Queen Bee Goes Home Again (23 page)

“Common sense,” I said aloud. “That will be my new goal.”

Finished washing, Mama chuckled as she started putting things away. “Well, don't beat yourself up too much if it doesn't happen overnight.”

I untied my apron, then helped her put things in their proper places. “Maybe I'll get some sense in college.”

She let out a skeptical sigh. “Based on the college kids I've known, I seriously doubt it. But who can say? Maybe so.” She closed the cabinet door and picked up a handful of silver to put into the drawer. “But don't go changing too much. I love you just the way you are.”

For Miss Mamie, speaking those words went against the grain, but my inner child did cartwheels for joy. “I love you just the way you are, too.”

Mama closed the drawer, but didn't turn around. When she spoke, emotion thickened her voice. “Why did it take so long for us to be able to say this to each other?”

I hugged her from behind. “Because we're both stubborn as a mule, and I knew how disappointed you were when I dropped out of college. I tried to be like you, I really did. You always seemed so strong, such a lady.”

“Except for the wretched Phil thing, I've always been proud of you.” She turned around, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I can hardly criticize you for marrying a difficult man. People who live in glass houses … But the difference was, I adore your daddy, warts and all.” She studied my face. “Did you ever really love Phil?”

I exhaled, savoring our newfound intimacy even though she'd asked me the question I'd never allowed myself to ask. “Looking back, I don't know. Probably not. I was in lust with him, and desperate to get out of Mimosa Branch. And I knew he'd be a good provider. But I don't think I ever really loved him
that
way.” Not like
kiss, kiss, kiss
.

Saying it out loud made something inside me come full circle, at last.

Miss Mamie patted my arm. “Poor baby. I've always prayed that you and Tommy could know what real love feels like.” She drew me close and cupped my head to her shoulder. “Do you think Connor might be—”

I stiffened, pulling away. The idea of being a minister's wife still gave me chills. “Mama, do not go there. My life is complicated enough the way things are.”

She arched an eyebrow that told me she had no intention of letting sleeping dogs lie.

I put the last clean dish into the cabinet and changed the subject with, “So what's on the agenda for now?”

Mama sighed. “After we finish with the house and you get back from your road trip with Tommy, we have the election. After that, Tommy will line up who he wants in his administration, you'll study algebra and your CLEP books, and I'll keep an eye on the house. The way I see it, besides the kitchen and bathrooms that have to be done every week, we can clean two unused rooms and one main one a week, in rotation. That shouldn't take us more than one day a week to stay on top of things.”

A very doable goal. I had my apartment to keep up, but when you live in such a small space, you have to put everything where it belongs, or it's constant chaos. Dusting, disinfecting, and vacuuming only took me a few hours. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

There went that eyebrow again. Mama nudged me toward the back hallway. “Off you go, Madam Genius. Tomorrow you can finish getting the cobwebs out of the attic, so you can get them out of your brain for school.” She leaned forward for a taunting, “Genius, genius, genius.”

Genius, indeed. I laughed all the way to my apartment.

 

Thirty-three

Miss Mamie was right: I finished cleaning out the attic the next afternoon and surveyed the large, clear plastic storage boxes with pride. I'd sorted, inventoried, and cleaned everything, then put them in logical groupings. Then I'd borrowed a small metal detector from one of the husbands of one of Miss Mamie's prayer chain friends and scoured the place for metal, but the only things it found were some old coat hangers and ten-penny nails underneath the floorboards.

Once the house was sparkling clean and funeral-ready, as we say in the South, we had sixteen days left till the election to go on our treasure hunt. Tommy asked Shelia to check in on Miss Mamie while we were gone “taking care of family business.”

He had carefully planned our itinerary, then posted index cards all over the house with both of our cell phone numbers in bold print, just in case Miss Mamie needed anything. We planned to visit all the banks in one swell foop, as Daddy used to say.

Then, after a fabulous send-off breakfast by Miss Mamie at seven
A.M.
on Monday morning, my brother and I started out on our road trip to fourteen different small banks.

