other. It’s pretty sweet.” One of the perks of being a statie. “Did some Christmas shopping and some other errands.” Including talking to an acquaintance who knew how to crack safes. But he didn’t mention that. “What did you do?”
She inclined her head toward the eating nook. “Cleaned. And made some calls to start on Dad’s estate stuff.” She took a bite out of a jelly donut and neatly licked a bit of filling that clung to the corner of her mouth. It was going to be a long frigging morning. “Thanks for offering to help with all this. I’ve never actually been to a funeral before. Well, not since Mom’s, but I don’t remember much about that one. I have no idea what’s expected.”
Cole had been to more than a few. “We’ll sort it out. Let’s start with the casket, yeah?” He picked up the brochure and they were off, planning Grip’s final farewell.
A couple hours in, they started on the form that recorded the deceased’s military honors, if any. Seeing as he and Grip had met in the National Guard before Grip’s wife had died, Cole knew first-hand his buddy had some military experience. From snippets of conversation they’d had, he knew Grip had been in the Army too. Served as an eighteen-year-old kid in the tail end of Vietnam. There were two kinds of soldiers who served in Vietnam: the ones who talked about it after and the ones who didn’t. Grip had never talked about it, which probably meant he’d seen some pretty intense action.
“I’ll make some phone calls on Monday and get these details for you,” he offered. “You got a copy of the death certificate I can take with me? Might need to fax it in before they’ll hand over the info.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” He knew exactly who to call. He’d done this before. For his own father.
“No, I mean you don’t have to because I have all the info.” She pushed away from the table. “Dad kept records of all his military stuff. It’s all in the safe.”
At the mention of the safe, Cole’s ears perked up.
Mandy strode from the kitchen, and he followed, expecting her to slip into her coat to go up to the shop. Maybe she knew the real combination. He’d have to watch her carefully and figure out where he’d gone wrong.
But she didn’t get her coat. She headed down the hall and disappeared into a room halfway to the back of the trailer.
He followed and found her spinning the combination dial of a six-foot tall safe to clear it. He stepped up behind her, not too close but close enough to read the numbers as she worked the dial. Bam, bam, bam, she hit the numbers Gripper had told him on his deathbed. This was the safe he’d been talking about, not the one up in the shop.
Jesus.
If everything Gripper had told him was true, Mandy was about to open a safe that contained almost four hundred thousand dollars in cash. He debated distracting her from the search for Grip’s military records but couldn’t figure out how to do it tactfully. So he held his breath while she clocked in the final number and swung the door open.
The safe was crammed full of three rows of gorgeous rifles standing stock-down with their muzzles nestled in the velvety soft grooves of a custom shelf. In the front row, he recognized a twelve-gauge Winchester Gripper had let him fire once. That gun alone was worth a cool grand. Also in the first row was a World War II Beretta Model 1918 submachine gun with a bottom magazine and a bayonet, which made it a model 1918/30. His breath whooshed out. That was a nice gun. Very nice. And it looked in pristine condition. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. A quick count revealed twenty rifles, and about the same number of handguns supported by fabric-lined molds screwed into corkboard on the inside of the door. Each piece was special. Not a one would go for less than five hundred. Some, like the Beretta, would go for thousands.
“You got a small fortune in guns here,” he said. “You
She inclined her head toward the eating nook. “Cleaned. And made some calls to start on Dad’s estate stuff.” She took a bite out of a jelly donut and neatly licked a bit of filling that clung to the corner of her mouth. It was going to be a long frigging morning. “Thanks for offering to help with all this. I’ve never actually been to a funeral before. Well, not since Mom’s, but I don’t remember much about that one. I have no idea what’s expected.”
Cole had been to more than a few. “We’ll sort it out. Let’s start with the casket, yeah?” He picked up the brochure and they were off, planning Grip’s final farewell.
A couple hours in, they started on the form that recorded the deceased’s military honors, if any. Seeing as he and Grip had met in the National Guard before Grip’s wife had died, Cole knew first-hand his buddy had some military experience. From snippets of conversation they’d had, he knew Grip had been in the Army too. Served as an eighteen-year-old kid in the tail end of Vietnam. There were two kinds of soldiers who served in Vietnam: the ones who talked about it after and the ones who didn’t. Grip had never talked about it, which probably meant he’d seen some pretty intense action.
“I’ll make some phone calls on Monday and get these details for you,” he offered. “You got a copy of the death certificate I can take with me? Might need to fax it in before they’ll hand over the info.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” He knew exactly who to call. He’d done this before. For his own father.
“No, I mean you don’t have to because I have all the info.” She pushed away from the table. “Dad kept records of all his military stuff. It’s all in the safe.”
At the mention of the safe, Cole’s ears perked up.
Mandy strode from the kitchen, and he followed, expecting her to slip into her coat to go up to the shop. Maybe she knew the real combination. He’d have to watch her carefully and figure out where he’d gone wrong.
But she didn’t get her coat. She headed down the hall and disappeared into a room halfway to the back of the trailer.
He followed and found her spinning the combination dial of a six-foot tall safe to clear it. He stepped up behind her, not too close but close enough to read the numbers as she worked the dial. Bam, bam, bam, she hit the numbers Gripper had told him on his deathbed. This was the safe he’d been talking about, not the one up in the shop.
Jesus.
If everything Gripper had told him was true, Mandy was about to open a safe that contained almost four hundred thousand dollars in cash. He debated distracting her from the search for Grip’s military records but couldn’t figure out how to do it tactfully. So he held his breath while she clocked in the final number and swung the door open.
The safe was crammed full of three rows of gorgeous rifles standing stock-down with their muzzles nestled in the velvety soft grooves of a custom shelf. In the front row, he recognized a twelve-gauge Winchester Gripper had let him fire once. That gun alone was worth a cool grand. Also in the first row was a World War II Beretta Model 1918 submachine gun with a bottom magazine and a bayonet, which made it a model 1918/30. His breath whooshed out. That was a nice gun. Very nice. And it looked in pristine condition. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. A quick count revealed twenty rifles, and about the same number of handguns supported by fabric-lined molds screwed into corkboard on the inside of the door. Each piece was special. Not a one would go for less than five hundred. Some, like the Beretta, would go for thousands.
“You got a small fortune in guns here,” he said. “You
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