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She frowns. “Sorry, sir. I’m not—”
He presents his identification. “My grandfather, Carlos Almeida, did his banking here.”
“But your last name is McGregor—?” the bank teller starts.
“Please check your records.” His tone is firm, an order.
The bank teller types into the computer and says, “Oh. Wow. A lot of banking. Actually, yes, you are the co-owner of the box.”
He mutters, “That’s news to me. Anyone else? Carlos Junior? Royal? Ryan McGregor?”
Her eyes light up at the mention of the famous football player’s name. “No, they’re not listed.”
We follow the bank teller to the vault and using another key, in unison, she and Magnus open one of the larger metal doors. She retrieves a metal box with another keyhole, gestures to a room with a door, and says, “You may take this in there and please let me know when you’re done so we can reverse the process.”
I pause outside the private room in case he wants to open the box himself.
He juts his head toward it.
“Sure you don’t want to do this alone?”
“No, Lally. Would you want to?” The words are forceful, almost an admonishment.
I’m afraid he’s upset that I didn’t tell him about playing cards with Mrs. Lipman and the others. “Texas Hold ‘Em, butter pecan, and Top Gun.”
“Huh?”
“Those are a few things you don’t know about me, a few of my favorite things. My best game is Texas Hold ‘Em. I’m a sucker for a scoop of butter pecan, and—”
“And you love Top Gun.” Magnus’s lips twitch with a smile. “Does that last one have anything to do with me?”
“It does now.”
We’re so close in this little room that it’s hard not to get lost in Magnus’s brown eyes. His dimple appears.
He kisses me on the forehead and says, “Believe it or not, I’m terrible at cards, my flavor is mint chocolate chip, and I’ll watch anything with Tom Cruise—though I have to sometimes suspend my disbelief, occupational hazard.”
Nothing, not even a box with a double lock, could contain my attraction for this man.
We turn back to the metal box on the table. Magnus slides the key in, turns it, and then lifts the hinged lid. From inside, he pulls out another box, this one made of polished wood and about seven by seven inches square on all sides. There aren’t any hinges, no slit to reveal a lid. It’s solid wood except for a slim slit in the top.
“What is it?”
Magnus shakes his head slowly. “I’m not sure.”
Picking it up, he turns it over in his hands. “Mahogany.” He smooths his palm across it.
“A treasure chest?”
“No opening.”
“Except at the top. Could be a piggy bank.”
He shakes it. Nothing rattles around inside.
Puzzled, he stares at it. I look it over carefully, but don’t come to any conclusion.
“Why would your grandfather put a wooden box in a safe deposit box? Why would he only put your name on the account?”
