Eunice raised her eyebrows. “
You
need to spend more time watching
Antiques Roadshow.
That bit of
junk
in your hands is an extremely rare and valuable celestial globe. There are about five of that diameter in existence. The last one sold at auction for over ten grand.”
Mila looked askance at the papier-mâché globe. “But it’s ruined. Look at this—big chunks have disintegrated and fallen inside. The paint’s almost gone and it smells like it sat in a musty cellar for a decade or so.”
“It was still appraised at ten thousand, and it’s in this vault to stay in good shape until an auction house is selected. So be careful with it, huh?”
“Oh, I’d planned to be careful with it either way. But geez! Who buys this crap?” She shook her head and carried it gingerly to the outer room. The room was filling fast, but they were nearly to the back. Just a few more boxes and Eunice would be able to open the rolltop desk against the back wall. That’s when she noticed someone standing outside the glass door. The senior partner, Thomas Harris was watching the moving process with a very disapproving expression. He pointed to the lock and then to the door handle. Mila hurried to open it for him. It set off a little beeping noise inside the vault that she hadn’t noticed before, and brought Eunice running.
She put a hand to her chest as though she’d been startled out of a year’s growth. “Oh, hi, Tom. I hate it when that damn buzzer goes off in there.”
“What in blazes is going on in here?” He looked furious, but if Eunice noticed, she didn’t seem especially concerned.
“Devon’s on vacation and I need to get to the old inventory. It’s in the pigeon hole desk, so Mila’s giving me a hand getting all this stuff out of the way.”
He lowered a glare on Mila that made her want to bolt back into the vault and close the door. “I don’t like anyone but you or Devon in this room. You know that.”
The older woman snorted and put hands on her ample hips before looking into his face sternly. “Well, unless you want to pay the worker’s comp bills for me throwing out my back, you don’t have much choice.” They stared at each other for a long moment, neither one budging. It startled Mila a bit when Harris let out a little smile. Then Eunice smiled too and winked at him. “Besides, you know Mila. She’s been here over a decade and it’s her grandmother’s property we’re getting out. Do you remember Nadia Penkin—one of Myron’s old clients?” She paused and then put emphasis on the next phrase. “One of his
unique
clients.”
Then Harris rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath. “One of his
witchy
clients, you mean. How could I forget?” Mila must have been wearing an odd expression, because he looked at her and continued. “I’m sure your grandmother is a fine woman, but there was no end of problems in this place every time one of them showed up. Either the plumbing would go out or the furnace.”
Eunice laughed. “Oh, and how about the time the potted plant in the front office
exploded?
” She nodded at Mila, who froze and couldn’t breathe for a second. “Yeah, actually exploded. The whole pot just burst into pieces when one of the witchy women walked by. There was dirt everywhere—even inside the typewriters. Old Betty Trophy, who was our receptionist at the time, quit that very day. Said the whole place was haunted.”
“Didn’t really mind losing her,” Harris said with a small chuckle. “She was a bitter pill. That was the only good to come out of that group. Apparently, they were friends or relations to one grandmother or other, so Myron couldn’t turn them down when they needed help.”
Three days ago, she would have laughed along with them. But three days ago, magic wasn’t real. It was something to scoff at on television. “So, what sort of work did the
witchy clients
have Mr. Sanders do?”
Harris shrugged. “Oh, all sorts. We were a general practice firm then. I do remember there were a lot of petitions for name changes. But in the late fifties and early sixties, that was pretty common all over—the McCarthy era, you know. Immigrants from anywhere in the USSR would want to
Americanize
their surnames. Rothschenko would become Roth, Kuryliak would be Curry. I remember doing that one when Myron was on vacation.” He looked at the stacks of boxes, some five high, and let out a slow breath. “Anyway, that’s beside the point and not why I’m here. I need a check, Eunice. Four grand should do me.”
She snorted. “
Three
thousand will have to do you until January. Four would bump you into the next tax bracket and Gil would have my hide when he put your return together in April.”
Instead of arguing or ordering her to comply, as Mila had expected from seeing his other interactions with staff—Harris merely sighed. “Well, you know best. I guess there’s no helping it.” He held open the door for Eunice and waved his other hand airily at Mila. “Carry on, then. I’ll have her back in a moment. Don’t let anyone inside except senior staff and do be careful of the breakables. I’d hate to have to find yet another insurance carrier if we have to reimburse someone again.”
