Queen Bee Goes Home Again

by Haywood Smith

  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.”r />
  “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.”

  “I saw a cute little diner near the courthouse.”

  “Good call.”

  Tommy had a huge cheeseburger while I ate my veggie plate (if you can call three starches and some green beans a vegetable plate, which they did), then he headed home and I headed for the deeds room and the tax commissioner’s office.

  At four forty-five, Tommy pulled up by the bench where I was sitting in front of the courthouse, enjoying a cool mountain breeze.

  “Hey, good-lookin’,” he called through the open passenger window. “Can I take you to supper?”

  I stood. “That depends. Where?”

  He lifted a brimming picnic basket from home. “At our elegant accommodations.” The Best Eastern motel in the next town on our list.

  “It’s a date.” I opened the door, then climbed in and buckled up. “How’d it go with Miss Mamie?”

  “Great.” He let off the brake, then headed for the next town, only twenty minutes away, carefully keeping to the speed limit. “She welcomed me home, asked how long I’d be there, then said she’d pack us some supper for me to take back. Didn’t even mention the backpack or why I was there. Just went to the kitchen till I came to say good-bye, then kissed me and handed me the basket.” His stomach growled, prompting him to reach under the clean tea towel atop the basket wedged between us and extract a fried chicken leg. “Sorry, but gold makes me hungry.”

  Shades of Midas.

  My own stomach growled, too, so I helped myself. “Oh, goodie. All legs.” Yuummm. Tommy’s and my favorite.

  “She sent her love.”

  After we’d finished our snack, Tommy shot me a sidelong glance. “So how was your afternoon?”

  “Perfect. I was able to trace the lands’ ownership back more than a hundred years. I even collected recent comparable sales. Not that there were many. The bottom’s dropped out of this market, too. Then I found out the taxes had been paid a month before Daddy went to the Home. Won’t be due again till December.”

  “That’s a relief.” He threaded his fingers through his hair. “Let’s go hole up in our room, eat supper, and go to bed. I don’t mind telling you, all this excitement has worn me slap out.”

  “Me, too.”

  Fortunately, the motel was just ahead. Once there, we washed up, then devoured our chicken, deviled eggs, broccoli slaw, and potato salad with plenty of decaf diet cola from the vending area.

  We were both out like a light by nine.

  The next morning while we grumbled about who would shower first, Tommy accused me of snoring like a chain saw. (True.)

  I retaliated by informing him that he did, too. (True!)

  Then we laughed, and he let me go first, because both of us knew I took really quick showers.

  We had a very good breakfast at a morning place on the square, then headed for the bank.

  Did we find deeds?

  Yes. In all fourteen of the banks, for a total of nineteen, ranging from three to fifty acres.

  Were the taxes paid?

  All but two, which had been snapped up on the courthouse steps by the sheriff’s son-in-law in one case, and a mayor in the other.

  Was there gold?

  Can we say amen? More of the same in every blessed Tyvek envelope, halleluiah!

  And every afternoon, Tommy took what we’d found home while I researched titles, comparables, and taxes.

  When the weekend came, we gratefully returned to our own beds in Mimosa Branch to rest, then set out again the next Monday morning.

  And Miss Mamie, she don’t ask nothin’.

  Based on the sales slips we had found in Daddy’s office, he’d bought the troy ounce Krugerrands for just a few dollars over the cost of their gold, which was only thirty-two dollars back then. Heaven only knew how much they were worth now that we’d found them. If they were genuine. As his mind failed, Daddy had trusted some real crooks.

  But the gold pieces had to be real. I couldn’t bear to think that we’d all been cheated along with him.

  Twice, on banks nine and ten, Tommy was so tired of driving back and forth that he’d tried to lock the loot up in the motel safes, saying only that the contents of the envelopes were very valuable. But both of the motel managers said they could only be responsible for a maximum of five hundred dollars.

  “If I hadn’t had a program,” Tommy confessed when he got back in the truck after the second try, “I’d have poked that guy in the nose. But I realized he was just doing his job and trying to make a living. Liability coverage has gone sky-high for everyone. I can’t imagine what it must cost for a motel.”

  I cocked my head at him in admiration. “You really have grown up, haven’t you?”

