On Behalf of Evelyn Walters

Sarah ran the back of her forearm across her face to mop up the beading sweat. She stripped off her flannel shirt and threw it in a heap in the corner of the room, one of the few spots free of all the remaining unpacked boxes. Maybe she’d turn it into a gym. Or an art studio. Not that she really painted much these days.

Whatever she did with it would have to wait until she got the looming secretary desk out of the far corner of the room, hidden from the light shining through the window. The desk had been the only item left in the house by the previous owner, the deceased Evelyn Walters. Sarah requested that it be moved when she found out it was left behind, but when she called the moving company they only said, “We move. We don’t remove.”

He was referring to the fact that the desk was nailed to the wall. Bolted, it seemed. Sarah gave it a push. It didn’t budge. Dust coated every inch of the faded cream colored wood, handles were missing, and a musty smell from at least the 1800’s assaulted her if she opened the drop-leaf.

But this time she was prepared. She set down her tool box and got to work. She braced herself and then opened the drop-leaf, finding the nails secured in hidden corners. They were hammered in sloppily, entering at odd angles. Whoever did the job was either in a rush or half blind, but it made things easier for Sarah as she slipped the claw of the hammer under the nail heads and popped them out, one after the other.

She put the old nails into one of the small compartments in the desk and then laced her fingers behind one of the back legs. Lighter than she imagined, Sarah lifted the desk up and pulled it away from the wall. She heard a thunk and carefully placed the desk down, thinking she broke something.

Sarah poked her head behind the desk and noticed a thin black box laying on the ground. She bent down and reached out her arm, clutching it in her fingers and drawing it back to her. It wasn’t a box. It was a notebook, small enough to fit in your hand, with smooth black leather and a black band to keep it shut. Sarah sat down on the floor, back against the wall, and pulled the band aside, freeing the covers. She flipped through the first few pages but the lines were blank. She kept flipping. Toward the middle of the book she landed on a page with a note scrawled in black ink. Her eyes ran quickly across the page, feeling a prickle of guilt at invading someone’s privacy.

What’s here is yours to keep. Do what you will with it. Buy something special. Save it for a rainy day. Feed your family. Just do not give it to mine.

A cloud of confusion bloomed in Sarah’s mind as she read the note once more. She must’ve missed something. She decided to get up and check the desk’s drawers again.

Empty.

She peered behind the desk, but the back of it was normal. But this time she noticed the hole in the wall. She pulled the desk back even further, giving her full access to the hole. She lowered her eyes to its level and saw something was inside. An envelope. She withdrew it from the hole, but it was blank. No name. No address. With a little bit more guilt this time, Sarah slid her finger beneath the seal of the envelope. Her breath faltered when she saw what was inside.

Cash. Lot’s of it.

Sarah pulled out the thick wad of money and began counting it. When she finished, she recounted to be sure her brain was functioning properly. Then she counted it again for good measure. But there was no mistaking it. That envelope contained twenty-thousand dollars.

***

Sarah swirled her ruby red wine in the glass, mulling over what she was going to do with the money. She had contacted her lawyer, who said she may have a case for claiming it since the note appeared to suggest the owner relinquished it to the finder. Of course, she could use the cash. She could put it toward the house, for starters, and save some money for a change.

Sarah eyed the little black book sitting by her feet on the coffee table. She drew in a deep breath through her nose, eyeing the smooth black leather, before hearing a knock at the door. She stood from the couch and opened the front door, taking in the skinny woman with stringy blonde hair and sunken eyes.

“Hi,” Sarah said with a small smile.

“Hey. Sorry to uh, bother you,” the woman said, an arm jutting out fast as she gestured toward Sarah. “I’m Tina Walters. Daughter of the previous owner.” Tina averted her eyes.

“Oh, hello,” Sarah said. “Can I help you with—”

“I was hoping we could talk,” Tina met her eyes now.

“Sure,” Sarah said after a brief hesitation. “Please come in.” She led Tina to the couch, and sat down in the chair beside it to face her.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sarah said, shifting in her seat.

“Oh, thanks,” Tina said, waving the comment away. “Listen, uh, this is a little awkward,” she began, choking out a small laugh. “But I think my mother, crazy old bat that she was, left some money here. I searched all over the place. Course I couldn’t find it. I was wondering if you came by it?”

Sarah looked at Tina carefully, the way she pressed her fingers together in her lap. Just do not give it to mine, the note had read. “No… I’m—I’m terribly sorry. I haven’t found anything.”

Tina’s shoulders sank in disappointment. She took a deep breath in before casting her gaze down on the coffee table. Her eyes widened a bit.

