Free A Slice of Murder by Chris Cavender

doing all that, what are you going to be doing?” Maddy asked.
    “I’m going to tackle the paperwork, if that’s all right.”
    Sheila nodded. “That’s fine with me. If you find a will, let me know. I have no idea what Richard wanted done with his things. Oh, and if there’s a bank account, or an insurance policy, anything at all like that, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.”
    “Consider it done,” I said.
    As Sheila started carrying the first bundle outside, Maddy whispered, “How in the world did you get her to agree to that? You’ve got her schlepping old newspapers while you’re going through his personal things.”
    “I’m not quite sure, but let’s just take advantage of it before she changes her mind,” I said.
    Maddy laughed. “You’re kidding, right? We could turn on rap music and start chanting along and she wouldn’t say a word. Look around. Would you complain if you were getting free labor from us?”
    “No, I guess you’ve got a point, but I still don’t want to push it.”
    “Go on, then. I’ve got clothes to sort.”
    I heard the front door open, so I said quickly, “Search the pockets as you go. You might find something.”
    “That doesn’t sound like much fun, riffling through a dead man’s jackets and pants.”
    “Do you want to switch?” I asked.
    I was talking to Maddy, but Sheila must have thought I was speaking to her. “No, thanks. Paperwork makes my head hurt. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d really appreciate you sorting through that mess. It’s much nicer just dealing with these newspapers.”
    “I just thought I should offer,” I said as I shook my head in my sister’s direction.
    She rolled her eyes, then started sorting clothes. I moved into the other bedroom, where it was apparent Richard had set up a home office. Four file cabinets surrounded the desk, a structure that was nothing more than cinder blocks and an old door. He hadn’t even removed the knob, but I didn’t discover that until I got down to that level. There was a copier tucked into the corner, too.
    This was going to take forever.
    I ducked into the kitchen and found a new box of trash bags in the cupboard. I was probably going to need every last one of them. I returned to the bedroom, and as I began sorting through the stacks of papers on the desk, I found receipts for everything from Richard’s brand new Honda Accord to a donut he’d had for breakfast the week before. There were receipts from three days ago, when he hadn’t had a clue he was about to die, and receipts from all the way back to when he’d first moved into the house. How was I going to make any sense of any of it, especially when I was surrounded by all the clutter? It was enough to make my head throb. I decided the only way to look through it all was at home, where I had room to spread out and form some kind of logical system. I stopped being so careful studying each receipt, shoving piles of them into bags. Once I had the desktop and file drawers empty, I wasn’t certain I’d be able to fit it all into my car, even with the spacious back.
    One of the file folders flipped open as I crammed it into a bag, and I was surprised to see some kind of key taped there. I pulled it out and saw that it was from Southern Wheat Bank and Trust, a business that had been in our part of North Carolina for over a hundred years. It was a miracle it hadn’t been gobbled up by some corporate takeover, but it was probably too small for any of the big boys to care much about.
    “I found something,” I said to the others.
    Maddy came rushing in, with Sheila right behind her.
    “What is it?” my sister asked breathlessly.
    “A safety-deposit box key from Southern Wheat,” I said. “Sheila, the papers you need are probably in there.”
    “That would be wonderful,” Sheila said. “But how do we go about getting into it?”
    “Let’s go by the bank and see if they’ll let you open it,” Maddy said.
    “Not without a lot