Kerney did some quick mental calculations.
"That amounts to over four hundred thousand dollars a year, plus interest."
"That's right."
"Who did the appraisal?"
"I believe I've secured the lowest possible appraisal on the property."
"I'm sure you have. I need the appraiser's name for police business."
Lynch paused.
"Hold on."
After a minute, he came back on the line and read off the information.
A Santa Fe firm had done the appraisal.
Kerney scribbled down the name and address.
"Do you know who sold Erma the land?"
"She bought it from Nestor Barela in nineteen-sixty.
Don't ask what she paid for it. It would only depress you.
May I say something, Mr. Kerney?"
"Please do."
"Erma's estate is quite considerable. Not only did she inherit a sizable amount from her parents many years ago, she invested it wisely, and added to her net worth as the demand for her art drove up the price of her paintings.
Except for the land she willed to you, the remainder of her estate will become an endowment to the university art department."
"I understand that."
"Erma wanted you to be able to keep all of the land.
She knew how much it would mean to you. I advised her to establish a trust in your name, and she directed me to do so, with the proviso that I encumber sufficient resources in the trust to pay the inheritance taxes on the property. Her death occurred a week before the trust was to be established."
"I see."
"If you want to keep at least part of Erma's gift, let the estate sell some of the property for taxes. You'll still own a sizable chunk of land. I'm no rancher, but it seems to me you would have enough acreage left to start a small cattle operation."
"I'll think about it."
"You'll need to make a decision fairly soon," Lynch said.
"I know it."
"Let me know what you decide, Mr. Kerney. Remember, you stand to come out of this very well-off."
"I'm aware of that."
Kerney hung up in a foul mood, realizing he had no call to be so abrupt with Milton Lynch; he was a good man doing a good job. Erma had picked her executor wisely.
What grated Kerney had nothing to do with the windfall inheritance, although the amount of his net worth on paper staggered him. The thought of giving up thirty-two hundred acres felt like fate slapping him down again. As a child, he'd watched his parents lose the ranch on the Tularosa to the army when White Sands expanded. Now, he faced losing half of the best, and perhaps only, opportunity he would ever have to return to ranching. It felt like a bad dream or a sick joke coming back to haunt him.
He was glad he'd resisted Dale's offer to come in as a partner. With a tax bite in the high seven figures, it was totally out of the question.
For now, he didn't know what the hell to do, other than mull it over and think about options.
Shoe was at his feet, head resting on the sneaker, his eyes locked on Kerney. He reached down, picked up the sneaker, and tossed it through the archway into the living room. Shoe got up and fetched it back, his tail wagging.
"Let's see what else you can do." Kerney tried some common commands, and Shoe promptly obeyed each of them.
"Smart dog." He fed the dog a treat. Shoe dropped down on the floor and ate his biscuit.
Seconds before the doorbell rang, Shoe raised his head and let out a long howl.
"So you're a watchdog, are you?" Kerney said as he pulled himself upright.
Shoe followed him to the front door, the sneaker firmly clasped in his jaws, and sat. Kerney opened it to find Sara Brannon smiling at him from the front step.
"Good God, what are you doing here?"
"The army took pity on me and sent me home early.
You have a dog, Kerney," she said.
"Does it have a name?"
"His name is Shoe," Kerney said, grinning in delight.
"I can see why. He's pretty mangy looking."
"He's had a rough time of it. But he's smart; he can come, sit, fetch, roll over, and stay. He just moved in."
Sara knelt and scratched Shoe under the chin. The dog dropped the sneaker and gave her a kiss.
"Do you have any other roommates I need to know about?"
Kerney shook his head.
"None."