Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
“That was only gold-plated, Chloe,” Martha said, her hand resting on the wooden dresser. “I remember him telling your father he got it on sale.”
“Then I will sell my grandmother’s silver spoons,” I said, my voice tight.
“No,” Martha said, standing straighter. “Those spoons stay in the family. I will talk to the bank manager again.”
“He already said no to the extension,” I said.
“I will talk to a different one,” Martha said. “The one who knew your father.”
“That was ten years ago, Mom,” I said, closing the suitcase lid and struggling with the brass latch. “Nobody remembers those days.”
“They remember his name,” Martha said, her maternal tone turning firm. “He helped half the businesses on Main Street get their start.”
“This is not Main Street,” I said, looking out the bedroom window at the quiet cul-de-sac below.
A blue sedan was parked near the corner, the driver sitting inside with the motor running, the tailpipe emitting a thin plume of gray exhaust.
“Who is that?” I asked, pointing toward the street.
Martha walked to the window, squinting through her glasses at the car.
