Chapter 17
"You're late!" Remington heard Mildred snap as they stepped into the foyer of the office.
Remington scowled at Laura before stuttering his reply, "I'm sorry, Mildred. Laura and I ran into a little snag in the tunnels."
"You know, we never had this problem before. The last guy was always here at the same time every day, like clockwork. You? You show up when you feel like it," Mildred snapped again.
Confused, Remington frowned and stormed around the large plants in his way to the open door of Murphy's old office where he could see Mildred standing behind the desk and a man dressed in a mail carriers' uniform standing across from her. Mildred's arms were folded tightly across her chest as she glared at the mail carrier. "Mildred, what's going on?" Remington questioned with a twist of his mouth.
The mail carrier snapped his head in Remington's direction and demanded, "Do something about her!"
"I'm sorry, Mate, who are you?" Remington clipped back. He folded his arms in a similar stance as Mildred's, challenging the man.
Laura sidestepped Remington and lifted her arms. In a soft tone, she suggested, "It sounds like we might have a misunderstanding here. I'm sure you're still learning your route and the best path through the building…." She raised her eyebrows, searching for his name.
"Joe… My name's Joe. And yeah, I'm still learning the building. That doesn't give Miss Hotpants over here the right to yell at me because I wasn't here right at noon to get your mail," Joe the mailman pointed at Mildred.
"Joe," Laura gave him a forced smile, "I'm sure Ms. Krebs didn't mean anything by something she may have said. It's been a long week, and she's been working so hard getting this office organized. I'm sure, come Monday morning when you see each other again, she'll be in a much better mood, won't you, Mildred?" Laura gave Mildred a pointed look.
Mildred dropped her arms and sighed, "Maybe. But if this clown doesn't show up on time, I'll be calling your superior."
Joe looked at Mildred, then focused on Remington's scowling face before settling on Laura's forced smile. "You people must really be miserable in this office. I'll be back Monday." He stormed out and quickly disappeared into the elevator.
Mildred looked down at the desk and called after him, "You forgot the letter!" She shook her head as she mumbled, "Where do they find these people?"
Laura glanced at Remington, still holding his stance and said, "Mildred, it really has been a long week. Why don't you head home in a few minutes? This office is nearly cleared out, thanks to you. You've earned it."
Mildred slumped her shoulders, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Steele. It's frustrating, you know. You're expecting someone, and they don't show when they are supposed to and when that person does show up, hours later, they act like it's no big deal."
A grin crossed Laura's face as she glanced at Remington, "I'm very familiar with the feeling, Mildred."
Remington, suddenly catching the drift of the conversation, agreed, "Yes, Mildred, you should head home. After all, isn't tonight your bowling night? Any big tournaments coming up?"
Mildred toyed with the pens in the cup on the desk, "It is. And we do have a big one next week, so I should probably be practicing. You sure you two don't need me for the rest of the afternoon? What if a client comes in? You don't look like you're up for talking to clients dressed like that."
Remington and Laura looked down at their mud-splattered clothes. "No, I guess we're not. We'll just lock the doors. Problem solved," Remington suggested with a laugh.
Laura laughed along with him, "Actually, Mildred, we won't be here much longer ourselves. We're going to try to get this bag open and get to the bank if we can." Laura held up the canvas bag with the rusted zipper.
"That's going to be nearly impossible, Mrs. Steele," Mildred informed her with a shake of her head.
"What? Getting that bag open? I'm sure Mr. Steele has a few tricks up his sleeve to work this old zipper loose. And if none of those work, I'm sure we could cut the bag if we had to," Laura insisted.
Mildred continued to shake her head, "No, Crescent Bank was bought out a few years ago. Now, it's New Federal Bank."
Remington propped his chin into one hand as he thought, "That's right. And if memory serves me correctly, they close early on Fridays during the summer. Stupidest thing I've ever heard of for a bank."
"Yes, Boss, but they stay open late on Wednesdays and Thursdays, and they will give advances on paychecks if you have an account with them," Mildred explained.
Laura tipped her head to the side and asked, "How would you know so much about this particular bank's practices?"
Mildred shrugged her shoulders and admitted, "Because I opened an account there just in case I needed an advance on my paycheck at any time."
Laura chuckled and nodded knowingly, "Uh-huh. Well, with the new raise you'll be getting, hopefully, you won't need advances anymore."
