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“Is that why you have it triple wrapped and raised up on blocks?”
“Yeah.” I’ve done everything I can to keep it in pristine condition.
Still, every time a summer storm rolls through in force, I think of that car in the old barn and pray we never get a twister touching down on the Simon’s property.
“Are any of his other cars like that?” she asks.
I pause in the corner next to the safe. Just like the storage barn, the basement is swarming with valuables old Doug pulled together over the years.
“No. He’s got plenty of awesome wheels in great condition with solid resell value, but nothing quite like the Corvette. Nothing else in that shed is even in the same universe,” I tell her.
“Jeez. Honestly, it freaks me out a little to know it’s been there all this time, sitting like a winning lotto ticket tacked to the fridge. Thanks for looking after it. I’m not sure Marty would’ve figured out what we’ve got without you.” She bats her eyes gratefully. “And you’re in charge of the whole car show, right? Along with the bazaar?”
“Second year in a row, yeah.” I set the box down to work the safe’s combination lock. The bazaar will raise money for vet programs, but I don’t want her knowing that’s why I’m so involved.
I don’t want her knowing how scarred I am.
“Well, you must be quite the organizer with the monster truck rallies too. I’m impressed.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” I grind out.
“What got you so interested in the community? I mean, it’s great that you are, but I just don’t remember you being a huge volunteer guy way back when...”
“I grew up, Shel,” I snap unintentionally.
She flashes a hurt look.
Fuck, this is why it’s worth keeping secrets. Even just having her sniffing around causes me to lash out like a bear with a mouthful of cactus.
Ignoring my own shit, I focus on the dial.
“Hard part is, this thing gets touchy as hell. When you open it, if you go one little click past the last number, it won’t work. Then you have to clear it and start over, and you wind up resetting it by spinning the dial at least three times in either direction,” I explain.
She snickers.
“Grandpa always had to empty his pockets in the swear jar after coming upstairs for good reason. I always asked why he didn’t pick up a safe that’d be easier to open. He liked the idea it would make a thief crazy enough to turn themselves in.”
I chuckle. Typical Doug Simon logic. The man was a hardass with a heart of gold to the end.
“Grandma has her own instructions somewhere,” Shel says.
“What instructions?”
“I think they’re laminated now and stuck in her recipe book in the kitchen, along with all the other miscellaneous instructions for running the B&B.”
“Shit. She doesn’t have the code anywhere on that sheet, does she?” I ask, hoping Thelma hasn’t started slipping up with old age.
“No way. She knows better.”
I didn’t think so, but I’m happy to have it confirmed.
The safe clicks like a secret passage granting access. It’s huge and roomy inside.
“Plenty of room in here as usual. Looks like it should fit on the bottom shelf.” I slide in the first box and take the one she’s held the entire time.
They aren’t heavy or awkward. I highly doubt there’s anything truly worth locking up, but it’s added peace of mind. Once the boxes are secured, I close the steel slab of a door.
“Thanks, lady. I gotta touch base with Faulkner now. Once we get the security system primed, Aunt Faye can head home and rest easy knowing she won’t have some prick climbing through her window at night. Not that she’s in any rush to leave here.”
