Collaboration 1, part 6

[MP]
The two-block walk to First Bank of Baltimore was an interminable blur. She was sure there was a good explanation for Gramps’s disappearance, but even the good explanations sent waves of dread cascading through her. At her worst moments, she was sure the bastards next door had taken him, were going to torture him, and his bloated, decaying corpse would soon wash up in the Chesapeake, courtesy of the Patapsco River. More probably, he had thumped his way down to the drug store for his weekly supply of Immodiam AD and Preparation H. But until she saw him, she’d never be able to relax. 

And then there was that strange letter from Grandma. What exactly was Gramps into? Why would Grandma think he would need help? What kind of help could she possibly be if Gramps was “in over his head”? And what would she be finding in the safe deposit box? A gun? Why keep it in the safe deposit box rather than at home, especially in their neighborhood? For a moment, she grinned, thinking of Grandma stashing Marvin the Martian’s Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator, but the levity quickly faded. 

Maybe it would be some sort of paperwork. Gramps had owned the rowhouse at one point, but their paltry savings wasn’t enough to cover even the cost of Grandma’s bargain basement funeral services, and he had had to refinance. Maybe she had been worried about that. But as quickly as the idea occurred to her, she rejected it – considering the way she died, Grandma couldn’t have been talking about the refi of the house. How would she have known he would need to do it? 

The more she thought about it, everything about Grandma’s final communiqué was odd. She must have prepared it ahead of time, but if so, why not talk to Vega about it instead of leaving some inscrutable message? Hadn’t Grandma trusted her? 

The way she had had it delivered was odd, too. Two months after Grandma passed a knock had come at her door. A courier was there with a letter, saying it had been held at his store with directions that it should be delivered if one month had gone by and they had received no communication from Mrs. Elenor Bond. Apparently she had been writing to them once a month for two years to keep that letter from being delivered. 

The final straw as far as Vega was concerned was the bank itself. While First Bank of Baltimore was close to the house, Gramps and Grandma had always had their accounts at Baltimore County Savings Bank, or as Gramps still called it, “The Building and Loan.” In fact, she even remembered their disapproval when she decided to keep the account her parents had opened for her at FBB instead of moving her assets over to Baltimore County. Why would Grandma have kept the safe deposit box at FBB? 

Was she hiding it from Gramps? And if so, how was it still being paid for after three years, especially since Grandpa balanced his checkbook to the penny every month; there would be no way for FBB to be automatically drawing money from Baltimore County without it sending Gramps into a tirade. 

As she opened the doors to First Bank of Baltimore, Vega sighed a breath of relief as the cool air flowed over her. While it wasn’t truly into the heat of the day yet, she could tell that it was going to be a scorcher. 

The bank was laid out in a giant circle, with an entire half-wall taken up with a counter manned by a platoon of tellers. In the middle hulked a large information kiosk surrounding a petite young woman of about 23. She wore a khaki-colored skirt that was cut tastefully above the knee and whose design hid, yet accentuated her shapely legs. Her full crimson blouse matched her well-kept nails, and she beamed a professional smile at Vega as she entered the bank. 

“Welcome to First Bank of Baltimore,” she said. “What can I do for you today?” 

She’s pretty, thought Vega, feeling herself respond to the sight of the receptionist’s lush bosom. Too bad I only date sistas.