The Little Black Book

“Are you sure this is the place?” The taxi driver asked as the car came to a stop at the entrance of the drive. I understood the slight panic in his voice as concern, although, there might have been a hint of judgment as well. Eyes wide and staring at a scene straight out of a Tim Burton movie I muttered, “This is the place... this is Gran’s.” The house was old and unkempt and for a moment I felt guilt. The once well manicured grass and plants had turned feral, revolting against the years of neglect and engulfing the house to make known their discontent. “How could I have let it get this bad?” I thought aloud. Gran had assured me that everything was under control, but it had been years since I visited and it was ever evident that the house was under everything except control. The hearse parked in the yard, a clear reminder that the memories I had of this once castle like Victorian weren’t my only loss, Gran was gone.

We had spoken only three days before and looking back she must have known that our time together was coming to an end. She usually filled our chats with gossips about the town, but this time had been different. She kept saying “Whatever answers you need, you’ll find in the book.” As I walked up the front staircase a new wave of grief swept over me. I fought back the tears and straightened my coat.

Gran’s lawyer had arrived early and was waiting inside with the documents of her estate. There was no formal reading of the will like in the movies. I was Gran’s only living relative and she didn’t have much beyond this old house anyway. Inside a manila envelope were the deed to the house, a will that stated that I was granted ownership of everything she owned, and a skeleton key. “Well she always did have a flare for the dramatic.” I forced a kind of laugh that said “I am laughing to make this awkward exchange more bearable,” but my statement was true. She had always been a character, marveling at the attention she got from wearing formal wear with fuzzy pink slippers at the supermarket, or crafting a large yonic sculpture for her front yard. She was an artist in the truest sense of the word. Always evaluating to create and creating to evaluate the reactions of those around her. It made living with her unpredictable and at times embarrassing, but also forever fun. I am eternally grateful for the life she provided me.

“Any idea what the key is for?” I asked.

“No clue, but I am sure you’ll figure it out.” The attorney, Digby Addison, responded. He was distracted. Halfheartedly and while checking his email on his phone he said, “As you can see Daliah left everything to you, so I just need a signature from you and I will get everything filed first thing tomorrow.”

The house felt empty without her. Later that night, I walked into her room and stood there, completely blank, trying desperately to soak up any remnants of her spirit or catch a glimpse of her smell before it was gone forever. The next morning, I tried every lock in the house trying to figure out why she would leave me a key with no instructions. An uncontrollable laughter erupted out of me as I remembered that nothing can be easy with Gran, and I am certain she got a kick out of simply knowing she would be leaving me puzzled.

Weeks flew by, and I continued to try every lock in the house to no avail. Then one day there was a knock at the door. I peered out of the side window to catch a glimpse of who it could be, “Margery Taylor?” I muttered to myself, “What’s that old bat doing here?” One deep breath and a thrown on smile later, “Hello Ms. Taylor. What brings you by?” “Oh Clara dear, I am so glad you’re still here. I was certain I had missed you. I was so sorry to hear about your loss.” There was a long pause, longer than felt comfortable, as she waited for me to say “thank you.” When the moment didn’t arrive, she continued, “I know the timing is just terrible, but your grandmother had a quilt made by my late mother and well when she found out she was sick she sent me a letter. I never got a chance to respond, but I had intended to take her up on the offer.” Staring blankly, I asked, “the offer?” “I would be happy to buy it from you but I just thought whats a young girl like yourself need with a quilt?” “Oh, the offer was for the quilt. Why don’t you come in and let me see if I can grab it.” On one hand, she was right, I had no interest in the quilt her mother made. On the one hand, she had a lot of nerve sure it was something her mother made but this old woman had been truly horrible to Gran. They had been in the middle of a feud for what seems like years, and she hadn't even attended the funeral. It was weird that she’d come by thinking I’d be gone and it caused my mind to race. “Whatever, snap out of it, just give her the blanket and let her be gone,” I thought. I knew exactly where the quilt would be. Gran was eccentric but also very meticulous and organized. I ran upstairs and over to the chest she kept in her room. “Hmm locked?” Why would she have locked this. I looked around for the key, but nothing. I walked over to the door to tell Ms. Taylor I would have to bring the quilt to her some other time, but then “I wonder…” I rushed to my room and threw open the drawer of the bedside table, revealing the manila envelope. I dumped the contents on the bed, scoped the key up, and rushed to the chest. Half sliding on my knees to reach the chest, as I heard the key connect with the lock I could feel my heart beating through my fingertips. I opened the chest and peeked inside. To the right was the quilt exactly where I had expected, and to the left, there lay a stack of money messily kept together with pink rubberbands and a little black notebook on top of the pile. I slammed the chest shut. My breathing was heavy now. “What was she doing with all that money? I opened the chest again and grabbed the blanket out careful to avert my eyes from what I knew was on the left side of the chest. I ran downstairs. “Here ya go Ms. Taylor. I hope you have a wonderful day. Thanks so much for stopping by.” I could tell that she was shocked and maybe even thought it rude that I was showing her the door so quickly, but I had a pressing matter to attend to. I half shoved her out the door, locking it before she could even turn for the steps and ran back upstairs. Opening the chest again, I half expected the money to be gone, a figment of my imagination, but there it was. I grabbed the little black book. It was beautiful, worn, but had held up. “Moleskine,” okay, Gran had good taste. I opened the book and read:

“My Dearest Clara,

If you are reading this you’ve either solved the mystery of the key or Margery came by collecting my quilt. She is an old vulture and this just proves I was right. Anyway, I want you to know that all the questions you have can be answered with this book. In this chest you will find $20,000, use it to purchase a plane ticket to Lagos. Once there go to R. do Jogo da Bola 17, 8600-717. Ask for R.S…..