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“Thanks. I’ll be sure to be there in plenty of time so as not to inconvenience you.”
“I don’t take no personal checks. Plastic or cash only!”
“I understand. See you tomorrow.” I disconnect the phone and look at the guys. “Charming man, don’t you think?” While they’re snickering, I remember something. “You know… the key was next to the wastebasket in the bathroom. I wonder if what she meant to do was throw it away considering she owes him money.”
“We may never know,” Weston answers sagely. “Looks like we’re taking another road trip.”
“You’ll go with me?”
“Of course I will. That’s a long drive to go alone. It’s over three hours each way.”
We both look at Callum, who looks sad. “I’m afraid I have a brand-new class starting tomorrow, so I won’t be able to take the day off on this short notice, but I can take a break and come home to let the dogs out in the middle of the day.”
We all get up earlythe next morning. Weston and I figure we’ll find a place to stay once we get to Chicago. We may decide to turn right around and come home, although we packed for overnight. I feel sorry for him after his long trip to southern Indiana so recently. He’ll be pretty tired of driving after our trip too, and knowing this, I’m terribly grateful for his company.
“Maybe you’ll find lots of stuff your mom said she got rid of. You never know,” Callum says hopefully. He kisses us both as weclimb into Weston’s car and says, “Have a safe trip. The dogs and I will be fine ’til you get back.”
We make our way over to 65 and head north to Chicagoland. I can’t say I’m too anxious to see the place because I didn’t enjoy living there very much. Curiosity has me in its grips, however, and a part of me hopes it’s a real treasure hunt. My mom can’t complain if I take what she’s ignored for so long and clearly meant to give up. She can’t exactly say I owe her either after the stunt she pulled on me. “I sure hope I’m not wasting your time, Weston,” I tell him.
“Not at all. I get to spend time with my girl. And I was able to rearrange my schedule for today, so I’m not messing anything up with work. I do have to take a call tonight at eight though. It was the best I could do.”
The drive is mostly just boring until we hit the city, and the traffic is horrible for a while. Finally, we locate Wally’s Discount Storage, and it looks like a complete dump. The place needs a decent coat of paint, and the parking lot is full of potholes that could bust an axel. We carefully lock the car behind us and find our way to his office. This is not a nice neighborhood. The rickety door squeaks as Weston shoves on it and holds it open for me. I step inside a dreary space with a man—Wally, I assume—sprawled out in his chair behind a metal desk. His head is thrown back, and he’s emitting loud snores that could wake the dead. I clear my throat, and the noise rouses him. He jolts forward and squints at us. The aroma of cheap gin hangs in the air. Wally lets out a long belch and asks, “Can I help you?”
“I’m Petra Feeney, sir. I spoke to you yesterday about my mother’s locker.” I produce the key. “Number twenty-eight. I know you’re owed back rent, and I’m prepared to take care of the debt and determine if any of the contents are worth keeping.”
“Oh yeah. The redheaded bimbo’s kid. Well, here’s the bill.” He slaps a piece of paper on the desk, and I scan it.
“This is fifty dollars too much.” I glare at him. “You said it was eighty a month, and it’s been six months.”
“Interest,” he drawls and licks his lips.
“If I walk out now, you’ll get nothing unless you can sell any of the contents. If I pay you the $480 Maggie owes you, you might still be able to sell what I leave behind. I doubt I want anything. I’m just here to see what she left as much as anything.”
“Five hundred and you got a deal. Any less than that—no dice.”
“You’re a crook.”
He shrugs.
I fork over five hundred-dollar bills and glare daggers at him. “Give me the extra key or show me where the unit is. Please.”
Wally stuffs the money into his pocket as he stands. “Follow me,” he orders as he shuffles out the door and turns right.
He leads us down a long row of doors that look like small garages, and I notice that a number of them have double locks. I nudge Weston as I point to three in a row, and he nods, whispering, “Business must not be too good right now.”
Just then we pass by a unit where the door is open, and a middle-aged couple are arguing loudly and colorfully about the contents. Each seems intent on insulting the other in the foulest language possible, and I find myself blushing. Wally passes by like it’s no big deal, but Weston steps around me to be a buffer between me and the arguing couple. He puts his arm around me protectively and skirts away from the opening. We hurry past them and Weston whispers, “I was afraid they might start throwing things.”
Finally, after passing row after row of locked doors, some larger and many smaller, we stop at number twenty-eight. Wally inserts his key and removes his padlock, and without a single word, turns back and walks away, leaving us in front of the storage unit. “Thanks, Wally,” I call after him, but hedoesn’t react in any way. I look at Weston, who has an amused expression on his face, and say, “Strange man,” as I shake my head.
“He’s probably ready for another shot of gin.” Weston snorts. “Well, let’s see what’s in here.”
Trying not to let my hand wobble, I shove the key onto the lock and realize it’s not going to let go easily. I jiggle it around and pull in and out a few times before the innards of the lock decide to engage. Breathing a sigh of relief, I undo the darn thing from the latch, and Weston heaves the metal door upward. It’s fairly dark inside as this is the shady side of the building, but we manage to locate a light switch, and that helps immensely.
“Huh,” I say brilliantly as I survey the piles of random boxes and a few pieces of furniture I recognize from the condo. None of my pretty bedroom set seems to be there, and that makes me a little sad. There are a couple of somewhat nice chairs, an old lamp from my mother’s bedroom, and so, so many boxes. I start to pry them open. Box after box is filled with household odds and ends and old clothes—like from when I was a kid. Some have old shoes, some have paperback books, and some look like the contents of wastebaskets—I kid you not. I look questioningly at Weston and ask, “Why would anyone bother to store this kind of junk? I feel so foolish for spending my money to end up with this garbage.”
“Oh, let’s keep looking. Maybe you’ll find the lost diadem of Ravenclaw or something.” He chuckles at his own joke.
“Yeah, right.”