“Funny you have one of those,” she said, pointing a scrawny finger at the little black book. “My mother used to have one with her everywhere she went. ‘How else can you take notes and organize your thoughts?’” Tina raised her voice to a nagging ring, mocking her mother. She reached out and picked up the notebook.

“Oh, please,” Sarah began. “I’d prefer if you—”

Too late. Tina had found the page easily. The handwritten note from her mother, scrawled in black ink, practically leapt off the page.

Tina shut the book and raised her eyes to meet Sarah’s.

“Where is it.” It wasn’t a question.

“You need to leave,” Sarah said, standing up.

“That’s my money!” Tina stood up, yelling. Her eyes grew wild from their sockets.

“Get out,” Sarah said sternly.

“Or what?” Tina pressed.

“I’ll call the police,” Sarah said, pulling her cell phone from her back pocket. Tina gave her a small smirk, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

“I will have my money,” Tina said before turning on her foot and walking out the door.

***

Sarah had her hands in the dirt, trying everything she could to spruce up the front yard. The sun burned down on her back and she turned her head as she heard a car pull up the long driveway. A young girl stepped out, short brown hair poofed out in curls around her head. She waved before walking toward Sarah.

“Hello,” Sarah called out, brushing off her hands.

“Hi,” the girl said. “I’m sorry to bother you. Are you Sarah Lewis?”

“That’s me,” she said, shielding the sun from her eyes. “Who might you be?”

“My name is Allison Walters.” Sarah froze in her boots. “I know my mother came here last night. I’m sorry if she caused any trouble.”

“What do you want? The money?” Sarah asked, patience dwindling quickly. She left the city so she wouldn’t have to deal with crazy people anymore. She supposed crazy had no borders.

"No not at all. I—I was hoping I could talk to you about the money. I don’t want it,” Allison forced the words out quickly.

“Then what do you want?”

“To make sure you honor my grandmother’s wish,” Allison tucked her anxious hands into her pockets.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Sarah offered. The sun was blazing now and Allison seemed more sane than her mother. Maybe Sarah could get some information out of her.

Sarah led Allison to the spot on the couch where her mother sat the night before. She brought over two glasses of water and plopped herself silently into the chair. Allison smiled graciously before taking a long sip.

“I noticed you found the little black notebook my grandmother left,” she said, pointing at the notebook on the table. Sarah only nodded her head. “What did you… think of her note?’ Allison asked.

“Naturally I found it a little odd,” Sarah said, raising her eyebrows. Allison nodded as if she understood. “I would think the next of kin would inherit her savings. I hope this isn’t too invasive, but do you know why she doesn’t want her family to have it?”

“That’s okay,” Allison said with a small shake of her head. “My mother isn’t well. She’s always on a roller coaster. That’s the way it goes with addicts.” Allison kept her eyes on her water glass.

“Why wouldn’t she give it to you then?” Sarah pressed.

“I didn’t want it,” Allison said softly. “It wasn’t mine and I didn’t want it to drive a wedge between me and my mom. She’d know if I had it.”

Sarah nodded her head. “Well the money isn’t mine either. And your mom came over here pretty determined that she would get it one way or another.”

“I’m so sorry,” Allison said, anxiety coating her words.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sarah waved her off. “I’ve dealt with worse. But I am curious—what was she like?”

“My grandmother?” Allison asked. Sarah nodded her head.

“Well I know you think she must be cruel for not giving her money to her family. But I asked her to do it.”

“I don’t think she’s weird. I just want to know who she was. I am living in her home, after all.”

Allison looked at her skeptically but nodded her head. “She was a single mother but she did everything she could to provide for my mom, and then for me. She loved a good gin and tonic,” Allison said with a small laugh. “And she was a vet technician her whole life. Even once she retired she volunteered at Oak Ridge Farm down the road. She was kind of obsessed with animals. The house was practically a zoo growing up.”

“I thought I smelled a little funk coming from the upstairs carpet,” Sarah said as they both shared a laugh. “I think I have an idea. If you’re up for it.”

***

Sarah stood beside Allison, looking at the looming building that blocked out the sun. The smell of manure filled their noses as cows roamed to the left, horses to the right. A sign that read Oak Ridge Farm was plastered to the front of the building. They walked together toward a door on the far right that had a much smaller sign reading Office.

Sarah stood behind Allison as the young girl lifted her arm and knocked on the door. A moment later, an older gentleman opened the door and popped his head out.

“Hello there, ladies,” he said, smiling from under his bushy mustache. “What can I do for ya?”

“We’d like to make a donation.” Allison said. “On behalf of Evelyn Walters.”