"Yeah, hopefully not," Mildred replied sheepishly. "You sure you don't mind if I head out?" she asked once more.
"Go, Mildred, before Laura finds some poor soul in the elevator that needs your specific services," Remington teased. Without another word, Mildred scrambled around the desk to the front desk and collected her purse.
"You kids have a nice weekend," she called out. Remington laughed as he watched her scurry into the hallway to catch the elevator doors before they closed.
Laura sauntered into the waiting area of the office toward Remington's door. "Coming, Mr. Steele?" she sang.
"On my way, Mrs. Steele," he hummed back teasingly. Once inside the office, he sat in one of the overstuffed chairs and examined the bag. "Laura, bring me the tool kit in the bottom drawer of my desk, would you, please?" Laura complied and handed him the small parcel. Inside, Remington found a pair of needle-nose pliers and a small tube of lubricant. "Maybe we can get that zipper loosened just enough that we can use the pliers to get a grip on it. Between the two of us, we might be able to force it open."
"Well, it's worth a try," Laura agreed. She watched as he applied the thin gel along the zipper seam before rubbing the bag between his hands.
After several minutes, he examined the zipper again and suggested, "Laura, you hold the pliers tightly, and I'll pull pack on the bag." Laura nodded, tightened her grip on the small zipper toggle with the pliers, and began to pull. "More," Remington instructed. Laura tugged harder, but after no success, she planted her foot on the chair beside his leg for leverage. She lifted her head, made eye contact, and nodded. Remington nodded back, and they both began a strange tug of war on the small canvas bag. After several minutes, the pliers lost its grip, sending Laura sprawling backward onto the couch. Remington puckered his lips as he tried to hide his amusement. "Really, Laura, if you had something else in mind, we could have gone home," he teased.
Laura rolled her eyes at him as she sat up. "Now is not the time for that, Mr. Steele," she chastised. She found her footing once more and, with a twinkle in her eye, commented, "If we can get this bag open, I may be amenable to celebrating at home later."
Remington straightened himself in the chair quickly and tossed the old canvas bag onto the table. He lifted the tool kit and searched inside for something else they could use to pry the zipper open. After several minutes, he discovered an X-acto knife kit. He held it up, and with a raise of his eyebrows, he silently suggested cutting the bag. Laura looked down at the bag on the table and sighed loudly before she nodded her approval.
Carefully, Remington removed the sharp knife from the kit and inserted the point into the canvas beside the rusted zipper. He slowly sawed his way along and cut a line a few inches long, just wide enough to see inside the bag and possibly extract anything inside. He returned the knife to the case and handed the bag to Laura, "Would you like the honors, Mrs. Steele?"
Laura eyed the bag and shook her head, "No, you do it."
Remington leaned forward, his elbows resting just above his knees, and folded his hands. He hung his head and thought for a moment. "Laura, are you having second thoughts about this? Because if you are, it's not too late to give this to Mr. Clark and be done with it. I'm sure your father will understand. After all, it's been-"
"Fourteen years, two months and seventeen days, but who's counting," Laura gave him a weak smile.
"Right, fourteen years, Laura. Fourteen years since you've had any contact with the man who destroyed your faith in what real relationships were. That's a long time for those feelings to be buried into your heart deeper than you ever thought possible," Remington reminded her.
Laura sighed, leaned forward, and grasped his hand in hers, "Yes, but you've taught me how to let that go and move on. And the only way for me to do that is to get answers from the source."
"Well, then, let's see what this bag holds, shall we?" Remington stated with a nod. He reached into the narrow opening and pulled out two keys on a small ring. He dropped the keys into her open palm and added, "There's something else." He tugged out a slip of paper, the edges slightly browned with age. "Crescent Bank, box 251," he read. Laura examined the keys and held up one of them with the numbers 251 stamped on it. "Store-a-lot Storage locker number six," he continued. Laura held up the second, unmarked key as he continued to read, "The storage unit is listed under the name James Bailey."
Laura gave him a smirk, a sharp shake of her head, and chuckled. Remington raised his eyebrow in response. "He knew. He knew I would be the one to find it. Even back then, he knew," she stated.
"How's that, Laura?" Remington remarked.
"Who else would know that his storage unit is under the name of a famous circus owner?" she replied with a wide smile.