It took five minutes to pack up. The clothes all needed to be washed once, probably twice. A bottle of antacids, ibuprofen, a pair of lucky dice that hadn't been lucky in years, a yo-yo with a broken string, an old revolver with a useless, rusted chamber that no longer turned. That was fine. He was a terrible shot. And the keys to the car that might not make the cross-country trip.

  The old laptop coughed to life. The fan whirred like an old washing machine. Hagerstown, Maryland, to Crescent City, California. It was a two-thousand-eight-hundred-and-fifty-seven-mile drive. The computer says it will take almost forty-five hours to get there—two and a half days. The problem was that it would cost hundreds of dollars for the gas, and he had less than half of that.

  Izak called Ephraim Bellamy's office. A man answered on the third ring. Izak explained the reason for the call. "I'd love to fulfill my great-uncle's wishes, but I'm temporarily strapped for cash." Temporarily strapped for cash was a stretch. He'd been in that same state since moving out of his parents' house fifteen years ago. The big break that was always just around the corner had at last come.

  "No problem. I'm Mr. Bellamy's paralegal. He's currently out of the office but has authorized me to buy you a plane ticket out of estate funds. Would you like me to do that?"

  "Sure, that would be great. Can you tell me how much is in the estate fund?"

  "Sorry, I cannot disclose that. You will receive a monthly allowance, and after a year, if you've fulfilled all the requirements that are in the will, then the full disclosure of the estate will be given at that time. I'm sure you have many more questions, but that is all the information I can give and all that I am privy to. I'll text you the flight information within the hour." The line went dead.

  While Izak waited to hear back, he used the last of the bread and made five peanut butter and honey sandwiches. There was no reason to waste good food. They went into the empty bread bag, and at the top of the duffel bag, where they hopefully wouldn't get squished.