Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

“I have one just like it. Same size and shape, with that
square top. Even the numbers on the head are the same.” He
chuckles. “Well, not the same same. That’s the box number.”
Because I’m having a hard time concentrating on not going
cross-eyed with impatience for him to leave, I make a noise
that’s supposed to mean Oh, I see, how very interesting.
“Actually, it’s probably from the same bank as mine. Wells
Fargo. Different branch, though, maybe. But these kinds of
keys are standard to whichever bank they’re made for.”
My pounding heartbeat falters.
David didn’t have an account at Wells Fargo. He banked
with Bank of America.
Even if you could rent a box at a bank you didn’t have an
account with…why would you?
Chris holds out the key. I take it from him, my mind going
a million miles per hour.
“Great, thanks. I’ll call my parents and let them know I
found it. They probably don’t even remember they had the
box. When they moved, my dad was going through a lot of
health issues.”
“Yeah, you should definitely let them know right away. If
those box fees go unpaid long enough, the bank opens the
boxes and sends the contents to the state treasurer or auctions
it off.”
He chuckles. “I mean, assuming it’s not just a bunch of
dirty pictures. Then they just get shredded.”
I don’t ask how he knows all about the rules governing
safety deposit boxes. I’ll be in for a thirty-minute monologue.
I just nod and try to look impressed and grateful.
“I’ll call them right now. Thanks again, Chris. It was nice
to see you.”
I’m about to close the door, but he stops me by blurting, “I
think I made a mistake.”