“Spirited is one word for it,” I said.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Dawkins said, setting her key into box 12C and waiting for me to set my key so the box could be unlocked. Once unlocked and the metal box placed on the table in the middle of the room, she turned to leave, then stopped and cast one last smile Ian’s way. “If you ever need financial advice, Mr. Macgregor, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dawkins. I will keep that in mind,” he said smoothly.
When the door clicked shut behind her, I rolled my eyes. “Honestly. You just stand there breathing and women get fluttery.”
Ian grabbed me in a hug and deposited a quick kiss on my lips. “Except you. You keep a cool head, which keeps me on my toes.”
“Not this morning, I didn’t when you caught me unaware in the shower,” I reminded with a wicked grin. “You caused more than a few flutters in me.”
He grinned as if pleased with himself, and I gave him a gentle shove. “Let’s see what secrets Aunt Effie tucked away.”
Ian waited beside me, watching with quiet curiosity as I opened it.
Inside, nestled neatly, were several folders—yellowed at the edges, labeled in Aunt Effie’s precise, flowing script. Beneath them were bundled letters, and my breath caught when I saw my name on each sealed envelope.
“She wrote to me,” I whispered, brushing my fingers over my aunt’s familiar handwriting that I always admired.
Ian peered down at them. “I thought your aunt said a lot in the journals she left for you, but evidently she had more to tell you.”
I nodded, blinking back the sting of tears in my eyes. “Why didn’t she just give these to me? Or mail them?”
“Maybe she wanted you to read them when the time was right.” He glanced at the black velvet ring box nestled in the corner. “Now that looks interesting.”
I snatched it up and opened it to reveal a silver ring etched with intricate Celtic designs. The craftsmanship was delicate yet strong, a soft gleam catching the overhead light.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmured, slipping it out and turning it in my hand. “I’ve never seen this before. Not on her or anywhere in the house.”
Ian leaned in. “Maybe a family heirloom she wanted to keep safe?”
“Maybe. Or maybe another one of Aunt Effie’s mysteries.”
I carefully placed everything into the messenger bag I had brought along, my mind already buzzing with questions. Letters. A ring. What mystery had Aunt Effie left for me to solve?
I slipped the messenger bag strap across my chest before we stepped out of the vault and made our way back through the hall. I spotted Mrs. Dawkins busy talking with a customer as we entered the bank lobby, and I sent her a smile and a wave.
She smiled and then, predictably, glanced at Ian, calling out. “If you need anything, Mr. Macgregor, I’m here to help.”
Ian gave a polite nod, but before I could roll my eyes at him or offer a witty reply, the front door burst open.
Two masked figures armed with handguns burst into the lobby, one of them shouting, “Nobody move!”
Gasps erupted. A customer screamed. Mrs. Dawkins dropped the pen she was holding, her eyes turning wide. And Mr. Walker paled.
One of the robbers waved a handgun in the air. “Hands up! Now! And keep them up.”
Ian instinctively stepped closer to me, shielding me as best he could.
“Sit on the floor and keep your hands up!” the masked man barked, waving his gun with urgency.
Ian and I slowly dropped to the floor with the half a dozen or so customers. I kept my bag clutched to my side, heart thudding against my ribs, and my eyes focused. Ian sat beside me, calm but alert, his eyes as focused as mine.
One of the robbers, broader than the other and clearly the one who’d taken a few too many action movies to heart, stormed toward the front desk where Mrs. Dawkins stood frozen, hands raised, her expression caught between terrified and insulted.
“Move it, Grandma,” the man growled, grabbing her arm roughly and shoving her forward.
Before I could blink, Ian was on his feet.
