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there something she knew?

6
    Amy met Mr. Phelps’s unrealistic three o’clock deadline. She always met her deadlines. This time, however, she was feeling abused. She went home when she finished.
    She conjured up an image as she drove—a fantasy of sorts. It had to do with the money. She wouldn’t just quietly give notice, she decided. She would drive her old truck to Bailey, Gaslow & Heinz, like any other day. She’d get her morning coffee, retreat to her office, and sit very calmly at her desk. But she wouldn’t turn on her computer. She wouldn’t even close the door. She’d leave it wide open—and just wait for someone like Phelps to come piss her off.
    For the moment, however, the waiting was beginning to breed paranoia.
    It had been Gram’s idea to keep the money in the house and see what happened. Amy had a nagging instinct that someone was testing her, checking whether she’d do the honorable thing. She recalled the pointed questions on her application to law school. Are you currently under investigation for any crime? Have you ever been convicted of a crime? Before long she would face the same probing questions in her application to the Colorado State Bar Association. What kind of dim view might they take toward a candidate who hadknowingly deprived the IRS of its fair share of a mysterious cash windfall? Worse yet, someone could be setting her up—someone like her ex-husband. Maybe he’d reported the money stolen, the serial numbers registered with the FBI. The minute she tried to spend it, she’d be arrested.
    Now you’re really being paranoid. Amy’s ex-husband made a stink over paying five hundred dollars a month in child support. He certainly wouldn’t risk shipping two hundred grand in a cardboard box. Still, the prudent course was to contact the police, probably even fess up to the IRS. But Gram would kill her. She’d kill herself, if she messed up her chance to beg off law school, return to her graduate studies and follow her dreams. It was time for Amy Parkens to live on the edge a little.
    Amy walked to the kitchenette and opened the freezer door. She reached for the box of cash behind the frozen pot roast.
    “Amy, what are you doing?”
    She turned at the sound of her grandmother’s voice. She felt the urge to lie, but she could never fool Gram. “Just checking on our investment.”
    Gram placed a bag of groceries on the table. She’d returned from the store sooner than Amy had expected. “It’s all there,” said Gram. “I didn’t take any.”
    “I wasn’t suggesting you had.”
    “Then leave it be, girl.”
    Amy closed the door and helped unload the groceries. “Where’s Taylor?”
    “Outside. Mrs. Bentley from three-seventeen is watching her. She owes us, all the times I’ve watched her little monsters.” Gram paused, then smiled with a thought. “Maybe we can take someof the money and get Taylor a nanny. A good one. Someone who speaks French. I’d like Taylor to speak French.”
    Amy stuffed a box of Rice Krispies into the pantry. “Excellent idea. She’ll be the only four-year-old in Boulder who orders pommes frites with her Happy Meal.”
    “I’m serious, Amy. This money is going to open a whole new world for your daughter.”
    “That’s so unfair. Don’t use Taylor to make me feel better about keeping this money.”
    “I don’t understand you. What’s so wrong about keeping it?”
    “It makes me nervous. Sitting around, waiting for a letter in the mail or a knock on the door—anything that might explain the money. An explanation might never come. If the money was sent by mistake, I want to know. If it’s a gift, I’d like to know whose kindness is behind it.”
    “Hire a detective, if you’re that nervous. Maybe they can check the box or even the money for fingerprints.”
    “That’s a great idea.”
    “Just one problem. How are you going to pay for it?”
    Amy’s smile vanished.
    Gram said, “You could use some of the money. Take five hundred