My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
“My correspondence is my own business,” Margaret said, her chin lifting.
“You are here to assist me, not to inventory my desk.”
“I only wanted to help with the filing,” I said.
“I have Linda for things that require discretion,” she said.
I stood there for a moment, the steam from the vegetable broth rising between us in the cold room.
Margaret picked up her silver spoon, her hand steady, signaling that our conversation was finished.
At six o’clock, Linda was standing at the copper sink, rinsing the remnants of our simple supper from the plates.
The hum of the old refrigerator was the only sound in the kitchen until I sat down at the wooden table.
“What is in those letters my grandmother is hiding?” I asked.
Linda did not turn around, but her shoulders went rigid under her blue cotton dress.
“Your grandmother has many old friends,” Linda said, her voice slow and deliberate.
She turned off the faucet, dried her hands on a checkered dish towel, and smoothed her apron with both palms.
