One morning while I fought to stay awake and focus on what emails I really wanted to delete immediately, Thatch said to me, There’s this looked trunk in the basement.
What, Thatch? I looked up in bewilderment.
Didn’t Annabelle tell you?
I don’t think so. I fought back a yawn and failed. So, what did you tell me?
We were helping Val in the basement yesterday . . .
I know. I said goodbye when he stopped in to pick you up. Did you have a good time.
Oh, yes! Val is very grateful that we want to help him. He works very hard . . .
I know that! He;s got four buildings and that’s a lot of people to clean up after. He does a great job.
That’s because Annabelle and I are so helpful.
How are the ghosts? Did you see any? They’re really scary.
We don’t like them, and we try to stay out of their way. If they try to scare me, Annabelle chases them, and they run!
I laughed. She’s fearless, Thatcher. I think it’s great that she protects you. So, did you help Val?
Yes, he’s very grateful for all we do to help him out, you know.
That’s nice. I deleted a few emails and fought a huge urge to nap.
Anyway, there’s this locked trunk, he said mysteriously.
That perked my interest. Do you know whose trunk it is? I asked.
No, and Val didn’t either. He said he found it back in the area where George’s things used to be stored.
Well, maybe it belongs to George and he forgot it.
George was a wonderful handy man who had a shop in the basement as well as a large storage area in the other side of the basement. His shop was filled with wood, paint, varnish, a huge saw and lathe, wood furniture and pieces of furniture and it smelled of sawdust, varnish, and other homey odors. Around five years ago, when he started showing signs of Alzheimers taking over, his wife decreed it was time to retire, and a crew came in to clean out his spaces in the basement. I don’t know what became of the huge collection of used books he occasionally sold on the street, but his tools were auctioned or sold off, and the elevator crew made his empty shop their elevator central in 2018 when a new elevator was installed.
Annabelle asked Val that.
Annabelle leaped onto the table. What did I ask Val? she asked.
Where have you been, Missy? I asked her.
Lying in the bathtub with Stella. We were just hanging out. You know, when it starts getting warm outside, that tub is the coolest place in the apartment.
Well, I’ve
If that locked trunk belonged to George.
I did, she told us. Val said he didn’t think so. I wanted to see what was inside, but it’s locked.
I told that to Daddy, Thatch said.
Well, Annabelle added, there might be a treasure inside it! I am going to find out.
Well, good luck, Missy, I told her. I declared the rest of the new emails as junk and trashed them.
Thatch, we need to find the keys to that trunk. There might be jewelry I could use. Or money!
Or a body, I added. What if that trunk belongs to the Mob?
That’s exciting, Thatch said.
Now, hold on, I said. I don’t want to end up at the bottom of the Hudson because you two are curious.
Well, Annabelle stated, if that’s the case, I have two questions, Are you insured are Thatch and I getting the money?
Oh, ho ho, Missy! I said, if the mob gets me, I’m putting the finger on you!
What does that even mean? Sometimes you make no sense at all, does he, Thatch?
Annabelle, I said, you’re too innocent to understand gangster lingo.
I wanna learn gangster tango! Thatch said. Tell me more.
Thatcher, I think that’s enough gangster tango for today.
Darn!
Thatch, Annabelle turned to him, the next time we help Val, you distract him while I check out that locked trunk/ I am certain there’s something in it to make us rich and famous.
I’m always surprised there’s a “next time” because Val can never accomplish much with their help. They ride the mop when he does the floors, they play in the emphe can nuzzle. He has the patience and soul of a saint, and I’m grateful that he is so fond of them. Still, after telling me that he will never let them help him again, he tells me how much my three little devils make him laugh, and – at least once a month – he asks them to help him around the building.
Just be careful of those basement ghosts, I told them. They’re really scary.
They scare me! Thatch said.
Your shadow scares you! Annabelle laughed.
Does not! Thatch said defensively.
Does too!
Does not!
Does too!
All right, you two! That’s enough. It’s too early to put up with your squabbling.
Several days later, as I was picking up the mail, I ran into Val in the lobby. Val, what’s this locked trunk I’ve been hearing about? It’s Annabelle’s new obsession.
Really?
