Secret Stash

It was a dark and peculiar night in frigid February. A storm was anticipated through Tuesday afternoon. The wind had picked up, rattling the old front windows. I could feel the draft as I opened the drapes to peek out. I could see a set of footprints on the path out front. They continued along the length of the driveway, up the stairs and onto the porch.

I went to the door for a better view, someone had wedged a note there. The note bore the tiniest cursive ever. It read: “Be watchful for a package this week.” Now, I was even more unsettled by the mysterious message than about the whistling wind, or the chill in the air. I put the teapot on, hoping that some tea would warm me and soothe my nerves at the same time.

I turned on the oven for extra heat. My daughter, Myra, is a sweet, young, red-headed girl with a sweet tooth. She took advantage of the opportunity to make and bake brownies. She was proud that she could cook and bake by herself. She was always very good at being quiet and entertaining herself while I write.

With my tea, I took a seat in the front room, in Nana’s vintage pink matelasse’ love seat. Brianna, our black cat, was asleep in a chair nearby. Although the lights were dim, I made one last attempt to write, but no words came. When I heard Myra snoring, I went about the house, checking locks and turning off lights before going to bed.

####

The deceptive brightness was my alarm clock. The sun shone through my blinds even though they were closed. I lay in bed covering my head with my pastel floral patchwork quilt. “Just till 9:30”, I told myself, not at all looking forward to assessing the storm’s damage. It was all I could do to just move. Eventually, I dragged myself from bed, not looking forward to the drafty house.

When Shelly, my aide, came in, I was not in the mood for talking. She was chatting away, a mile a minute, about what I don’t know. I was awake, but not functional. I began to perk up when we discovered a package on our porch. I think it’s the package the tiny note had warned me about. Although it had my name on it, I had no clue what it was. After dragging it into the front room, I used my tiny key knife to cut through the strong, stiff tape.

It appeared that the only thing in the big brown box was styrofoam “peanuts”. Something shiny caught my eye, so I continued to dig through the packing until I unearthed a little black book with gilded lettering. This was not the type of “little black book” with your girlfriends’ numbers in it-just clues.

The first clue was easy for me. “511”. That was the number on Nana’s and Papa’s house. They lived on the West Side, on Norwood Avenue just off Bidwell Circle. Their house was Old Style, built in 1900. It was two stories and had four bedrooms and one and half baths. As a kid, I always thought it was very ornate. I remember how I looked up, to see the beautiful leaded windows of the master bedroom at the front of the house. I miss that old house, Nana and Papa too. Nana’s been gone since Myra was almost five, and Papa passed just recently at Easter.

The second clue was “Zane Grey”. I knew that one too. Nana had a collection of books by Zane Grey. I remember they had orange covers, and smelled “old”. Papa and I had a thing for Westerns. He preferred movies; he wasn’t much of a reader like me.

I understood that the black book of clues were from Nana and Papa, and that they related to the old, orange books somehow. Who had them? Where are they? Mom had no idea. Maybe the third clue would tell me where the books are.

The third clue was “119”. It was another address-my Godfather’s house at 119 Warren Court. Before I called him, I looked at the next clue. The black book read: “20”. Still stumped, I called Uncle Frank.

“Hey, I was about to call ya. I got a package here for you, and I’m not sure why.

“I will stop by to see you. Maybe you know something I don’t”. Frank was confused, but hung up and waited.

I gathered the note written in tiny cursive, and the little black book of clues. On our way to the car, Myra and I took a look for any damage or potential problems caused by the storm. She took her little orange shovel and cleared the area in front of the dryer vent. Thankfully, that was all we needed to do for now.

When I got to Frank’s, I showed him the note, and the book of clues. I shared “The first clue was Nana’s house number ‘511’. ‘Zane Grey’ was the second clue. The third clue was ‘119’.The fourth clue is’20”’. We looked in the little black book for more clues.The fifth clue is ‘100’, and the last clue was ‘10’. The back of the black book resembled a ledger. Was that a clue itself?

While listening to Vanessa, Frank brought in the sizable box that he had on his porch. He carefully cut the box open with my tiny key knife I lent him. Myra began to open the box. Nana and Papa had arranged for me to have the vintage books I read as a kid. "Betty Zane", "The Spirit of the Border","The Last of the Plainsmen", "Riders of the Purple Sage", and "The Rainbow Trail" were all in the box among others. There were more than 20.

I was touched by the gesture, and happy to have not only the memories, but the actual books in hand. Nana and Papa thought enough of those memories to make extensive plans, and develop elaborate clues as a way for me to have the books for Myra. I hope that she enjoys them as much as I did.

Wiping a tiny tear from my cheek, I picked up The Rainbow Trail, and opened it to read. A $100 bill fell out. I quickly snatched it up, so no one would see it. I leafed through the pages, and secretly saw 9 more. Thousands of dollars were secretly hidden in my favorite books-$20,000.