Thursday
Norah hurried home from the library, as if pushed along by unseen hands. She rushed into her apartment, set all the locks and worried, took off her coat. Nervous and frightened, she leaned against the door. What is happening to me? She pulled off her gloves, her palms damp. All day, she had been anxious, followed by shadows. She hung up her brown wool fedora and it twirled on the stand. Norah gripped the brim to make it stop.
Turning on all the lights, she glanced around, but nothing in the small, neat, living room appeared out of place. Although an unusual smell of incense hung in the still air. Somehow, the vague scent soothed her nerves.
Norah caught her breath and went to the bedroom to change her clothes. She ignored the wall mirror and the haunting presence she imagined hovering nearby. Disturbed, her hands shook and she clasped them together. Everything is okay, relax.
She prepared supper and ate while reading, determined to go on as usual. But Norah kept losing her place, imagining someone kept looking over her shoulder. She cleaned up the dishes while fighting off a shapeless unease.
Norah retreated to the living room with her book, soon felt crowded, and changed chairs to observe the front door. Finally, she gave up and went to bed, brought the covers to her nose and missed the quiet safety of the library. She fell asleep musing books were her only refuge.
...
Friday
Norah slept fitfully, her dreams full of dramatic action, force, and mighty events. None of it made any sense when she woke. She showered, and dressed facing the wall, still feeling observed. Norah twisted up her long black hair and put on her treasured necklace of green beads for luck. Have to believe in luck. She skipped breakfast, shrugged on her coat, added her jittery hat and cautiously ventured out the door, glad to be in the early spring sunlight.
Organizing her thoughts, Norah strolled two blocks to the university, surrounded by students. Questions formed.
Why do I feel so unsettled? Am I sliding out of chemical balance? Falling ill with some ghastly ailment? Please, not something mental. I don’t have enough health insurance for insanity.
Her breath made a frost balloon in the chilly air, as she waited with others to cross the busy street to the campus. A man sidled near and his bold gaze traveled over her, hat to shoes. Norah turned away.
The light changed, and she hurried across the street as if pursued. Securely on campus, she regained her composure. Norah dashed into the research library and upstairs to her miniscule office, crammed with a battered desk, a clutter of electronics, and two straight chairs. Books of all sizes were stacked on every available surface. Now she was safe.
Norah breathed easier, shut the door, hung up her coat, and steadied the twirling hat. She moved books around in order to have a place to sit down. The morning passed without incident as she worked steadily, cataloging acquisitions. After lunch, a tap at the door and Maria, her buxom supervisor, bounded in, her expression harried.
“Hi, Norah, here’s your check. Ready for your vacation? Are you off traveling?”
“Oh, I—”
Maria sorted checks. “Well, have fun,” she said, cutting her off. “I’ll see you in two weeks. ‘Bye.”
Norah folded the check into her purse. Her vacation plans consisted of sleeping late and cruising used bookstores. Maria wasn’t interested, anyway.
She collected a stack of finished books, loaded them onto a cart in the hall, wheeled it to the clerk and started back. A man in a voluminous raincoat waited by her door. Funny. It hadn’t rained in weeks. Norah judged him a bland, forgettable, sort of person.
“May I help you?”
He smiled in a friendly way. “You’re Miss Norah Waverly?” he inquired.
“I am.”
“May we speak privately for a few minutes?”
Lord, a salesman.
“Well, I don’t—"
“It’s a family matter,” he urged. “Is this your office? I won’t be long.”
This sales technique piqued her interest. “Okay.”
She showed him in and moved a stack of books so he could sit in the other chair. He handed her a card that read, ‘Carlton Gleason, Attorney at Law’.
What is he pedaling? “Mr. Gleason,” she politely said, “I don’t know what you mean by family. To my knowledge, I have none.”
He adjusted his round spectacles and unbuckled the strap of his old-fashioned leather briefcase. “That’s not exactly correct, Miss Waverly, although I’m sorry to say your aunt Leticia has passed on.”
Confused, Norah regarded him for a long moment. “Who?”
“Your great aunt, Leticia Waverly, from your father’s side. This past Wednesday evening. You are her heir.”
The back of her neck tingled. Norah frowned in disbelief. This is a scam! “I don’t believe a word of this. Are you sure you have the right person?”
“Oh yes, no doubt whatsoever.” He placed papers on top of the books. “This is a copy of the will and various deeds, all quite legal, and now in your name. There are also assorted personal articles, and the like. You must come to her home and see to things.”
Thoroughly startled, Norah cried, “What do you mean, an aunt? This can’t be true. My father— Someone would have told me.” Her irritation grew. “After all these years? Why did she never make herself known?” she asked crossly. “Or want to meet me?”
A ray of sunlight glinted off his spectacles, dazzling Norah. She blinked rapidly and forgot her sudden annoyance. Family! If she could only believe it! She listened to him speak, feeling compelled to.
“Miss Leticia had her ways,” he went on, his mellow voice reassuring. “You’ll see how things are and perhaps that will answer your questions.” He handed her a small, brown envelope. “Here is a train ticket for five o’clock this afternoon. When you arrive, you will be met. It’s only a short journey, a very comfortable ride. You can stay at the house, since there are no other accommodations nearby.”
She stared at the envelope. Bewildered, Norah mumbled, “Well— I don’t understand— This is very sudden.”
He fastened the briefcase, all confidence. “It will work out splendidly, I’m sure. The opportunity of a lifetime for a young person like yourself, if I may say.” Abruptly, he stood, startling her. “I must be off. I hope you will take all this seriously, my dear. Goodbye.”
With that, he was out the door. Norah roused herself, jumped up and called after him, “Wait a minute! I can’t take that train. I have to work.”
But he strode on down the hall, his raincoat flowing behind him.
At that moment all the lights went out. A scorched odor ensued, filling the air. In seconds, the emergency generators kicked in and dimmed lights came on. Muttering and grumbling rose as the hall filled with people. Maria circulated among them, waving her hands.
“The building’s closing,” she yelled. “So sorry. Electrical problems or some such. Everyone out, please, sorry. See you on Monday. Out, out, all of you.”
Maria trotted on down the hall admonishing everyone.
Norah put Mr. Gleason’s card and the papers in her purse. She scanned the train ticket, which seemed authentic, and felt a powerful urge to see where it would lead. Glory be. Now she could leave work and make that train, after all. Why not? It would be an adventure.
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