Page 57 of Holding On

“I’m just nervous being out on that houseboat,” I say. “I’m afraid. I don’t know—I feel really vulnerable out there, and there were two guys walking around last night and—”

Picking up his phone, he says, “You should tell the harbormaster. And I’ll let the police know. They can do an extra post the next few nights.”

I shake my head. “It’s not tonight or the next night. I think they’re casing the boat. I think it’s the same two guys who watched me move in.”

Now he sees my dilemma. “And you have something valuable.” This is a statement of truth, not a question.

I nod, wipe a brimming tear, and fold my hands in my lap. “I’m sure this was in my profile, but my mother passed away eight years ago, and I’ve got some pieces of jewelry that are hers. Most of it isn’t worth much, but there are others that are, well, priceless to me and actually worth money.”

He nods, and I get a hit of aftershave. I can see where he cut himself this morning while shaving—a small nick on his left jawline.

“I don’t have a secure place to put it, and I—”

“You could open a safety deposit box.”

“I looked into that, but I really can’t. I have to commit to at least ninety days, and I can’t on my scholarship. I’m not going to be here that long.”

God, it’s frightening how good of a liar I’ve become. The yellow button on his desk phone lights up. Gretchen has returned as well.

“Really? Ninety days?”

I shrug. “That’s what they told me.”

“Listen here,” he says. “I’ll show you a little secret.” He walks over and pushes the bookcase aside.

“What’s that?” I straighten up a little and wipe my eye with a finger.

“This used to be a bank building. First North and Savings.” The wall is white with the vault sitting in the center. “If you’re really worried about some private objects, we can keep them in here for you. How’s that?”

“Oh my gosh, that would be—that’d be awesome,” I say, fully realizing that I sound like I’m fourteen. I try to smooth my hair down and wipe my palms on my skirt. “Thank you so much, Mr. Barr.”

“Oh, no need to thank me. And you can call me Ray,” he says. “We’ve been over this. Can you bring it in tomorrow?”

I bite my lip. “Could I bring them in on my way back from Cushing? I don’t want to wait.”

Leaning forward, he touches a button on his phone and lifts the receiver. “Gretchen. Could you do me a favor? Maya’s going to need the safe open this afternoon.”

Pause.

“Yes, to the wall safe. I realize that. She has some jewelry and—” He puts a hand over the mic for a moment. “Anything else?”

I shake my head. He puts the receiver down.

“Good. Gretchen will be here to take care of you. If you need to get them out for some reason and I’m not here, Gretchen has the combination as well.”

And just like that, I’m in.

When the white and blue cab shows up, driven by a man about a thousand years old, I can only hope he cabbies fast enough for a stopover at the Pratchett’s on the way south to Cushing.

***

The fact that Audrey Pratchett’s voice is so even and low makes her weighing in on my plan even more terrifying. “You did what?”

I explain again, glancing out the window at the cab and my driver, who’s busy with a book about four inches thick.

“And you told Carlson about this?”

Turning back to her, I nod. “The call got dropped four times, but I told him on the drive here,” I say. “I spoke really quietly, though,” I add, as if I have to defend myself.