Really! She spends most of her time working on her career or playing with Thatch and Stella, but this trunk has her proverbial panties in a bunch. I don’t think she’s looked at a Backstage all week. It’s her Bible, you know.
This is serious, poor little girl! He laughed. When I dragged it out of the part of the cellar where George had stored it, she went crazy! She and Thatch climbed all over it. I actually accomplished some work while they explored it. I don’t get much done, you know, when they help me.
I know, I laughed, but you’re so good to babysit when I have other things to do.
They’re fun, and they are so cute when they think they’re helping me.
So, I’m curious, too. What’s in the trunk? Annabelle told me you didn’t think it belonged to George.
Val shook his head. I have no idea. George collected things off the street to sell later. It’s locked, and there’s something heavy in it, but your guess is as good as mine.
Well, I don’t want to keep you from your work. What are you doing today?
I have to mop the floors of 200.
The frat house?
Exactly. Those new tenants are total pigs. They think they’re in a college dormitory.
There are a couple of new ones in this building, too. That garbage room’s a mess some days.
Well, let me get to work. I’ve got to climb five flights with a bucket and a mop.
I’m sorry.
Me, too, he laughed. See you later.
I looked for anything packages, then wandered to the elevator. What’s in that trunk? I wondered. God, I sound like Annabelle.
When I entered the apartment, Annabelle was on the computer. Thatch was next to her.
Hello, babies! Where’s Miss Stella? As I wandered past her, I noticed she was on Google.
I think she’s sleeping somewhere, probably the bathtub.
So . . . what are you looking for, Missy?
Dynamite. How do you spell it?
Dynamite? With a Y, not an I.
Thank you.
What do you want to know about dynamite, Annabelle?
I want to know where to buy some.
This news alarmed me. What? Why?
Thatch looked up from the screen. We may need to blow the trunk open.
Well, I think the building would be blown up as well. You wouldn’t want that.
Of course not, Annabelle said haughtily. We’re not stupid, you know. We’d take the trunk out to the street.
Of course! I agreed. I just wasn’t thinking.
How rude, Thatch said to Annabelle.
By the next day I hoped that I had talked Annabelle and Thatch out of using dynamite. I still checked regularly for signs of explosives purchases online and suspicious packages. Headstrong cats are the worst, I thought.
Do we really, really need to do this? I asked Annabelle as I dragged the walker into the hall and she, Thatch, and I walked to the elevator. My legs are killing me.
We were headed to the Barnes & Noble on the corner of 82nd Street and Broadway to pick up the book Annabelle had ordered, Lock Picking for Dummies.
I am determined to get into that trunk this week. Then we can celebrate the start of summer with my new-found wealth.
Oh, little Annabelle, you’re counting chickens before they hatch, you know.
What does that mean? Thatch, do you understand him?
No, but i’m just a little boy.
Well, I wish you’d walk faster. I cannot wait to read my book!
Annabelle, I’m on a walker, I can barely stand up and move. We’ll get there.
Well, come on, come on! What if they sell my book before I get there?
You really think there’s a big market for Lock Picking for Dummies?
Anything can happen in New York, she said as we waited for the light to cross Broadway.
Thirty minutes later we arrived home with her book. As she settled on my computer table to read it, I prepared their dinners.
Stella, you should have come with us! Thatch said.
She doesn’t read, Thatch, Annabelle stated, you know that. She would have just embarrassed us by eating a book, or destroying the toilet paper in the restrooms.
Annabelle, I said as I carried three bowls to their food mats, you’re awfully hard on her. You need to be nicer to Stella.
I put the bowls on the table and lowered myself to my knees. Stella ran up to brush against me and to get her bowl first. Stella, you have to wait for Daddy!
What’s for dinner? Thatch asked.
Salmon, Thatcher, with a little sole on the side.
Yummy!
He ran to us. I reached for the first dish and set it before Stella, who dug into it as if she had not eaten in the past decade. Thatch waited patiently for his.
Annabelle! Missy? Are you joining your brother and sister for dinner?
Of course! She leaped off the table and ran to her bowl.
I slowly rose to my feet. I think I’ll have a look at your book, Annabelle. I may need to begin picking locks to keep you three in luxury.
