by E B Corbin
“That’s a thought. We can check it out after we’re done.”
“No need. I got it.” Patti peered around the dining area. “Things are slow right now. Snukie can handle it for a few. I’ll yell if I find anything.”
Callahan watched Patti slip behind the counter, through the door into the kitchen. “You trust her?”
“Should I?”
“I don’t know. She seems awful curious about the will.”
“Well, it would be her job on the line if this diner is mine and I decide to sell.”
“Gramps told me Roxy considered leaving the diner to Patti at one time, then she changed her mind.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Leave Patti the diner or change her mind?”
“Change her mind. Seems Patti is the obvious choice to take over. She has a handle on everything around here. She could keep it running with her eyes closed.”
“Gramps didn’t say.” Callahan took a bite of his burger.
“Hmm, well, Sylvia is searching for her husband’s copy. Of course, under the circumstances I’m sure it’s the last thing on her mind right now.”
Callahan grabbed two fries, dipped them in ketchup, before popping them in his mouth. “So we’re back to my original question: what’s the plan?”
She laughed. “That was my question.”
“Are you planning to hang around here until someone finds the will?”
“I can’t stay indefinitely, although I might swing a few more days. I still need to check the cabin.”
He nodded. “We can do that.”
“No, I can do it. You’ve done enough. Besides you’ve got your grandfather to deal with. Isn’t that why you’re here in the first place?”
“Sure, but Gramps has things pretty much in hand at the farm. Not much to do over the winter.”
“So why did you come now? Why didn’t you wait for spring?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“And you dodge a lot of answers.” She reached for her milkshake draining the glass with a slurp. “If Patti finds nothing in the office, I’m going out to the cabin.”
“Fine, I’ll come with you.”
She sighed. “How about I call if I need help?”
“How about I drop you off, go check on Gramps, then pick you up when you’re done?”
Patti came out of the kitchen, shaking her head. “Sorry, I didn’t find anything like a will. But the office is a mess. Things have got a little outta hand without Roxy.”
“That’s all right. Don’t worry about it.” Roxanne told her. “I’m going out to the cabin to look there.”
“Lemme know if you find it,” Patti said. “I’ll check the office again when we’re closed.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Her Aunt Roxy had a small desk with two tiny drawers tucked into a corner of the cabin. A thin layer of dust gave evidence of little use. Roxanne started her search, not surprised to find the desk almost empty. A few rubber bands, a leaky pen, and a pair of scissors lay in the top bin. The bottom drawer held an unopened ream of paper and a brand-new legal pad. She inspected the bookshelves beside the fireplace, taking each book out, shaking it.
Halfway through the books, a dog barked. When the front door opened with a bang, her heart leapt into her throat as she looked for a weapon— anything to keep the canine from attacking.
A golden retriever bounded into the foyer, bringing in frigid air and leaving wet paw prints. His tongue hung out while his tail wagged so hard his whole body shook.
Roxy relaxed. “Well, hello there. Who are you?”
The dog ran to her for a cuddle nudging her hand with his head.
“Aren’t you a friendly doggy!” Roxanne held out her right fingers for the tail-wagger to sniff before rubbing the long fur hanging under his throat. She heard two sets of footsteps on the porch.
A man’s voice called, “Puka! Sit!”
The dog’s rear dropped to the floor while radiating pure adoration at her.
Callahan entered first, followed by a middle-aged man in dusty jeans topped off with an insulated tan work jacket. The man hesitated at the door until Callahan motioned him inside. “Come on, Tom. Meet Roxy’s niece. Looks like Puka has already taken a liking to her. Roxanne, this is Tom Madison. He takes care of the planting, harvesting, and the milking for Roxy.”
Tom walked in after wiping his boots on the welcome mat. A shy grin creased his face. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Same here, Tom. What did you call the dog?”
“Puka.”
“What?”
“P-U-K-A, pronounced poooh-ka.”
