Read Online Dial M for Meat Loaf by Ellen Hart - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ellen Hart
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raised to use that kind of language. That was for tramps like Mabel Bjornstaad. Besides, Winthrop had never seen her behave like that and she didn’t want to upset him. He was such a quiet, sensitive little fellow, sitting on the kitchen counter and licking the edge of a honey jar.
Opening all the cupboard doors, Cora stepped back and peered over the top of her bifocals. Her heart leapt inside her chest when she spied it way up on the top shelf.
The stepladder had been in the garage when the bomb went off, but a kitchen chair would do just fine. In a moment, the box had been plucked from its resting place and Cora was sitting at the kitchen table, staring for the first time in years at the decals on the front. Her mother had bought the box in the thirties at the local five-and-dime. She’d placed the duck decals on it herself. Cora couldn’t work up much emotion about Kirby’s death, but she still teared when she thought of her mom. Cora had used the wooden box all during high school. Some of the recipes inside came from her mother, some from her grandmother, some from her teachers, and some Cora had copied out of magazines. But the meat loaf recipe was all her own.
Opening the cover, Cora gazed at a yellowed piece of paper she’d stuck to the inside a thousand years ago. It said, simply: Cora Pauline Anderson. Rooms 3 & 5, Foods, Mrs. Hayes and Miss Brown.
Flipping through the cards, she found the meat loaf recipe almost immediately. But she couldn’t stop there. She was too intrigued by her walk down memory lane. Philadelphia Dip for Chips. Lefse. Ice Box Cookies. Her grandmother’s famous Nuts Cookies, and Floating Island. A favorite recipe for Angel Pie, and Beet Pickles. Her mother’s favorite fish chowder, buttery and thick with potatoes and fresh corn off the cob. Everything came back to her with the patina of childhood attached— that innocent time before her mother had died.
At the back of the box, Cora found something she hadn’t anticipated. It was a bankbook, and not one she recognized. A folded sheet of typing paper was attached to it with a paper clip. She figured it must be one that had expired years ago, but just to make sure, she opened it.
“Dear God,” she said, her hand rising to cover her mouth. She stared at the numbers in utter disbelief. The bankbook was for a savings account that had been taken out in the name of Kirby Runbeck less then three months ago. Two deposits were recorded. The starting deposit was fifty thousand dollars. The second deposit had been made four days before he died. Another fifty thousand dollars.
“What on earth?” How had Kirby gotten his hands on that kind of money? And then it struck her. That’s why he wanted a divorce. The little worm was planning to take the money and run away with that hussy, Mabel Bjornstaad. Sharing his good fortune with his wife wasn’t part of the plan.
Thank the Good Lord there was justice in this world. The money would come to her now. “We’re rich!” cried Cora, picking up Winthrop and hugging him to her chest. The cat seemed unimpressed. He wanted to get back to the honey jar.
After letting him go, she stared at the balance for a few more seconds. Only then did she notice a withdrawal at the bottom. Two days before his death, Kirby had withdrawn the entire hundred thousand dollars and closed the account.
“You bastard!” she thundered, pounding her fist on the table and causing the coffee cup to jump.
But what had happened to the money? If it wasn’t in the bank, it had to be somewhere. Oh no, Cora thought. Her heart nearly stopped. Had it been in his truck? Or the garage? She closed her eyes and tried to think it through. Where would a secretive, naturally suspicious, not terribly intelligent man like Kirby hide a small fortune? Cora felt certain the place he’d pick would be absolutely secure. The truck and the garage didn’t fit that criteria. No, it had to be somewhere else.
Pulling off the piece of typing
Opening all the cupboard doors, Cora stepped back and peered over the top of her bifocals. Her heart leapt inside her chest when she spied it way up on the top shelf.
The stepladder had been in the garage when the bomb went off, but a kitchen chair would do just fine. In a moment, the box had been plucked from its resting place and Cora was sitting at the kitchen table, staring for the first time in years at the decals on the front. Her mother had bought the box in the thirties at the local five-and-dime. She’d placed the duck decals on it herself. Cora couldn’t work up much emotion about Kirby’s death, but she still teared when she thought of her mom. Cora had used the wooden box all during high school. Some of the recipes inside came from her mother, some from her grandmother, some from her teachers, and some Cora had copied out of magazines. But the meat loaf recipe was all her own.
Opening the cover, Cora gazed at a yellowed piece of paper she’d stuck to the inside a thousand years ago. It said, simply: Cora Pauline Anderson. Rooms 3 & 5, Foods, Mrs. Hayes and Miss Brown.
Flipping through the cards, she found the meat loaf recipe almost immediately. But she couldn’t stop there. She was too intrigued by her walk down memory lane. Philadelphia Dip for Chips. Lefse. Ice Box Cookies. Her grandmother’s famous Nuts Cookies, and Floating Island. A favorite recipe for Angel Pie, and Beet Pickles. Her mother’s favorite fish chowder, buttery and thick with potatoes and fresh corn off the cob. Everything came back to her with the patina of childhood attached— that innocent time before her mother had died.
At the back of the box, Cora found something she hadn’t anticipated. It was a bankbook, and not one she recognized. A folded sheet of typing paper was attached to it with a paper clip. She figured it must be one that had expired years ago, but just to make sure, she opened it.
“Dear God,” she said, her hand rising to cover her mouth. She stared at the numbers in utter disbelief. The bankbook was for a savings account that had been taken out in the name of Kirby Runbeck less then three months ago. Two deposits were recorded. The starting deposit was fifty thousand dollars. The second deposit had been made four days before he died. Another fifty thousand dollars.
“What on earth?” How had Kirby gotten his hands on that kind of money? And then it struck her. That’s why he wanted a divorce. The little worm was planning to take the money and run away with that hussy, Mabel Bjornstaad. Sharing his good fortune with his wife wasn’t part of the plan.
Thank the Good Lord there was justice in this world. The money would come to her now. “We’re rich!” cried Cora, picking up Winthrop and hugging him to her chest. The cat seemed unimpressed. He wanted to get back to the honey jar.
After letting him go, she stared at the balance for a few more seconds. Only then did she notice a withdrawal at the bottom. Two days before his death, Kirby had withdrawn the entire hundred thousand dollars and closed the account.
“You bastard!” she thundered, pounding her fist on the table and causing the coffee cup to jump.
But what had happened to the money? If it wasn’t in the bank, it had to be somewhere. Oh no, Cora thought. Her heart nearly stopped. Had it been in his truck? Or the garage? She closed her eyes and tried to think it through. Where would a secretive, naturally suspicious, not terribly intelligent man like Kirby hide a small fortune? Cora felt certain the place he’d pick would be absolutely secure. The truck and the garage didn’t fit that criteria. No, it had to be somewhere else.
Pulling off the piece of typing
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