“What’s all that?”

   “It came in the mail a few days ago.” He slid the documents across the table to me. “See for yourself.”

   I picked up the papers, unfolded them, and scanned the first page. I frowned. “This . . . looks like some sort of . . . deed made out to you.”

   Finn shot his thumb and forefinger at me. “Winner, winner. It’s the deed to the Bullet Pointe resort complex, which I now own lock, stock, and barrel.”

   I blinked at the name. “Bullet Pointe? That cheesy Old West theme park down in Georgia? The one that’s all cowboys, all the time?”

   Bullet Pointe was moderately famous in Ashland and the surrounding area, sort of like the poor, distant Southern cousin of one of the Disney theme parks. The rides, costumed characters, and live shows made it especially popular with families and schools. If you lived within driving distance, chances were that you’d been to the theme park on at least one family vacation or school field trip.

   Finn nodded, a bit of excitement flashing in his eyes. “Yep, that’s it. Dad took us there once for vacation. Do you remember, Gin?”

   I snorted. “Oh, I remember all right. You and Fletcher spent the whole weekend playing cowboys, while I followed you both around like a third wheel.”

   “You got sick too. I remember you eating way too much pizza and then puking your guts out the second we got off one of the swing rides.” Finn grinned. “Good times.”

   I rolled my eyes, then asked the obvious question. “And how exactly did you wind up with the deed to this tourist trap?”

   He shifted on his feet. “Deirdre left it to me in her will.”

   My eyebrows shot up into my forehead. “Your lying, ice-queen bitch of a mother actually left you something?”

   Finn winced, the teasing grin dropping from his face and the excitement snuffing out of his eyes. Too late, I realized how harsh my tone had been and how much he was still hurting from everything that Deirdre had done. But I couldn’t put the words back into my mouth so I plowed on ahead.

   “I thought that Deirdre was flat-busted broke,” I said in a more neutral voice. “That the reason she robbed Briartop and tried to do the same thing here at the bank was to pay back all the millions that she owed to Tucker and the rest of the Circle.”

   Finn shrugged. “Looks like she was at least able to hold on to the resort. Maybe Tucker didn’t realize she owned it. Maybe she hid it from him. But even if he did know about the resort and pressured her to sell it, it’s not the kind of thing that you can just take down to the corner pawnshop and hock for cold, hard cash.”

   Well, hiding assets certainly sounded like something that Deirdre would have done. Even when Tucker had tied her down to a chair and tortured her, she’d still been scheming how she could turn the situation around to her advantage. Mama Dee had always been plotting something, so it didn’t surprise me that she’d squirreled away some assets for a rainy day. But an Old West theme park? I would have never expected that from her. It just didn’t fit in with Deirdre’s diva personality and addiction to the finer things in life.

   “She actually talked to me about the resort a few times,” Finn continued. “Before . . . everything that happened.”

   I waited, but he didn’t elaborate, and I realized that I was going to have to pry it out of him. “And what did she say?”

   Finn bit his lip and shifted on his feet. He looked past me, staring out the vault entrance and into the hallway, focusing on the spot where Deirdre had tortured him with her magic. His green eyes darkened, and his shoulders tensed, remembering the cold, horrible Ice burns that she’d inflicted on him. His hands curled into fists, and a faint, almost imperceptible shudder rippled through his body before he was able to stop it.

   “Finn?” I asked again in a gentler voice, trying to shake him out of his painful memories. “What did Deirdre say about the theme park?”

   He blinked, snapping back to the here and now, ­although he dropped his head and started drawing a line on the floor with his black wing tip, instead of looking at me. “Deirdre thought that the Old West theme was rather quaint. She told me that she bought the park on a whim decades ago, that it was one of her very first investments. The park itself is all cowboys, all the time, just like you said, but there’s also a hotel on the grounds, also named Bullet Pointe. Deirdre said that she’d focused all her efforts on the hotel. It still has the same Old West look and feel as everything else, but she claimed that she’d slowly turned it into a luxury resort. She bragged that folks come from all over the country to stay there and take advantage of the spa, the golf courses, and the lake that rings it and the theme park. Here. See for yourself.”

   Finn took the sheaf of papers from me and pulled out a slick, glossy brochure, which he passed back over to me. I opened it up and scanned through the pages. He was right. The Bullet Pointe hotel looked like a swanky place with just the sort of insanely expensive, over-the-top luxury that Deirdre had indulged in. Still, I wondered why she had left it to Finn and especially why the deed had shown up now.

   Usually, the wheels of estates and inheritances ground much more slowly, especially in Ashland. Most of the time when somebody died, long-lost relatives and second cousins twice removed came out of the woodwork like hordes of termites, with each and every one demanding a piece of the dearly departed’s money pie, no matter how large or small it was. But here was Finn, a scant two weeks after Deirdre’s death, deed in hand, with this shiny, new significant real estate to his name. It was all a bit convenient and far too quick and easy for my tastes. Something was going on here.

   “So what do you plan to do with your new windfall?” I asked.

   “Well, that depends on you.”

   “Why me?”

   “Because I know what you’re thinking—that this all happened way too fast and way too easily. And I totally agree with you. It’s definitely fishy. I didn’t even think that it was real, at first.”