  He nodded, his expression content. “I like being a grown-up and living in truth instead of self-serving lies.” He let out a harsh chuckle. “I still have a lot of amends to make for taking advantage of Miss Mamie and the General. And you.”

  That didn’t sound healthy, to me. “I forgive you, and I’m sure the Mame and Daddy do, too. Why do you have to keep on making amends?”

  “I want to make them,” he told me, and I thought of how he’d shaved Daddy almost every day and considered that time with him a gift.

  He really had changed. If only I could be more like him. “Wow.”

  “It gives me a purpose,” my brother added. “I can do the work at the house, and that makes me feel useful. Even if I get elected, I’ll still take care of the house for Miss Mamie.”

  We’d never talked this way, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. It seemed wonderful and dangerous at the same time. I didn’t want to mess this up.

  So I changed the subject. “What do you think we should do with the gold? I can see you’re worn out.”

  “We’ll stick with the plan.” He let out a brief yawn.

  “I can drive, too, you know. Why don’t I take the stuff home, and you can search the records.”

  That hit a nerve. “Not. I’d drive to Miami and back before I’d face all those books and papers and know-it-alls. You do the research, I’ll do the road.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  We ate a companionable lunch saturated with trans fats, then he dropped me at the courthouse and headed for Mimosa Branch.

  As we went from one bank to the next, we had a lot of time to talk in the truck, mostly about what to do with the money from the coins. A new roof was priority one. And foam insulation in the attic.

  And a private nurse for Daddy and Uncle B.

  We decided that insulated windows would have to wait till we got some estimates, to see what that would cost. Fourteen-thirty-one Green Street had a lot of windows. Every time I tried to count them up, I lost track.

  “And a maid for Miss Mamie,” I added as we headed for bank number twelve. “No, make that a cleaning crew.”

  “Good luck with that,” Tommy said. “I can hear the Mame already: ‘I will not allow a herd of perfect strangers to poke around in my house or my things. They might steal. Or carry tales. No, it’ll have to be somebody with references I know.’”

  All of whom were either too decrepit or booked solid.

  Discussing the money, we both laughed a lot, proposing wilder and wilder possibilities. We started by being practical with solar electricity, but ended up taking Da
ddy and Uncle B and the Mame to a spa in Bali.

  It sure felt good to laugh in the midst of our search.

  Somewhere in the course of our journey, we came to be friends. Enough so, that I felt free to tell Tommy about my physical obsession with Connor. “I’m afraid I’ll end up being the scarlet woman for real. He turns me on so hard, I can’t think straight.”

  “The guy’s a grown man,” Tommy responded, “perfectly capable of weighing the pros and cons on his own. Give him some credit, Sissie-ma-noo-noo. He knows what he wants, and that’s to date you so both of you can get to know each other better.”

  I glanced to the trees and fields we passed. “I want him, too. But that doesn’t mean it’s right.” Pulled in both directions, I said, “Wanting isn’t a decent criteria for a relationship.”

  “Hence, the dating,” Tommy said.

  As usual, my knee-jerk reaction was negative. “I just told you, I’m not sure I can control myself.”

  What was wrong with this picture? Ten years ago, I’d wanted to hop in the bed with Mr. Wrong. Now I was wanting to stay out of bed with Mr. Right. “Oh, Lord. I can’t do this.”

  Tommy rolled his eyes. “I hereby officially butt out of this. You’re secretly looking for a scapegoat, and I refuse to take the blame if things don’t work out. From now on, what happens between you and Connor is your business, not mine.”

  Now, that sounded like the old Tommy.

  “Say what you mean,” I shot back, “but don’t be mean when you say it.” The slogan came from my enabler’s group, probably stolen from AA.

  I turned to look out the side window, my feelings ruffled. But the thing was, he could be right.

  This time, it was Tommy who broke the silence. “That said, Connor seems to be what he appears to be: a decent, upright, intelligent, committed Christian. Who lives next door. Who’s smitten with you.” He finally shot me a sidelong grin. “Not that I’m pushing him on you. It’s just that my instincts tell me he’s an okay guy.”

  So much for butting out.

  I nodded. “Instincts noted.” After a pause, I couldn’t help adding, “What about his congregation? You know how a lot of them feel about me.”