James Grippando - Found money

“One and a half what?” her mother asked.

“One-twenty over eighty. That equals one and a half.”

The nurse looked up from her chart, almost dropped her pen. “How old is that child?”

“Six,” said her mother. “Well, almost six.”

More than twenty years later, the look on that old nurse’s face was still unforgettable. Over and over, throughout her childhood, Amy would see that same spooked expression. Hearing the amazing things that came out of her mouth, people would think she was just small for her age. Then they’d find out how young she really was and look at her like some kind of walking gray-matter freak.

“You’re special,” her mother would tell her, and she had always made Amy feel that way. Until she was gone, and then things really got difficult. Amy learned to be tough, both physically and emotionally. Especially with boys. In elementary school, they would pick fights with her on the playground, just to show her the limits of being so smart. As pretty as she was, she had plenty of dates in high school, but not many second dates. Brains were a scary thing to some people, from that nurse in the doctor’s office, to the boys on the playground, to her jerk of an ex-husband.

Somehow, it didn’t seem like that would ever be an issue for a guy like Ryan Duffy.

Admittedly, the meeting with Ryan wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done. Even her own mother would have told her that, had she been alive. Yet dismissing the whole thing as stupid rang hollow in her heart. She had a good feeling about Ryan. He’d made her smile, put her at ease in a situation that could have been far from easy. To her surprise, she found herself wishing they had met under different circumstances, another time in their lives. She wasn’t sure what was percolating inside of her, but ever since she’d left the restaurant, she’d thought more about him than the money.

If that was what it felt like to finally feel stupid, stupid wasn’t such a horrible thing.

What was really stupid was her remark right before she’d left, when he’d asked to see her again. You never know. Three little words that, to any reasonable human being, translated roughly to “In your dreams, buddy.”

Enough self-flagellation. She had his phone number. And she did have to call him. She at least had to tell him the truth. This wasn’t just a matter of a thousand dollars, as she had led him to believe. She had ignored the very pep talk she had given herself outside the Green Parrot, when she’d promised herself to use “the direct approach.” It was time to practice what she preached.

And then just see where things led from there.

She picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and dialed the number.

The phone rang, piercing the silence. Ryan stopped in the hall. He had checked the entire house. He was definitely alone. Whoever had been there had left some time ago. Still, he had a strange sensation that somebody was watching the house — that whoever had broken in was on the phone, calling him, taunting him. He went to the kitchen and answered in a harsh tone.

“What do you want?”

“Ryan, hi. It’s Amy. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

He knew he sounded stressed, but he sure wasn’t going to tell her about the break-in. “Sort of. No, I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

“I’ll make this quick. I’ve been thinking about our conversation, and I felt like I needed to set something straight. But I can call back later, if you want.”

“No, really. What is it?”

She struggled, not wanting to sound like a complete liar. “One comment you made really stuck in my mind. You said it didn’t surprise you that your dad gave me some money. You said you wouldn’t be surprised if your dad had given away money to lots of people after he learned he was sick.”

“I was just talking off the cuff.”

“But let’s say he did give away money to more people like me. Maybe lots more. I don’t mean to offend, but from what I can tell, your father didn’t appear to be super wealthy.”

He leaned against the refrigerator, curious. “What are you getting at?”

The direct approach, she reminded herself. Use the direct approach. Her voice tightened as she asked, “Where would he get that kind of money?”

Ryan hesitated. Did she know something? “I could only assume he saved it.”

“But what if it were a lot more than a thousand dollars? Just hypothetically speaking.”

“I don’t really see your point.”

“Just bear with me. You seemed like a nice guy when we talked. I guess I need to know just how nice you really are. Let’s say the box had… five thousand dollars in it. Would you still tell me to keep it?”

“A thousand, five thousand. Whatever. Yeah, keep it.”

“What if it were fifty thousand? Hypothetically speaking.”

He swallowed with trepidation. “I guess it wouldn’t make a difference. Not if that was what Dad wanted.”

“How about a hundred thousand?”

He said nothing, as if it were unthinkable.

“No,” said Amy, “let’s say it was two hundred thousand dollars. Would you let me keep it?”

A nervous silence fell over the line. “Hypothetically?” asked Ryan.

“Hypothetically,” she said firmly.

He answered in a low, even tone. “I’d want to know where in the hell my dad got the money.”

She answered in the same serious voice. “So would I.”

He sank into a bar stool facing the kitchen counter. “What do you want from me?”

“I just want this to be on the level. I’d love to keep the money. And as you say, for some reason your father apparently wanted me to have it. But if it’s dirty, I don’t want to be connected to it in any way.”

“I don’t know where my dad would get two hundred thousand dollars, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

“All I’m really asking is whether your father was an honest man.”

Ryan only sighed. “I may need a little time to answer that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. There are some things I need to check into.”

“What kind of things?”

“Please, give me a week, just to get things in order. Family stuff.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but she didn’t see a choice. Not if she wanted to keep the money. “All right. I’m not looking to upset your family or ruin your dad’s good name. But if I don’t see some bank records or something that proves this money is from a legitimate source, I’m afraid I’ll have to turn it over to the police.”

“You could just give it back to me.”

“I’m sorry. But it came to my house, touched my hands. If it’s tainted money, I have to turn it in. Maybe the police can figure out where it came from.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“I know it does. Believe me, that was the last thing I intended when I made this phone call. I was hoping…”

“Hoping what?”

The words caught in her throat. There was no point telling him she had hoped to see him again. Not if he couldn’t give a straight answer to a simple question like Was your father an honest man?

“Nothing. I just hope you can come up with something to put me at ease. You can have a week, Ryan. I’ll call you then,” she said, then hung up the phone.

Ryan hung up, then froze. He heard a creak in the floorboard just a few feet behind him. He whirled, clutching the phone like a weapon.

His moment of panic turned quickly to relief. It was his brother-in-law. Sarah must have given him her key. “Damn it, Brent. What the hell you doing, sneaking up on me?”

“Not sneaking,” he said in a thick, gravelly voice. He smelled of spilled beer, a half-empty Coors in one hand.

Ryan peered through the kitchen window to the driveway. Brent’s car was a few feet behind his, parked at a careless angle. He must have pulled up while Amy was on the phone. “Did you drive here in that condition?”