W Is for Wasted

arrangements to open the box in the presence of a bank officer once we knew where the deceased did his banking. Mention of the coroner’s investigator worked like magic. Operating on my own, I doubted anyone would have given me the time of day.
    I hit pay dirt in the tenth bank when the teller referred me to an assistant vice president named Ted Hill, who nodded at the mention of Dace’s name.
    “Mr. Dace was a valued customer. I’m sorry to hear he’s passed on.”
    “I gather he was ill for some time,” I said. “The coroner’s office wondered if a court order would be required to get into the box.”
    “That’s not necessary. We’re happy to cooperate with the public administrator’s office. Tell Mr. Blumberg we’ll do anything we can to help. Have him call and we’ll set up an appointment at his convenience.”
    And just like that, the lid to Pandora’s box flew open. It would take me another day before I understood how many imps had been freed, but for the moment, I was inordinately pleased with myself.

10
    I left the bank and drove home. I’d promised to help move supplies and equipment from Henry’s guest rooms back into the storage areas off the kitchen at Rosie’s Tavern, and I wanted to make good on the offer. I found a parking space and walked the short distance to the studio, noting that Henry’s station wagon was already sitting in the drive, the back hatch open in preparation for loading. I rounded the corner just as Henry emerged from the house, toting a cardboard box laden with packaged goods. I half expected to see William in the backyard leaning on his cane, but he was nowhere in evidence.
    “Where’s William? I thought he’d be supervising.”
    “I dropped him off for his physical therapy appointment. I’ll pick him up in an hour. In the meantime, I thought I might as well start loading up. Seems silly to drive half a block, but I refuse to haul it all by hand.”
    “I have a quick call to make and then I’ll pitch in,” I said. “Is there a scheme in the works or is it grab and go?”
    “I’ve been picking up items in random order. When William gets back, we’ll park him in Rosie’s kitchen and he can tell us how he wants the shelves arranged.”
    “How’s he doing?”
    “Don’t ask.”
    “What about the cat?”
    “Ed’s fine. He slept in my bed with his head on the pillow next to mine. And don’t roll your eyes.”
    “I won’t. I swear.”
    I rolled my eyes as soon as my back was turned, but I was smiling as I did so. I unlocked the studio and set my shoulder bag on the nearest stool. I put a call in to Aaron, who picked up on the second ring. I gave him Ted Hill’s name and the name of the bank. “It doesn’t sound like he’s going to be a butt about getting into the box,” I said.
    “Do you want to be there?”
    “Absolutely! I’d love it.”
    “Good. I’ll talk to Hill and get back to you.”
    I left the studio door open in case Aaron called back while I was moving items. Henry was better at loading than I was, so I delivered boxes and left it up to him to determine how to stack and stow them in the back of the station wagon.
    The cat supervised our efforts, climbing in and out of the car, walking across the seat back, and perching in the spot with the best view, usually right where Henry intended to put a box. The vet had told Henry the cat was less than two years old, and it was clear he’d retained many of his kittenish ways. I’m not going to report every cute thing the cat did, but I noticed both Henry and I had taken up baby talk in our inane, ongoing conversational exchange with him. Henry swore Ed understood English, though he didn’t seem that interested in what we had to say. Whatever the cat’s native tongue, his tone of voice couldn’t be the same high-pitched, goofy one Henry and I had adopted in our comments to him. I always knew having a cat around would do this to me, which is why I’ve resisted. I’d thought Henry and I were of like minds, but clearly he’d lost his.
    Aaron called at 6:00 that night. We’d completed the move. Henry and William were still over at Rosie’s, reorganizing the goods and equipment. They’d insisted they didn’t need my help, so I’d come home to shower. The phone rang as I was coming down the spiral stairs in a fresh pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.
    “We’re meeting Ted Hill at the bank at nine,” Aaron said when I picked up the phone. “He’s got a nine-thirty appointment at