Free Frame 232 by Wil Mara Page A

I want to thank you again for everything. You have really made   —”
    Moore cut her off by holding up a finger. “Wait . . . there’s one other thing.”
    “One other thing?”
    “Yes. Please, sit back down a moment.”
    As she sank into the chair again, she noticed his manner had changed. Gone was the air of grandfatherly warmth, replaced by a mild unease that appeared as though it could shift into full-blown angst without much provocation.
    “Is something wrong?”
    He was pulling open the top drawer when he stopped to consider the question. “Well, I don’t know.” He took out a standard-size envelope that had gone yellow over time but otherwise appeared to be in excellent condition. There was nothing written on the front.
    He slit the top with a silver opener and turned it over. A small key dropped into his hand.
    “This key has been in this envelope since April of 1976. I know because I was the one who put it in there. I remember the day quite well, in fact. It wasn’t particularly cold, and yet when your mama came in that afternoon, she was shivering.”
    “I don’t understand. What does this have to do wi   —?”
    “The key is hers.”
    Sheila searched her memory for anything in the house that had a lock but no key. There was a safe in the cellar, but it had a combination dial. There was also a small box of keepsakes in the upstairs bedroom   —photos, notes, etc.   —but the lock on it hadn’t worked in ages.
    “I can’t think of anything that requires such a key.”
    “It’s for a safe-deposit box.”
    “A safe-deposit box?”
    “Yes, right here in Dallas.”
    “I didn’t even know my parents had one.”
    “ They didn’t. Just your mama.”
    “What?”
    Moore nodded. “That’s right.”
    Her first thought was that he was mistaken. Her parents did everything together   — everything . Sheila wasn’t so naive to think that married couples, regardless of how devoted they might be to each other, didn’t retain a few secrets. But not something like this.
    “My dad knew about it, didn’t he?”
    “I don’t believe so.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “As sure as I can be. If he did know, I’m sure he would’ve said something to me. But he never did. The box was opened and managed by my firm. It still is, technically. But it was for your mama.”
    “She didn’t have it in her name?”
    “No, she wanted it in ours. She was very insistent about that.”
    “Do you know what’s in it?”
    “No idea.” Moore set the key down. “She came in and said she wanted to open a safe-deposit box at Texas First National.”
    “First National? That’s not where they did their banking.”
    “I know, but I didn’t feel it was my place to ask about that. Also, quite honestly, I didn’t feel she’d give up much information even if I did ask. Many of my clients have asked my advice on what should be put into a safe-deposit box. You know   —wills, stock certificates, things like that. I just assumed it was something of that nature.”
    Her parents had all that kind of paperwork, but they’dkept it either in Moore’s office or in the basement safe at home. So what did she need a box for? Wild, utterly ridiculous ideas began rolling out of her imagination   — Letters from an old lover? The birth certificate of a child given up for adoption?
    Then came the echo of her mother’s voice   — “I’m sorry for this burden that I’m leaving you. I’m so sorry. . . .”
    “I did ask her why she didn’t just go down and open it herself,” Moore continued, “and she said she couldn’t tell me. That’s when I realized she was scared. I mean, really scared. I asked her if she was okay, and she said yes. But she wasn’t being honest. Lawyers know how to read people, you know, and your mama had the weight of the world on her shoulders that day. I never saw her like that before.”
    “Did she have anything with her? Anything that she wanted to put into it?”
    “No. She had a