Chapter 5: The House on the Hill

The lawyer was waiting at the top of the drive in Sewickley Heights with a ring of old brass keys.

Behind her stood the house Nate had lived in from nineteen to twenty-nine.

It was gray stone with a slate roof, three chimneys and a front door wide enough to drive a cart through.

Leah got out of the truck and looked up at it with her hands on her hips.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. That's a lot of house."

"It's drafty," Nate said.

"Nate. It has a turret."

"It's a drafty turret."

The lawyer gave him the keys and kept her hand on them a moment longer.

"The house is part of the estate, Mr. Mazur. The executor may let the heir live in it while the board decides. I've decided."

"Thank you."

"Your uncle grew up here," she said. "He hasn't asked for it. He will."

She told him the heat was on, the refrigerator was full, and the housekeeper came on Tuesdays.

Then she drove away and left them alone with it.

Leah walked through every room, touching the window frames and looking at the ceilings.

"Somebody built this right," she said in the dining room. "Look at those joists. You could park a truck up there."

"Nineteen twelve."

"I'd kill for this crew."

She stopped in the doorway of the study.

His grandfather's portrait hung over the fireplace, a big oil painting of a big man in a dark suit.

Under it stood the desk, and by the window a chessboard with the pieces set up for a game.

"Did you play?" Leah asked.

"Every Sunday. He never let me win once."

Nate sat down in the desk chair.