“Where did you get that name?”
“I didn’t name him, ma’am. Roxy named him. Puka’s an Irish goblin who’s supposed to bring luck, either good or bad. I guess you never know which for sure. He’s a trickster, and Puka here is a bit of that.”
Roxanne squinted, studying the animal. “Then Puka isn’t your dog?”
“No, ma’am. He was Roxy’s dog. Me and my family’s been taking care of him since Roxy, um, passed away. He mopes and comes over here sometimes. I found him outside the kitchen door yesterday, whining and scratching to get in. I’ll fix any scratches he made. He’s a good dog, doesn’t mean to hurt anything, but he doesn’t understand what’s going on.”
Roxanne patted Puka’s head, while he pressed against her leg. Then he laid on the floor next to her with his legs in the air and his belly waiting for a rub. She couldn’t resist. She bent down giving him several loving strokes.
She’d always wanted a dog. Her mother insisted it would be too much trouble. “Who’s going to clean up after a dog?” her mother challenged. “I will,” Roxanne promised in return; “I’ll walk him and bathe him and pick up his poop.” But her mother never wavered. Roxanne never got a dog. Now, one shimmied beside her, happy to be home and begging for love.
“I wish I could keep him,” she told Tom, her eyes never leaving the overjoyed pooch. “I always wanted a dog.”
“You can. He’d looks as if he’d like that.”
“I’m afraid I work too much. Besides, he’d be unhappy in the city. He needs to run and have somebody around to love him.”
“He’s not a lot of trouble— like I said, he’s a real good dog.”
“I can see that.” Tempting as it was, her mother’s version of common sense crushed the prospect. “It wouldn’t be fair to him.”
“Mr. Callahan said you would be around for a few days. Do you want him while you’re here?”
“I’d love to.” Roxanne really meant it. “Only I’m afraid it would confuse him when I left.”
Tom nodded. “You could be right. He’s such a good fella. I’d hate to see him get his hopes up.”
Roxanne swallowed to keep from crying. She gave Puka one last rub on his belly, then patted his side and stood. “Please, take him. You have a family, someone to give him attention all day. I couldn’t do that.”
Tom nodded. “If that’s what you want. Puka! Come!”
The dog scrambled to his feet, glanced to Tom, then turned back to Roxanne. He stood there panting, not moving except for a diminishing tail wag.
“Come, Puka!” Tom repeated, slapping his leg with his hand.
The dog took one last eyeful of Roxanne then wandered over to Tom, his tail between his legs.
“Any time you want to visit him, feel free,” Tom gave Roxanne a slight nod, catching the dog by the collar to lead him out the door. “Nice meeting you, ma’am.”
Roxanne fought back tears. Realistically, she couldn’t care for a dog. But she wanted Puka. Oh, how she wanted that dog!
Callahan stood in the doorway, watching Tom leave with Puka following. “That dog doesn’t deserve getting kicked out of his home.”
“Dammit, just get out of he-re.” Her voice broke on the verge of sobs.
“I’ll be back for you in a little while.” Callahan’s voice sounded harsher than she’d ever heard it. She coul
dn’t tell if it was anger or if she felt so guilty, she imagined his disapproval.
Roxanne trembled for a moment, wanting to call them back but knowing she wouldn’t do it. She fought the tears threatening to fall as she resumed pulling out each book, shaking it, then replacing it when nothing fell out. Performing the task by rote, she didn’t pay attention to the process. Sometimes she lost her place on the shelf making it necessary to start over from the far-left side. Every once in a while she shook the same book two or three times.
Perhaps she could take the dog, see how it goes. It might work out. She rolled her head on her shoulders to relax and banish the crazy idea at the same time. The dog would be lonely and confused stuck in an apartment all day. His owner wasn’t coming back. His home survived, although it could be gone too, if Roxanne sold the land to Judge Walters—one strike against selling the land.
