Little Did I Know: A Novel by Mitchell Maxwell Read Free Book Online Page A

thank me properly.”
    I said nothing as she climbed the grand staircase to her bedroom.
    I thought of the talk with my dad. The alcohol made me feel brazen. I wasn’t afraid of this woman. I picked up her robe; it smelled of lilac and smoke. I collected my thoughts, found the envelope in which I had brought the contracts, and took a moment to write Mrs. Barrows a note:
     
Partner ,
     
Thanks for the dough. I was advised not to live my entire summer’s adventures in a single day. Maybe dinner and a long talk will help my reticence disappear, but for the moment we have work to do. You may think I am an idiot but for now, see you, doll. Good luck to us both.
     
PS: Put some clothes on. I wouldn’t want you to catch cold.
    I left with the check folded in my breast pocket. I drove to the Plymouth Savings Bank to open an account and make a $5OK bet on my dream. Mrs. Barrows would have to wait at least until the check cleared before we could resume our cat-and-mouse game. Next time, I might even let myself get caught.

7
     
    T he Plymouth Savings Bank, established in 1806, was built of stone. It reflected the no-nonsense Puritan values of hard work and innate strength. It sat high above the knoll as if keeping an eye on the denizens of the village and their money. The leaded-glass windows, placed in an orderly fashion across the facade of the building, had tinted panes that cast a prism effect on the steps leading into the offices.
    I went to the bullpen, where Mrs. Saunders greeted me. She was a grayhaired woman approaching fifty. Her navy-blue suit made her look attractive and slender. It came adorned with a name tag above her left breast pocket. Her lapel had the bank initials PSB embroidered next to the emblem of a pilgrim. She quickly extended her hospitality and offered me the chair next to her desk. Her eyes widened when I told her I wanted to deposit $50,000. I quickly signed a multitude of forms for setting up the account, then handed Mrs. Saunders the check. I saw her wide, happy eyes narrow in disappointment.
    “The Barrows Foundation,” she mused. Then in an offhand fashion she warned me to stand back from the check, because it might bounce up and hit me in the eye. “Is this a standard banker’s joke?” I asked, surprised and without a hint of mirth. “How long before these funds are available?”
    “Well, if there are no problems, considering that it’s a local check being deposited on a Saturday, you can have the money as early as Tuesday afternoon.”
    “Do you foresee any problem?”
    “No, no, nooooo. It’s just that I’ve been working here since the Pilgrims landed and I’m always cautious. Small banking has its surprises. If I’m not overstepping my bounds, you might want to talk with Marty Stanhope who runs the White Cliffs Resort a few miles up the road on Route 3. He’s . . . Well, you might want to chat with him. But please don’t tell the Barrows.”
    “Rest assured,” I replied. The woman was more than hinting at something, so I thanked her with a smile and walked out into the afternoon sun.

8
     
    T he banker’s reaction had thrown me a bit. Perhaps Marty Stanhope could enlighten me. I soon arrived at the motel and found Veronica behind the front desk. Each day she looked more attractive. I couldn’t take my eyes off her near-see-through flower-patterned dress. Her firm, round breasts were held in place by two delicate shoulder straps. I wondered how they were able to support that magnificent chest. Putting lust aside, I dove straight in and asked if I could keep my room for two days at a discounted rate while I was away in Boston.
    She smiled and told me she would make an exception as long as we both kept it a secret. “I won’t tell if you don’t. In fact, there are a lot of things I won’t tell if you ask me not to.”
    To me, her body language suggested something carnal and her eyes reinforced the same. It was if she were saying, “Take me in the back office and bend me