Fortunately, Daddy hadn't gone farther from home than an hour or two in any direction, probably so he could be back by supper with none the wiser.

Hand to my heart, though, I never expected what we would find in all those banks.

The first one was up in Cleveland, the seat of White County and home of Babyland General and the Cabbage Patch dolls. Even though we'd left before eight, we didn't reach the bank till eleven because Tommy stopped at Office Depot in Gainesville to buy a heavy-duty nylon backpack in case we found anything bulky.

Once we got to Confidential Credit Union, we had to wait a while to meet in an office with the branch manager, who turned out to be a stout, balding man in a suit that seemed just a little too tight for him. We shook hands, then Tommy showed him notarized copies of the legal paperwork and Daddy's deposit box key.

It took another fifteen minutes for the manager to locate and check his directives on the computer so he could be sure of proper procedure in cases like ours. Clearly a very cautious person, he checked and rechecked everything, then finally rose. “Well, everything seems to be in order. Please allow me to escort you to the vault.”

At last.

“This way please,” he added.

Please let there be some deeds in the box. Tax-paid.

I knew the prayer sounded greedy, but I was thinking of Mama and that huge, money-hungry old house. Not to mention Daddy's bills for the Home, which I'd discovered were $3,500 a
month
.

We followed the manager across the lobby, then down a flight of polished black granite stairs to a black granite hallway where an armed guard opened a heavy, barred steel door, admitting us to a short corridor flanked by viewing alcoves and the open vault beyond.

As we passed through the corridor, the manager gestured to the two small mahogany desks with expensive lamps as we passed. “There's a viewing table in the vault, but if you'd rather have more privacy, feel free to use these.”

Privacy? Hah. Can we say
surveillance
?

I looked up and saw at least ten dark-glass hemispheres in the ceiling. Eyes in the sky.

He motioned us into the vault ahead of him, then got out his key and turned it in the lock of the safety deposit box. To my surprise, the box wasn't very big.

The manager granted us an unctuous smile, clearly curious about what we'd find. “Would you like for me to remain, in case you have any problems?”

“No, thank you,” Tommy and I said in unison. Tommy inserted his key, then opened the door to slide out the drawer just enough for the manager to retrieve his key.

“Very well.” The manager straightened, smoothing the front of his tight serge jacket, then turned to the guard beyond the now-closed bars. “Paul, open.” He looked condescendingly back to us. “If you need anything, just let Paul know.”

He sailed out and didn't look back.

About to explode, I nudged Tommy and whispered, “Open that box. I'm dyin' to see what's in there.”

“Calm down.” Tommy leaned close to whisper through a fixed grin, “We're being recorded. For all we know, we might find evidence of some crime in there. Just smile and act as if you do this sort of thing every day.”

I did my best, but I couldn't help looking for, and finding, even more small dark glass hemispheres in the vault ceiling.

Tommy slowly slid the drawer free of its niche. “Whoa,” he murmured. “This is heavy.”

“Box o' rocks,” we said in unison, the way we had when we were asked to carry anything heavy as kids. The phrase had come from Daddy, of course, who'd sworn he'd hauled slabs of marble at a mine over in Tate when he was a boy.

I glanced at the narrow steel table in the middle of the vault, then whispered, “Think you can carry the drawer to the alcove?”

Tommy made a face and whispered back, “It's not
that
heavy.”

He carried the box to the small desk in the hallway. I hovered over it, worried that it might really be a box o' rocks, but hoping for something better.

In the circle of soft light from the elegant lamp, Tommy said, “Well, here goes,” then opened the long top. Most of the box was empty, except for a long, lumpy Tyvek envelope, sealed, taped closed, then rolled to fit inside the box.

“Let me,” I said as he unfurled it on the desk.

Chuckling, he opened his pocketknife and handed it to me. “Be my guest.”

I slit the top of the envelope, then bent to look inside.

I didn't mean to scream. Really, I didn't.

The guard turned abruptly to face us at the same moment that my brother smacked his hand over my mouth and hissed a giant, “Shhhhh!” into my ear.

