Unexpected Riches (Bellingwood Book 13) by Diane Greenwood Muir Page A

given up being nice about this.
    "Tennessee," Harold answered.
    "What if she'd moved to any state west of Colorado? Would you assume that she was a descendant of Lester?" Beryl kept pushing them. This didn't sound like someone who was scared of her brothers. "What if one of Cyrus's descendants had moved out there? It could be anyone or it could be someone who isn't related to us at all."
    "Well, what does the sheriff say about him?" Melvin asked. "He's her husband," he nodded at Lydia, "and your friend. Surely you can get some information from him. It happened on our land!" He sat forward as he worked himself up.
    Beryl glanced at Lydia.
    "My husband is investigating the death," Lydia said. "But murder investigations take time. They are looking for the young man's family and trying to understand why he was killed, much less buried in your family plot."
    "It's a historical plot," Harold repeated. "No one is buried there nowadays."
    Lydia nodded in understanding. "As soon as your sister knows something, I'm certain that she'll let you know. If this young man is part of your extended family, I'm also certain that she would be glad for assistance from both of your families in welcoming his family to Iowa. They will need a great deal of love and care in this terrible time."
    Beryl looked at Lydia, gulping back laughter. She turned back to her brothers. "I would be glad of your help. You have larger homes than I do."
    "You can afford to put them up at the hotel," Melvin said.
    "If that's what you'd like me to do, I will," Beryl replied. "Lydia was just recommending that we be hospitable."
    "Do either of you have any information about the early families of Bellingwood?" Polly asked. "Are there any documents, pictures or other items that might have been handed down to you? Things that weren't copied for the centennial?"
    Harold looked at his brother. "You have papa's things."
    "I haven't been through any of those boxes in years," Melvin said. He turned to Polly. "Why do you ask? What does that have to do with any of this?"
    "It just seems to me that if this young man is from another branch of the family and you have old information, we might be able to find something that connects it all." Polly shrugged. "And besides, since the sesquicentennial is coming up this summer, the planning committee will probably want as much information as they can get. I just purchased the Springer House and discovered that it was built in nineteen sixteen as an inn. The son of Hiram Bell built it. There's got to be more information about those early years if we can just get people to open up their old trunks, scrapbooks and files."
    Melvin nodded, thinking about what she said. "I could dig those out." He looked at his sister. "But I don't have time to look through them."
    "I'd love to do that," Beryl said. "I'd love it."
    "Come on out and pick them up. Give me a day or two to bring the boxes out of the closet."
    "Thank you," she gushed. "I had no idea you still had those boxes."
    "It's just old papers and pictures, but if you find something that the town would like to have, give it to them." Melvin put his hand on his brother's knee and pushed himself to a standing position. "We should go now and leave you three to do whatever you were planning to do. Come on, Brother."
    Melvin stepped away from the chair and Harold stood up. "Thank you for the coffee, Beryl. It was nice to see you. Pat says I should ask you to Sunday dinner some one of these days. It's mostly just the two of us, but sometimes the kids are home."
    "I'd love to come," Beryl said. She waved at Polly and Lydia to stay seated and followed her brothers to the front door.
    Polly took a deep breath and relaxed. "That was interesting."
    "They did better than expected," Lydia said. "Melvin even got nice there toward the end." She grinned at Polly. "Must be because there was a pretty girl in the room."
    The front door thudded closed and Beryl let out a shrill howl as she came back to the living