Mr. Huxley’s receptionist was proven correct. The tidy brick building with flower boxes under the windows and a hand-painted sign was easy to spot.
A teller with a cheerful smile waved me forward. “Hi there. How can I help you today?”
“I’m here to transfer a payable-on-death account.” I pulled out the envelope the lawyer gave me. “For Eleanor Cooke.”
Recognition flickered across her face. “Of course. Mr. Huxley already brought over her death certificate for your file, so no need for you to worry about that.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Small towns had advantages I hadn’t considered.
“May I see your ID?” she asked.
I handed my driver’s license over, and after typing a few things into her computer, she slid several forms toward me. “This first one is the POD authorization. After that, I’ll have you sign a new signature card. Your debit card will arrive by mail to the address on record, so let me know if we should update that to something other than Eleanor’s cottage.”
“Um, yes please.” I rattled off my home address while signing in all the required places.
“All done updating that in our system. You’re welcome to make withdrawals here in person while you’re in town,” she offered. “And if you’d like checks, I can order those for you, too.”
“Let’s hold off on that. The debit card should be enough for now.”
“That’s what many of our customers choose to do,” she replied with a polite smile. “Would you like your current balance?”
“Yes, please.”
She jotted down a number, turned the paper around, and slid it across the counter.
My eyes widened at the amount, which was enough to cover more than a year of my living expenses in the city. Maybe more if I stuck to a budget.
And the boons kept coming.
She slid a second slip of paper toward me. “This is the balance in the savings account.”
I nearly choked at the amount. It was significantly more than my annual salary.
She handed me a copy of my paperwork. “Welcome to Timber Ridge.”
“Thanks,” I murmured over the lump in my throat.
I was in a daze when I stepped outside, clutching my tote bag as my head spun with questions I’d probably never have answers to. I just didn’t understand why my grandmother left all of thisto me instead of my father. He could be a jerk, but he was still her son. And for all she knew, I might’ve been worse than him.
As curious as I was about my grandmother, I wasn’t in a rush to see her cottage. Instead of heading straight there as I’d planned, I decided to explore the town. First, I wandered downtown and did some window shopping. But that got awkward when I spotted a gorgeous coat and realized I could afford the ridiculous price tag.
Then I got in my rental car and drove without much of a plan, taking winding roads past cozy cabins and pine forests. It was so different from what I was used to.
I didn’t even realize how late it had gotten until my stomach growled. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, I drove back to the main street and parked a few blocks from the credit union because I remembered seeing a restaurant that looked interesting.
After dinner, I would hopefully be ready to face the urn waiting for me at the cottage.
2
BEXLEY
Dinner service had barely started, and I already wanted to put my head through a wall.
“Bexley,” Aero called over the clang of pans, “these steaks are?—”
“I see them,” I grunted, snatching the pan before he could finish.
The edges were almost burnt, which was unacceptable. I rarely made mistakes like this, but I had felt off for hours.