“Is everything okay?” the guard hollered.

“Fine, fine!” Tommy reassured him, his hand still clamped firmly over my mouth. “I just stepped on my sister's sore toe. Sorry. Sorry. Everything's fine.”

Humiliated, I managed to slither out of his grasp and step on
his
toe for real. I swiped my hair back into place. “Take a look in there and see how you do,” I grumbled.

He did and stopped breathing altogether, his features contorted as he struggled to keep his famous serenity.

The envelope was half filled with gold coins, most marked “uncirculated” in clear, hinged plastic rolls, and at least a dozen in flat little presentation boxes marked “proof.” Plus a nice, fat stack of Benjamin Franklins still in their original bank wrapper.

At last, Tommy breathed, reaching inside to free one of the coins from its roll, careful to keep it out of sight. “Krugerrands,” he whispered in awe, then put the coin back. He reached inside again to bring the bills close enough to inspect, but not beyond the envelope. “Nineteen-seventy. A year before we went off the gold standard.” Reaching deeper, he peered inside again, then told me, “And two deeds. One for thirty acres, and one for eighteen.”

Lights flashed, bells rang, and the gates of heaven opened.

“C'mon,” I prodded. “Let's get this out of here.” We'd found a piece of Daddy's nest egg, but I felt like we'd robbed the bank.

“‘Good plan, king.'” Tommy quoted Mr. Rogers from one of my son David's favorite kiddy shows.

Speaking of David, I hadn't heard from him in several weeks. I wondered why, fleetingly, then focused back on the treasure.

Tommy rolled the envelope closed and transferred it into his backpack, then slung it over his shoulder, shifting it several times till the weight was balanced. Then he took a deep, calming breath and returned the box to its place in the vault. “Think you can manage to look calm and collected?” he asked me quietly.

“Of course,” I reassured him, as if I really could.

When we got to the barred door, the guard let us out.

“Sorry I worried you,” Tommy said.

Skeptical, the man looked to me as we exited the door. “Are you sure you're all right, ma'am?”

Boy, was I ever. “I'm fine,” I said with a convincing smile, because I was. Very fine, indeed.

Tommy offered him the deposit box key. “We won't be needing the box anymore. Should I give this to you, or turn it in upstairs?”

The guard nodded. “Upstairs. They'll give you a receipt and a written notice of termination.”

Shoot. One more thing before we could escape with the loot. At least the bank wasn't crowded.

I plucked the box key from my brother's hand with a chipper, “I'll take care of that. Why don't you go get the truck and bring it around?”

“Good idea.” He waved to the guard. “Thanks.” Feeling as if I were in a movie, I followed my brother upstairs, then headed for the customer service desk while he carried the loot out the side door to the parking lot.

Ten minutes later, I climbed into his truck and buckled up, holding it together till we were safely away from cameras and listening ears.

As if anybody would notice or even care. But Tommy had warned me that what we found was our business, and nobody else's, till we could figure things out.

Several miles out of town on an otherwise empty two-lane road, we finally let loose and hollered for what seemed like five minutes, but was probably only two.

Then I asked Tommy, “What are we going to do with all this money and gold? Think it'll be safe under the mattress at the motel?”

Tommy shook his head no. “The only secure, discreet place for this is back home in Daddy's safe.”

I frowned. It hadn't been locked when Tommy had found it empty. “But anybody who can read can open it.”

“Don't worry,” he reassured me. “I'm going to write the combination on my hip in permanent marker, where nobody else can see it. Then I'll black it out on the safe.”

“Okay, then. Home we go.”

Tommy shook his head, turning into a lay-by, then whipping a
U
. “If you don't mind, I'll drop you off back at the courthouse with the deeds, so you can look them up and find out if the taxes have been paid.” He glanced at his watch. “It's only twelve-thirty. I'll be back in four hours to pick you up.”

“Miss Mamie's bound to wonder why you came home.”

“I'll deal with that when I get there.” His stomach rumbled so loud I could hear it. “But first, let's grab some lunch.”