I’ll be ableto make a better decision about my future once I see what’s actually in Maggie’s bank account—and learn whether or not I can access it. After showering Nathan with compliments for the best breakfast of my life, I head back upstairs to wash off the meat sweats and get dressed in my nicest jeans.
I check out with Nick, drive my Explorer back to the alley, and park in Maggie’s spot again. From there, it’s a quick walk to the bank, and as I step inside, I don’t know what to expect. Nick and Nathan told me everyone in town uses this same branch, as its proximity makes deposits and change runs easy as pie, but I don’t even know the right words to ask for what I need.
“Can I help you?” asks a familiar voice at the counter. “Oh! Miranda’s daughter. Honey, I’m so glad to see you.”
It’s Tina McGowan, the woman I met at Lindy’s yesterday.
My mom’s old friend and Diana’s daughter.
Tina leaves the counter to pull me into another soft, sugar-scented embrace. She pulls away and looks me up and down.“You’re just the spittin’ image of Maggie and Miranda, I swear. Ever since I saw you yesterday, I kept hoping you were gonna stick around. This town needs a Kirkwood.”
“Officially speaking, I’m a Wolfe, but that’s kind of why I’m here. Colonel Gooch said y’all handled my grandmother’s accounts?”
“Come into the office, and I’ll show you what we’re looking at.” She pats my hand, leads me into one of the open offices, and closes the door. We sit across from each other, and she focuses on the desktop computer, lifting her glasses onto the tip of her nose and determinedly typing with two fingers. “Maggie’s account—it’s not a fortune, I’m afraid, but it’s not nothin’.”
I struggle to keep my smile up. It sure feels like nothin’.
She leans in close and looks around like someone might be listening in. “You’re not officially on the account since probate takes a while, but if you can find her debit card or checkbook, well, I reckon they belong to you. If you were to access her account, this number might be of interest to you.” Using a pencil, she writes $13,612.46 on a Post-it, shows it to me, then rolls it up in a ball and tosses it under her desk. “Now, with thatnotbeing officially said because you certainly didn’t hear it from me, would you like to see what’s in her safe-deposit box?”
I perk up at that. “She didn’t mention…I mean, Colonel didn’t mention—”
“Yes, well, us ladies don’t always tell the menfolk about our secrets, do we? Now, do you have her big ol’ key ring? And your ID?”
She gives me an exaggerated wink and heads back out to the counter, returning with a key. I hand over my license and sort through Maggie’s keys until I find its twin. I’ve never even seen a safe-deposit box outside of movies, and I feel like I’m in anAgatha Christie book as we enter a vault and Tina shows me how to find box 103.
We each put in our keys and turn them, and a little door opens. I’m not sure what to do, but Tina says, “Just reach in and pull it out by the handle.”
The box is long and narrow, made of mint-green metal. I place it on the pedestal table in the center of the vault and fumble with the catches, heart racing against my will as I think of the endless possibilities within. There could be nothing, or there could be a thousand diamonds. There could be stacks of cash or a single moth.
But what’s actually there is a gallon Ziploc bag full of…stuff.
Papers, photos, jewelry, a big wallet.
Tina points at it. “Oh, would you look at that? Maggie’s wallet. With her checkbook and bank card.”
I look up at her, confused. “Wait, why is her wallet in here if she died in an accident?”
“Oh, well now. You’re quick like your mama, too.” Tina grimaces. “Colonel and I, we wanted to keep things safe. It was returned to me with my mama’s belongings, so I made sure it got put in here with Maggie’s old family stuff. She’s probably got her PIN somewhere in there, but if not, you can withdraw cash as needed here at the bank. Colonel controls the trust, but this is yours free and clear.” I haven’t made a move to open the bag yet, so she adds, “Go on, honey. I’ll give you some privacy, but I’ll be right outside if you need anything. Dig around and see what you find.”
She gives me an encouraging thumbs-up, and then I’m alone in an old-fashioned bank vault with whatever my not-so-dead grandmother left for me. Well, not forme,exactly. For her friend Diana.
I check her wallet, which feels extremely intrusive, and find an old-fashioned checkbook, one debit card, an ID, and a huge wad of coupons, plus a lucky clover flattened between tape. She’s even, helpfully and foolishly, written her PIN on a Post-it stuck to the card, and I’m horrified to see that it’s 1234. Next up is a packet of photos held together with a rubber band, and my eyes prick with tears as I realize that these are images of my mother. I’ve never seen photos of her as a child before, her hair in pigtails as she stands barefoot by a big white farmhouse. There’s one of her bareback on a palomino pony with a rope halter, one of her holding a rabbit, and one of her standing defiantly in the rain, arms crossed and glaring at the camera.
Wait—
When we were growing up, the weather always seemed to mimic my mother’s bad moods. Was she like that as a kid, too?
Was that her…
Her magic?
For a moment, I’m upset that I’ll never know the truth until I remember that dearly departed Grandma Maggie is back in her old apartment, waiting for me to return. I can ask her whatever I want. Whether or not she’ll answer honestly is another story.
The objects in the Ziploc bag are peculiar. There’s a big ring with a stone that even I can tell is fake, a fancy gold lipstick, an old L-shaped nail, a fountain pen, a silver teaspoon, a dog whistle, a piece of fool’s gold, a thimble, a chess piece, a pair of readers, a gold dollar, junk upon junk upon junk, just a bunch of old-person detritus that doesn’t make a ton of sense to me, hundreds of little doodads. The only thing I find interesting is a tiny, ancient dictionary, titledThe Little Webster.It’s bound in leather and has a snap closure. I open it and flip through it lovingly, marveling at the eighteen thousand words contained in such a smallpackage. I slide it into my pocket, where it nestles down like a field mouse softly going to sleep in a flower.
All the other doodads can stay in the bag. I put everything but the wallet back in the box and slide it into place, but I’m unsure how to proceed from here. When I stick my head out of the vault, Tina rushes over and tidies everything up for me.
“Did you find what you needed?”
