Read Online The List by Robert Whitlow - Free Book Online

Stokes stayed almost forty years. Her brother, a dentist, left her the Charlotte house and the Lincoln automobile in his will, and she was living out her retirement in pleasant surroundings, supplementing her pension with Renny’s rent checks. At first, her diminutive size and quiet voice led Renny to assume she was scared of her own shadow. But over the past three months, he had learned that she was not afraid of anything and was even willing to allow something new, like Brandy, to invade her routine.
    â€œHow was your trip?” she asked.
    â€œIt was fine. I met with my father’s lawyer. There are still some things to clear up.” Renny scratched Brandy’s favorite spot behind her right ear.
    â€œEstates can be complicated. The more property you have, the more you have to worry with it.”
    Renny looked up at the small face framed by white hair pulled back in a bun. “That’s the kind of worry I’d be happy to take on.”
    â€œI’ve seen money cause more problems than it solves. That’s all.”
    â€œNot me. Anyway, I’m going back to the coast, to Georgetown, next weekend.”
    â€œI’ll be happy to dog-sit again. Brandy and I had some good talks as we walked over at Queens,” she replied, referring to nearby Queens College, Renny’s favorite place to jog and Brandy’s preferred spot for squirrel chasing.
    Renny could picture Mrs. Stokes happily talking to Brandy as passersby glanced in her direction.
    â€œThanks, we both appreciate it. Come on, girl, let’s go upstairs.” Renny held the door open for the dog and followed with his suitcase.
    â€œGood night, Renny. Good night, Brandy,” Mrs. Stokes’s blessing followed them out.
    Renny climbed the stairs to the second floor, unlocked the door, and let Brandy bound in before him. Dropping his suitcase, he went back to the car and quietly carried the old trunk up to his living room.
    â€œHere it is, girl, the famous old trunk.” Brandy sniffed it and growled.
    â€œHold on, there’s nothing in it but some old papers. This will keep us both in dog food for a long time.” Brandy, eyeing the trunk with suspicion, circled around to the far side of the room and curled up on her bed.
    â€œWell, tomorrow I’m going to start finding out how much we’ve got. I tell you what—we’ll split it fifty-fifty, if you can keep it secret.” Brandy didn’t move.
    â€œI guess you liked Mrs. Stokes’s conversation better,” Renny said grumpily. Brandy yawned and closed her eyes.
    Renny’s area of the house was almost too big to be considered an apartment. The living room was connected to a large kitchen, with windows overlooking the backyard. He had an office for his computer, a master bedroom, and a guest bedroom. He had furnished the house with secondhand furniture, so some of the antiques from the Isle of Palms house would be welcome additions. The kitchen area was his favorite spot on Sunday mornings; he fixed a huge breakfast of waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash brown potatoes, drank large mugs of coffee, and read the Charlotte Observer .
    Renny turned on the TV. He had been so consumed with his own news he hadn’t thought about the rest of the world. Watching the images flash across the screen, he decided a story about the List would make a great human interest/history piece. It would begin with scenes from Charleston and a commentary on the lost lifestyle of the antebellum South. Then the reporter would tell how a group of plantation owners banded together to save their families by smuggling gold and silver out of the dying Confederacy. Now, 140 years later, the money set aside by the original participants has multiplied to an unknown but possibly astronomical sum. At that point Renny’s face filled the screen, and he answered questions about his family’s history, expressing his gratitude for their foresight. “No,