Val took me down to the basement to see the trunk. Naturally, all three cats accompanied us. Annabelle tried to make Stella stay behind, but I felt we were a family and keeping Stella out of the loop was not good for apartment morale. As we stepped off the elevator, two of the ghosts guarding the trunk tried to scare us away. Thatch jumped into my arms for safety while Annabelle and Stella with loud war cries bore down on them and chased them off.
Very good, Stella! Annabelle cheered as Stella disappeared into the basement depths in pursuit of two ghosts. She turned back to Val, Thatch, and me. Okay, boys, let’s open this trunk!
Three three of us stood watching Annabelle trying to pick a lock, which is hard to do with hands and nearly impossible with paws. Thatch leaped down from my arms to assist her. Hold that flashlight, will you, Thatch? she asked. It’s too dark in this basement. I still think we should drag it outside and blow it open.
Annabelle, Val observed, I don’t think you can do this.
Let me try one more time!
Val turned back to the door to his workroom and unlocked it. Where are you going? I asked him.
I’m getting a strong screwdriver. Maybe we can pry the lock open. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. He entered the workroom and started rooting about one of the shelves.
At that moment, one of the ghosts ran past me with Stella in pursuit. As she leaped at it, it dematerialized and vanished. She fell onto the huddle of Annabelle and Thatch. Three cats and a flashlight flew in various directions.
Stella! Be careful! Thatch picked himself up and ran for the flashlight
Stella! Annabelle yelled. I’m almost had it! Really, Daddy, she’s not no couth!
I rolled my eyes. Much as I love Annabelle, I knew her lock picking skills stank. Our only hope of breaking into that trunk was Val’s screwdriver.
Ah, poor baby! Val rushed to Annabelle and picked her up. The sly little puss immediately played damsel in distress and nuzzled into his neck. Are you okay, little girl?
I looked at Thatch, and we both rolled our eyes. Stella, who had picked herself up, galloped back into the cavernous space from which she had chased the ghost.
Stella! Come back, I called. She won’t get lost, will she, Val?
I wish! Annabelle stated.
Be nice, Missy. She loves you.
Val set Annabelle down on top of the trunk. Well, I’ve got a lot of work today, he stated, so let’s open this trunk. He squatted before the trunk, explored the lock with the screwdriver, inserted the blade into the gap between the trunk and the lock, and slowly bent the screwdriver back. There was a low grinding sound followed by a pop and the lock swung free. The trunk was opened. Annabelle danced on the lid and Thatch jumped up to join her as they cheered Val as their hero. Stella ran in and joined their dance.
Excellent, Val! I said. Now . . . do we want to guess what it contains?
Jewels! Annabelle shouted.
Money! Thatch screamed.
Well, let’s see, Val said. Everybody off!
Three cats leaped off the lid and gathered around Val as he slowly opened the lid. A new odor permeated the room that I can only describe as the scent of nostalgia: scents of lavender sachet, old cosmetics, old tobacco mingled with scents of dust, memories, regrets, and longings.
What is it? Annabelle asked.
It’s so sad, Thatch conserved. Can you feel it?
What is all that stuff. Val? I asked as I leaned over my walker.
The trunk was packed. There were pairs of spectacles, a pocket watch, wooden boxes of various sizes containing personal items like costume jewelry, tubes of lipstick, powder puffs and boxes of powder. The larger boxes contained hair brushes, combs, and piles of postcards from “Monica,” addressed to “Mother,” a Mrs. Arthur Schmidt, 430 West 86th Street, New York, and postmarked between 1946 and 1948.
Schmidt? I wondered. I don’t think anyone named Schmidt has lived here while I’ve been here. Oh, wait a minute. What was the name of that retired librarian who lived in 3D when I moved in? It might have been Schmidt. I’m just not sure now. Was she named Monica? Too long ago now . . .
Well, I’ve got work to do, Val told us. What do you want to do with this?
We’ll nose around a bit. I’m curious about those postcards. Maybe we’ll learn why Monica was living in Florida.
Okay. Just close it up when you’re finished playing. He took the screwdriver back to his workroom, locked the door, and headed off to the elevator.
Well, Annabelle? I asked, Are you sorry there’s no jewelry or money?
I am! said Thatch.
I don’t know, Annabelle told us. I’m very curious now to solve the mysterey of Monica! I’m a good detective, you know.
©2021, Larry Moore
Annabelle & Thatch 