She told herself to quit being melodramatic. Dogs adjusted. Soon Puka wouldn’t remember Roxy. He’d be loyal to his new family and happy to follow them anywhere. Roxanne wiped a tear from her eye as she continued to shake each tome.
By five she’d finished checking the books. The blue sky dimmed, waiting for dark. Roxanne wished Callahan would return since she wanted to get out of this place in the worst way.
Parked on the rickety desk chair, she gazed around the room. Not too many places for documents here. Ready to give up, she spotted a metal file box under the end table by the sofa. Stuck way back by the wall, not exactly hidden, it couldn’t be seen when standing, only from a sitting position. To reach it, Roxanne ducked her head stretching her arm as far as it would go. Her fingers caught scant purchase on the folded handle, as she struggled to free it. After it slid an inch, it hit the table leg. She tried wiggling it, dropping it on its side and angling the short edge toward the front. Still the furniture blocked it.
Before giving up, she removed the lamp from the table placing it on the floor. Then she lifted the table over the metal box, settling it in the middle of the room. Once free from the confining space, she took the box over to the desk. The clasps on both sides should have released the top, except they were stiff with rust so she found it challenging to apply equal pressure on both at the same time.
After several attempts, she released the obstinate lid. Manila file folders were crammed in the box. She went directly to the one labeled Legal, attempting to tug it free.
A folder labeled Photos came stuck to the Legal file. Several faded, three-by-five photographs spilled onto the desktop. Roxanne started to stuff them back in the folder but each one she picked up proved fascinating. One photo showed two young women, probably teenagers. One wore a pink-and-gray checked, A-line mini dress, the other dressed in wide bell bottoms, with a fringed suede vest over a flowing paisley top. Feathers hung from long, straight auburn hair on one, a neat bob topped the other. One conservative; one hippie. With their arms around each other, they wore big, goofy identical smiles. Both were gorgeous young women. Their kindred looks caused Roxanne to study the photo before she tagged the straight-laced one with gray eyes as her mother, despite an exuberant expression Roxanne had never seen. That characteristic must have remained well hidden from Roxanne under her mother’s cultured demeanor. The other, with turquoise eyes, duplicates of Roxanne’s, had to be her Aunt Roxy.
Roxanne checked the back to see if the photo contained any information on where it had been taken or the occasion. Disappointed, it turned out to be blank except for the date stamp: Sept 14 1968. She set the photo aside to show her mother. Obviously it was snapped before the misunderstanding her mother mentioned.
Another faded 3X5 showed an older couple sitting on a porch swing smiling at the camera in the stiff way most people posed for a snapshot. Surely, these were the grandparents Roxanne never had the chance to meet. She studied the photo, amazed to finally see images of her ancestors.
The other photos hadn’t faded as much. The hippie woman appeared in most of them. In one, she stood with a group of young people next to a set of stone pillars with a bronze plaque reading Trinity College. In another, she hugged a long-haired guy with a sign indicating McHugh’s Pub in the background— somewhere in Northern Ireland, Roxanne guessed. She shuffled through the photos, caught up in a world she’d never seen or heard about.
She stopped at one with the same couple sitting on a high ridge with the ruins of a castle in the background. The castle perched at the edge of a cliff, hanging over the ocean. The next one showed the guy alone amidst the rubble of a bombed-out building. Roxanne studied the handsome face searching for some elusive feeling of familiarity. Nothing.
She flipped through a few more showing Roxy in front of a small stage with the same guy standing at the mike, a guitar slung low on his hips. Aside from Roxy’s loving gaze, nothing stood out. Before she wasted any more time, Roxanne scooped all the photos into the folder. She might look at the rest of the bittersweet snapshots later— or maybe not.
She moved on to the Legal folder, passing over copies of the insurance papers she’d seen at Roxy’s house in town. Then she came to an envelope with the identical “To whom it may concern” written on the front. Like its missing duplicate, this one remained sealed. Before she could begin her search for a letter opener, a blue-covered set of papers, the covering sometimes used for wills, caught her attention. She laughed aloud, kissing the blue cover in her delight.
