James Grippando - Found money

Amy was sitting on the window ledge, a tight little ball with her knees drawn up to her chin. She had waited for another gunshot, but there had been only one. Not another sound. Just silence in the darkness.

She didn’t know what to do, whether to run or stay put. Someone could be out there, a burglar. Or Mom could need her help. She had to do something. It took all her courage, but slowly she lowered her feet to the floor. The wooden planks creaked beneath her feet, startling her. She took a deep breath and started toward the door. She stepped lightly, so as not to make a sound. If there was someone out there, she couldn’t let them hear her.

The knob turned slowly in her hand. She pulled the door toward her. It opened a crack, then caught on something. She tugged harder. It would open no more than a two-finger width. With her cheek pressed against the door frame, she peered out the narrow opening. She blinked, confused. A rope was tied to her bedroom doorknob. The other end was looped around the banister across the hall. With the door open just an inch, it was taut as a tightrope.

Someone on the outside had tied her inside her bedroom.

She closed the door, trembling. On impulse, she ran into the closet and shut the door. It was pitch dark inside. She was accustomed to the dark, all the nights she’d spent with her telescope. For the first time, however, she was truly afraid of it.

The flashlight, she thought.

It was in there, she knew, with her astronomy books. The third shelf. She groped in the darkness, sorting through her possessions by touch. Finally, she found it and switched it on. The brightness hurt her eyes, so she aimed it at the floor. The closet glowed. Her eyes adjusted. Shoes lay scattered on the floor. Her clothes hung on a rod directly above her head. To the side were the built-in shelves, reaching like a ladder from floor to ceiling. At the top was a panel — an entrance to the attic.

She had used it once before to make an escape, when she was playing hide-and-seek with her friends. It led to the guest room across the hall. When her mother had found out, she’d told her never to go up there again. Tonight, however, was clearly an exception.

Amy was frightened to go up alone but even more afraid to stay put. She swallowed hard for courage, then tucked the flashlight under her chin and climbed up the shelves.

…The phone rang on her desk, rousing her from her twenty-year-old memories. Just a friend calling for lunch. “Sure,” said Amy. “Meet you in the lobby at noon.”

She hung up, still distracted, connected to her past. It had taken a lot of courage for that little girl to climb out of that closet and see what lay outside her room. It was time to dig inside and find the same fortitude.

She picked up the phone and dialed Ryan Duffy at his clinic. This time, she stayed on the line when the receptionist answered, unlike yesterday when she’d lost her nerve and hung up. “May I speak to Dr. Duffy, please?”

“I’m sorry, he’s with a patient.”

“Can you interrupt him, please? This will take just a minute.”

“Is this an emergency?”

“No, but-”

“If it’s not an emergency, I’ll have him call you.”

“It’s personal. Tell him it’s about his father.”

The receptionist paused, then said, “Hold one moment.”

Amy waited, reminding herself of the dos and don’ts. Tell the truth — to a point. First name only, not her last. No mention of where she lived.

“This is Dr. Duffy.”

“Hi,” she said, somewhat startled. “Thanks — thanks for coming. I mean, for answering. The phone, that is.” Jeez, she thought, cringing. Taylor could have put together a better sentence.

“Who is this?”

“You don’t know me. But I think your father must have. Or maybe it was your mother.”

“What? Is this some kind of crank?”

“I’m sorry. I’m not making much sense. Let me just start at the top, and you can decide what’s going on for yourself. You see, I got a package a couple of weeks ago. It didn’t have a return address, but I’m certain it came from either your father or your mother. I know your father passed away recently, and I didn’t want to trouble your mother.”

Ryan’s voice suddenly lost its edge. “How do you know it came from my parents?”

“That’s just something I figured out.”

“What was in the package?”

“A gift.”

“What kind of gift?”

“A totally unexpected one. I don’t really want to get into it on the telephone. Could we maybe meet somewhere and talk about this?”

“I’d really like to know more about this gift.”

“And I’d be more than happy to tell you,” said Amy. “But please, not on the phone.”

“Where do you want to meet?”

“Just someplace public, like a restaurant or something. Not that I don’t trust you. I just don’t know you.”

“Okay. You want to meet here in Piedmont Springs? I can do it tonight, if you like.”

Amy hesitated. It was a five-hour drive from Boulder each way, and she had just made the trip yesterday. Long trips in her clunky old truck were a complete roll of the dice, especially at night. And another day off from work was pushing it. “That’s kind of far for me.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Well, tomorrow I’ll be in Denver on a personal matter. Is that any better for you?”

Amy was sure she could think of some computer-related excuse to go to the firm’s Denver office. “Yes, as a matter of fact it is. Do you know the Green Parrot? It’s a coffee shop, dessert place at Larimer Square.”

“I’m sure I can find it.”

“Great,” said Amy. “What time is good for you?”

“I have an appointment at two. Not sure how long it will last. Let’s say four o’clock, just to be safe.”

“Four it is,” she said.

“Hey,” he said, catching her before the hang-up. “How will we know each other?”

“Just give the hostess your name. I’ll ask for Dr. Duffy when I get there.”

“See you then.”

“Yes,” she said eagerly, “definitely.”

Ryan ate an early lunch on Friday and drove alone to Denver. The radio was playing, but he hardly noticed. This afternoon’s property settlement conference with Liz and her lawyer was enough to keep his mind whirling. Now he could also look forward to the mystery woman and her four o’clock surprise.

Ryan had phoned Liz the morning after their Tuesday evening talk on the front porch. Having slept on it, he’d decided to feel her out before telling her about the money. He offered to ride together to Friday’s meeting, hoping she’d suggest they simply postpone the whole divorce thing, maybe start talking reconciliation. But she declined the ride. Seemed she had to be in Denver three hours ahead of time to prepare with her lawyer.

Three hours? Who the hell did they think he was, Donald Trump?

His heart thumped with a sudden realization. Technically, he was a millionaire. But how would Liz know that? Ryan hadn’t even told his own lawyer about the two million in the attic, which raised another set of problems. Eventually, the divorce would force him to disclose his net worth under oath, either in sworn deposition testimony or in his sworn statement of assets and liabilities. For the moment, however, he didn’t consider the tainted cash an asset. At least not until he decided to keep it. Today, he would just have to finesse things. Later, if he did decide to keep it, he could figure out a way to tell Liz.

Unless she already knew. Somehow.

Seventeenth Street was the lifeline of Denver’s financial district. Amid the shadows of more than a dozen sleek chrome and glass skyscrapers, Ryan drove slowly in search of parking rates that didn’t cause cardiac arrest. It was futile. He parked in the garage of a forty-story tower owned by the Anaconda Corporation, an international mining conglomerate whose real gold mine must have been parking revenue. A catwalk took him to the building’s atrium, where he caught an express elevator to the thirty-fourth floor.