Mystery Novel 101

Unbelievable.

That was the one and only word I could think of as I stood there. The only thing that snapped me out of my stupor was the bit of drool I felt on my chin. I vaguely wondered how long my mouth had been open and if I looked like a codfish, but only vaguely. The foremost thought on my mind was, of course, the shoebox full of cash.

$40,000. In my garage. Like I said, unbelievable.

The condition of the old Nike box told me that it had been there a while. I’m not sure how I could have missed it, because my garage is one that usually exists in magazines. Clean, organized and sparkly, I’m pretty sure it could be in a Black and Decker tools commercial. So, the discovery of the dirty box itself was surprising, let alone the money.

I finally realized I needed to do something about it, and, while drooling was doing something, it wasn’t exactly a useful something. I dug around looking for any evidence of where it had come from. Satisfied that I would find no clues in the garage, I gathered it up and decided the kitchen table would work.

True to my OCD nature, I neatly stacked the money in equal piles, making sure that I had counted it correctly. I checked each bill, a random combination of 1’s through 100’s, in case there was a note on or between them. Then, as I neatly destroyed the box, a small key fell onto the table with an even smaller piece of paper taped to it. Unfolded, it said to look under the 3rd tile to the right of the 6th tile from the door of the bathroom. I looked around me, trying to gauge if I was still awake or if I had stepped into a Nancy Drew book. The throbbing pain in my shin as I stood up too close to the table confirmed the Awake Theory.

Yes, the tile was loose. Yes, there was a box under it. Very predictable and cheap mystery novel-like. Old pictures of my grandmother and a man that I didn’t recognize. Moving into the star-crossed lover novel territory, I read the note on top. He died in the war leaving his young lover behind. A baby was born, money changed hands for silence, etc… If it wasn’t for the painful bruise forming on above-mentioned banged shin, I still would think Nancy Drew was on the case.

My grandmother had never spent the money. She hid it for years, then learned about this thing called “stocks.” The money in the shoebox was the original payoff; the second piece of paper in the mystery box was about this newfangled company called “Yahoo.” She had hoped it would die, along with the money and her memories. Instead, it made me a secret heiress. Sweet.

“…Grandpa loved your mom as much as the boys. She would have been heartbroken to know the truth. I only write this now because she will never know. Do something you would normally think was ridiculous. And take a vacation every once in a while….”

Her picture is sitting on the sand next to me watching the sunrise over the ocean, while my “newfangled” bullet-colored Ferrari waits for me at home.