Finally!
She noted the date on the cover: June 15, 2015. June fifteenth was Roxanne’s birthday. A coincidence or did Roxy specifically draw up the will on that date? Not able to control her curiosity any longer, she flipped to the first page. “I, Roxanne O'Hara, revoke my former wills and codicils, and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament.”
She stuffed the photos back in the metal file, moved it aside and settled in to read the long lost missive.
A click signaled the front door opening.
With her attention on the document, Roxanne called, “Callahan! It’s about time you came back! I found it!”
Then she felt an agonizing crack to the back of her head and slumped face-first onto the desk.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The light leaking through her closed eyelids, increased the ache in her head. She wished someone would turn it off. The same for those muted banging, clanking sounds. Each clank sent a prick of pain shooting along her nerve endings.
When she could take it no longer, she opened her eyes. “For God’s sake, stop it!”
The startled nurse nearly dropped the clipboard she carried. “You’re awake.”
“Hard not to be,” Roxanne muttered. “What happened? Why am I here?”
“They admitted you last night from the emergency room.” The attendant read from the clipboard: “You arrived unconscious from a blow to the head. A CT scan showed no swelling of the brain or internal bleeding—”
“I need to get out of here.” Roxanne pushed up onto her elbows.
The blinding pain behind her eyes made her instantly regret the maneuver. The caregiver became two identical wavy forms standing over her. She blinked several times until she saw one nurse again, then slowly lowered herself back against the pillow.
The nurse held a small light shining it into one eye then the other. She took Roxanne’s pulse, made a notation on the clipboard, then wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her patient’s left arm. Satisfied with the reading, she held out a tiny paper cup containing two white pills.
“What’s this?” Roxanne asked.
“Ibuprofen to help with the headache. Your head must be killing you.”
“You can say that again.” Roxanne downed the two pills with a glass of water from the bedside table. “Where are my clothes?”
“In the locker.” The nurse pointed to a tan metal cabinet on the wall at the foot of the bed underneath the mounted television.
“I should get dressed.” Roxanne started to rise again, slumping back when the room spun.
“Take it easy,” her erstwhile jailer chided. “B
reakfast will be along soon.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You should eat.” The nurse paused at the door. “If you need anything, use the buzzer.”
“Wait,” She called to the retreating nurse. The door flicked shut without a response from the caregiver.
As she held her splitting head in one hand, she probed under her hair with the other. When she prodded a bump about the size of a golf ball, she cried out in pain. It hurt like hell, but at least she sported no turban of gauze wrapped around her skull. And they didn’t have to shave her hair, thank God. She rested her forehead in her hands, surprised to feel a Band-Aid above her left eye.
“Damn, I’m a mess,” she informed the empty room.
A voice from the doorway replied, “It could be worse.”
Her head shot up, sending the room spinning again. She dropped her hands to the mattress to gain equilibrium.
Callahan stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his familiar crooked smile in place. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” she answered through gritted teeth. “Like I told the nurse, I really, really need to get out of here.”
“That’s not an option.”
“You can’t make me stay here.” Roxanne covered her eyes with one hand to block the glaring sunlight that shone through the window glinting off the aluminum bed frame.
“I can’t, but I bet the doctor has something to say about it.”
“I told you, I’m fine. Now will you help me get out of here?”
“I can’t go against medical advice. You should stay in bed a while longer.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Since last evening. I found you on the floor at Roxy’s cabin. It’s a good thing I showed up.”
“You brought me here?”
“Actually, I called 911. Scared the hell out of me: you were out, blood running down the side of your face. I guess you could say I panicked.”
“According to the nurse, I’m not in too bad of shape. You should have tried to wake me and just wiped the blood off. You didn’t have to bring me here.”