Scratch the Surface

chasing the cat, Felicity took long, smooth steps, encircled the cat with her arms, and, hugging tightly, transferred the hefty animal to the dark interior of the cat carrier. After a few minutes of puzzled fiddling with the latch, she finally managed to fasten the carrier shut.
    It was in returning the bed to its normal position that Felicity discovered the fireproof box, which had lain between the headboard and wall, but, having been dislodged, prevented her from pushing the bed all the way back in place. What immediately struck Felicity about the box was, in addition to its peculiar location, its obvious age. Almost everything else in the house was new. Uncle Bob and Aunt Thelma had kept most of their possessions in the oceanfront estate in Ogunquit that had gone to one of Thelma’s sisters. The box was old. Somewhat larger than a shoe box, it was made of tan-coated metal, like a cheap filing cabinet, and showed several scratches and small dents. Picking up the box, Felicity was reminded of the cat: Both felt much heavier than they looked, as if they were packed with lead. Felicity’s speculation about the contents of the box, however, had nothing to do with lead weights or, indeed, any other metal, including gold bars that Uncle Bob might have cached for use in a national emergency or natural disaster. Rather, she was terrified that the box contained a heretofore undiscovered will leaving everything to Aunt Thelma’s sisters or, worse, to her own mother and sister. The box was locked.
    Happily for Felicity, there was no mystery about the location of the key, which she correctly guessed to be the small one she’d noticed in the same large kitchen drawer that contained a three-ring notebook of manuals and warranties for the refrigerator, range, washer, dryer, and other new appliances. After dashing down to retrieve the key and sprinting back up to the cat’s room, she placed the box on the bed and opened it. The heavy contents were neither legal documents nor gold bars. The box contained a large amount of cash and a small, shabby notebook in which were recorded what were evidently deposits made at intervals of a week or two weeks: columns of dates and amounts (“May 15, 1968 40”) with, here and there, a cumulative total preceded by a dollar sign. The dates began thirty years earlier. The amounts varied, but had increased in size over the years from twenty or thirty dollars to eighty, a hundred, or two hundred dollars. The grand total in the notebook was $120,555. With only a half hour to get the cat to the vet, she nonetheless took the time to count the cash, most of which was in one-hundred-dollar bills. Her total agreed with the one in the notebook.
    She hurriedly replaced the contents in the box, locked it, and put it where she’d found it, between the headboard and the wall. Ill-gotten gains? In what nefarious enterprise had Uncle Bob been engaged? There was no such thing as a Scottish Mafia. Or was there? Although the bills looked used, they might, for all Felicity knew, be counterfeit. When she got back from seeing Dr. Furbish, she’d take a closer look.
    Transporting the cat proved to be a weightier task than Felicity had somehow imagined. The carrier had a handle on top, but was as heavy as a big suitcase. Felicity lugged it downstairs and out to the garage, and, after some hesitation, put it on the front passenger seat of the Honda and fastened it with a seat belt. Preoccupied with the matter of Uncle Bob’s hidden money, as well as ignorant about cats, she failed to appreciate the silence of the drive to the veterinary clinic; it hadn’t occurred to her that the cat might howl.
    Furbish Veterinary Associates occupied a small brick building with parking spaces in front, one of which was empty. Detained by her unexpected discovery, Felicity arrived in the waiting room at the precise time of her appointment and was directed to a small examining room before she had a chance to do more than glance at the room and its human, feline, and canine occupants. To Felicity’s surprise, Dr. Hilary Furbish was female, a woman of about Felicity’s age who wore green scrubs and had short, straight hair going gray, no makeup, and unvarnished nails. Felicity decided that if Dr. Furbish became the cat’s regular vet, a quiet word or two about Naomi might be appropriate. Naomi and Dr. Furbish would like each other’s cleanliness.
    Evidently more concerned with the cat than with her own appearance, Dr. Furbish,