“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Can you wait?”

“Yes. I’ll be here.” She was relieved that he didn’t ask questions. She wasn’t quite sure what to tell him.

Beatrice returned to her chicken and soup and ate until she couldn’t stomach any more. She picked at the salad and tried to figure out what to tell Tony. She needed help. She didn’t have anyone else to call, but she wasn’t sure she should trust Max’s brother. Max had stolen her aunt’s key.

Beatrice glanced down at her handbag, still heavy with the things she’d taken from Max that evening. The huge ring of keys lay at the bottom. Then there was the file of notes hidden in shorthand, and another file she’d pulled out of Max’s desk at the last minute while the security guard tapped his foot.

She pulled the mystery folder out and examined the label. It read, “Box 447.” Inside she found a typed form on First Bank of Cleveland letterhead. It was addressed to the State of Ohio. The title read “Custody Transfer.” The form listed the box owner as “Beverly Lerner.” It gave her last known address and social security number. The date of repossession was listed as June 16, 1973. A catalog of contents was provided. Beatrice scanned the list and saw that Box 447 contained birth certificates, a will, and fourteen diamonds. Her eyes locked on the word “diamonds.” The karat size was given for all fourteen, and each diamond was bigger than the last, with the largest being estimated at six karats. Box 447 had once contained a fortune.

She pulled out the folder of Max’s handwritten notes and searched until she found it. Box 447. Max had tried to reach Beverly on June 1 and couldn’t find her. The phone had been disconnected. Max’s note at the bottom of the page read in shorthand, “State has no record of repossession.”

She turned her eyes back to the bank form letter. In smaller print there was a paragraph full of lawyerly words turning over custody of the box contents to the state for “holding or auction.” The letter was signed by “William S. Thompson, Auditing Department.” She traced the signature with her finger and realized it had been stamped onto the form letter as was done with so much other standard correspondence. She searched the bottom of the sheet for the processor’s initials and found them in the lower left corner. They read “DED.” Doris?

Behind the custody form, Beatrice found a single sheet of paper labeled “Note to File.” It was a typed record of Max’s phone call to Beverly. The final note read, “Customer nonresponsive.” The initials at the bottom of the page read “MRM.” Max had typed the record.

Beatrice sat back in her booth and chewed on her straw. Max had been given the assignment to audit the safe deposit boxes by Mr. Thompson after an irate customer claimed that her box had been repossessed unfairly. Max proceeded to call customers, presumably ones who were no longer paying their fees or whose boxes had been reclaimed, to verify their whereabouts and the validity of a repossession. Max had a drawer full of organized files documenting repossessions. After an irate customer came forward demanding her possessions, Max had been convinced something was not right at the bank. She had even asked Tony to open an investigation. Max followed up on the notices herself and found out that the state had no record of any transfers. Fortunes had vanished. Now Max was gone. Max had taken her aunt’s key while Beatrice was sleeping and then up and quit her job the next day.

“You look deep in thought,” a husky voice said from across the table. Tony slid into the seat across from her.

“Oh. Hi.” Beatrice hadn’t realized how much time had passed. She’d planned to put everything away before he arrived.

“What is all this?” he asked, looking at the piles of papers.

“Oh, it’s just work stuff.” She shook her head and gathered up the papers as if they were of little interest. “I sort of fell behind at the office. My aunt’s been ill.”

She hated using Aunt Doris as an excuse. Sympathy wouldn’t help. She didn’t check to see whether his eyes softened on her behalf. She just shoved the papers back into her bag as quickly as she could manage. When she looked up, he was waving Gladys and her coffeepot over.

“I’m sorry to hear about your aunt.”

“Thanks. She’s over at University Hospitals. I don’t think she’s going to make it.” Beatrice bit the inside of her lip. It was the first time she’d said it out loud. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes.

Tony slid his hand across the table to hers and gave it a gentle pat. “I’m so sorry.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table. His hand was nearly twice the size of hers. He pulled it away when the coffee arrived and went to work doctoring his mug with cream and sugar—three heaping spoons of sugar. Beatrice cracked a small smile.

“What can I say? I guess I like things sweet.” He winked at her. “So, what can I do for you, Beatrice?”

She knew the question was coming. She still didn’t know what to say about the missing key or the bank letters, so she began slowly. “Someone broke into my aunt’s house.”

The good humor drained from his face. “Are you all right? Were you home?”

“No, I was at work.”

Maybe his concern for her safety would keep him from asking too many questions. Tony took out a small pad of paper and a pen. Maybe not.

“What’s the address?”

She told him.

“Your aunt’s name?”

“Doris Davis.”

“Was anything missing?”

“I . . . I don’t think so.” She swallowed hard. She didn’t want to tell him about the love letters and the files from the bank. She should have never snooped and found the papers in the first place.

“Did your aunt have any valuables you may not have been aware of? Cash? Jewelry?”

Beatrice immediately thought of the safe deposit box key. If her aunt did have any valuables, they were undoubtedly hidden away in a vault at the First Bank of Cleveland. The only other person besides her aunt who knew about the key was Max. “I don’t think so. There was a mink coat, a TV . . .”

“Were they taken?”

“No.” Her tiny frame was dwarfed by the height of the table, and she could feel herself shrinking in the detective’s eyes. She couldn’t afford to look like a lost twelve-year-old, and sat up taller. She forced out a stronger voice. “It doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“No,” Tony said, making small notes on his pad. “It doesn’t.”

“That’s why I thought to call you. It just doesn’t seem like a normal robbery.”

He studied her carefully. Being Max’s friend, she prayed he would trust her. She batted her eyes just a little. Flirting couldn’t hurt. It seemed to work to her advantage, as the focus of his eyes softened.

She released the breath she’d been holding. “I really appreciate you meeting me here, Tony. How’s Max doing?”

He flipped his notepad closed at the change of topic and sipped his mug of sugared coffee.

“I haven’t talked to her for a few days. She’s on vacation,” he said, and then paused. “I thought you knew that. Aren’t you two pretty good friends?”

“Vacation?” She frowned. “No, I didn’t know that. Where did she go?”

“Cancún.” He looked at her sharply. “Did you two have a fight or something?”

“No. Well, sort of. I guess we did,” Beatrice said, stumbling. “Where is Cancún?”

“Mexico. She’ll be gone a couple weeks. Said something about needing to get away for a while. Now that I think of it, she wanted me to give you this if I saw you.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a small key.

Beatrice’s eyes swelled at the sight of it. It was labeled “547.” He dropped it into her palm.

“What’s that for anyway?”

Beatrice wiped the astonished look off her face. “Oh, this? . . . It’s for my locker at work. I thought I had lost it!”

“I have no idea why she thought I might see you. I told her she was nuts. But you know Max. She’s gonna get what she wants one way or another.”