An Open Book Read Online Free Page B

basket was not very revealing.
     Edith had obviously taken out her trash on schedule and replaced the bin liner. There
     were only a few torn envelopes in it now, from local utilities like electric and phone.
     Edith had not graduated to the computer world, so she probably had paid her bills
     by check, while sitting at the kitchen table. No doubt her checkbook would be nearby,
     unless it was in her purse. Where was her purse? I still hadn’t seen it yet.
    “Did you see the purse, Van?”
    “Not yet. Anything in the trash?”
    “Envelopes from bills. I was wondering where her checkbook is.”
    Vanessa pointed toward the hutch. “Try the drawers over there.” She turned back to
     searching the cupboards.
    I pulled open the first drawer to find Edith’s checkbook, along with a roll of stamps,
     pad, pencils, pens, stationery, and a small black leather address book, everything
     neatly aligned. I took the checkbook and the address book, and sat down at the table.
    As I flipped through her check register, I felt as though I was invading her privacy—not
     that she’d ever know. “Looks like she paid her bills on time. And balanced her checkbook
     regularly. There are deposits from Social Security and what must be her husband’s
     pension, and payments for taxes and utilities. No mortgage—she must own the house
     outright by now. The current balance is only a few thousand, though, so if she had
     savings, they must be somewhere else.” I flipped the pages of the address book. “She’s
     had this for a while. Most of the names are crossed out, probably people who have
     died.”
    “You see a lawyer in there?”
    “Uh . . . yes, here’s one in Philadelphia. At least he’s not crossed out. He’s the
     only one I see.”
    Vanessa held out her hand. “I’ll get in touch with him. Nothing handy in the drawer,
     like a note that says ‘in case of emergency notify So-and-So’?”
    “Sorry, no. Maybe she’s got another desk somewhere. Anything unusual in the fridge?”
    “A couple of soft drinks that seem kind of out of place, but maybe that was a guilty
     pleasure. Kinda late to worry about rotting your teeth at eighty-four.”
    “What next?” I asked.
    “Bathroom. Check the meds.”
    “There are some right there.” I pointed to a row of orange pharmacy bottles neatly
     lined up on the windowsill over the kitchen sink.
    Vanessa picked them up one at a time and read them out loud. “Prescription analgesic,
     for arthritis. Coumadin—that must be because of her hip replacement. Allergy pills.
     Nothing for blood pressure or diabetes. Pretty ordinary, if you ask me.” Vanessa pulled
     a plastic Ziploc bag out of a pocket and put the pill bottles into it. A search of
     adjoining cupboards didn’t yield any more bottles. “Bathroom next.”
    I dutifully trailed behind her down the short hall. There was a powder room on the
     left, and a room on the right that Edith had used as a study.
    “I’ll take the bath,” Van said. “You check out the study.”
    There was an old-fashioned sofa bed along one wall, and two other walls were lined
     with built-in shelves filled with books, mostly older hardcovers, though a couple
     of shelves were loaded with more recent paperbacks. In the corner there was a comfortably
     worn chair with an ottoman in front of it, and an old standing lamp behind it. I had
     a flash of an image of Edith settling into her cozy nook with a favorite book. I scanned
     the shelves; the books were arranged by genre, and spanned fiction and non-fiction,
     with an emphasis on mysteries. A short row of military histories had probably been
     her husband’s. I looked for the library book and didn’t see it. Next to the bed, perhaps?
    When I left the room I met Vanessa emerging from the powder room. “Anything?” I asked.
    “Nope. She liked fancy soaps, if that means anything. Upstairs now.”
    We trudged up the short staircase. Upstairs there were two bedrooms, one on each side,
     and a