“Of course,” she replied seriously. “I’ll be very careful.” She was just pleased he didn’t suggest she was untrustworthy. That Eunice had said,
Oh, you know Mila
was a little surprising. She’d never really thought much about what the senior partners thought of her—so long as she kept her boss happy, she figured that was enough. Still, it was nice to hear.
Once alone, she quickly finished clearing out the boxes. It was easier with only one person working. As much as she liked Eunice, they had very different ways of achieving the same goal.
Mila stared at the closed rolltop. She
should
wait until Eunice came back. She didn’t even know for certain what she was looking for. Yet, when she saw her hand reaching for the handle, she didn’t pull it back. The slatted top wasn’t locked, but it took some effort to make the rollers spin to raise it. The green leather desktop was covered with a scattering of loose papers. From a quick glance they appeared to be old bills to the firm—vendor invoices that had never been filed for some reason. But with dates of 1962 and 1963, she doubted seriously whether they were important.
Only a few of the multiple mail slots, or pigeonholes as Eunice had called them, were full and it was pretty obvious which one was the inventory. It was a bulky document, eleven legal-sized pages, with twin hole piercings in the top, as though it had once been housed in a folder or binder. She slipped it out and scanned down the top page quickly. It was actually a good system based on the boxes she’d already removed. Each document had a file number which corresponded to a box number. After the number was the client name, the file matter, the original document or item stored, and the date put in the vault. There were handwritten notations and initials on a line showing when someone had accessed the document. A strikeout line with the word
removed
made it obvious when something was no longer being held by the firm. It was the same system in use today, so apparently it worked.
Everything was in last-name order, but even after scanning each page two times, running her finger down the entries, she couldn’t find a listing for Baba.
“Oh, you found it. Good.” Eunice’s voice behind her made her jump and let out a little yip. It was noticed and the other woman looked at her apologetically. “Sorry about that. You can see why the buzzer gets me. So, have you found the right box yet?”
Mila furrowed her brow and shook her head. “No, and I can’t figure out why. Did Mr. Sanders have any other
vault
? Maybe I’m looking in the wrong place.”
“Nope. Just this one.” She reached out her hand. “Here, let me take a look.” Mila passed the stapled list over and watched as Eunice’s finger sped down the page. She flipped sheets quickly, pausing once to stare at an entry, but then moved on. At the end, she tapped her fingernails lightly on the desk and then flipped back to the page where she’d paused. “I think this is our problem. We keep saying Nadia
Penkin.
But that was
after
the divorce. I remember now—that’s why she retained Myron. I just need to remember her married name, ’cause that’s what the file would be under. Give me a second.” She started over on the list, looking at each entry where the document stored was an original Decree of Dissolution of Marriage.
Divorced?
Mila was trying to wrap her head around the concept. Who did Baba divorce and why? It made her realize she really didn’t know that much about her grandmother. She’d never really thought of her as anything other than … well, her baba. Yet she’d been someone’s best friend, someone’s lover, and a divorced woman trying to start over again—alone.
“Wow,” she said after a moment. “You never really think of a
grandmother
that way, do you? Nobody in my family ever mentioned it.”
Eunice smiled sadly. “No, they wouldn’t have. It happened, but it was sort of frowned on. Like
having
to get married. Out-of-wedlock babies happened, too, but they simply weren’t discussed in polite company. Not like now.” She shook her head and returned her eyes to the list, then let out a triumphant, “Yes! Here it is. N. Zolota—d.f.d., my shorthand for decree of dissolution.” She stopped and then moved her finger to the top of the page. “And here’s another file for N. Zolota. All that’s listed is
envelope
. We’d probably better pull both of them since you don’t know what you’re looking for. I’m betting she needs the Decree, but who knows. Grab Box 25, envelope 16 and Box 26, envelope 3, and we’ll take a look.”
Mila did as she was told, now incredibly curious. While it was probably unethical to look at the details of the divorce, it might also be pertinent. Each oversized manila envelope was sealed with shiny tape and bore a typed label with a repeat of the inventory index—name, contents, plus who was authorized to access it. Mila already knew that unless there were names shown, there were no restrictions. She was pleased when there were no names listed on the divorce file, and was quite surprised when she pulled out the other envelope. It was fairly thick. But even more interesting was the access notation on the front:
Zolota, Nadia (nka Penkin); Penkin, Sarah or Penkin, Ludmila, upon age of majority
.
So, like Viktor said, Baba had
intended
either her or her sister to ask for this someday. As she moved the envelope to the side to return the box’s lid, she noticed another envelope had gotten stuck to the tape of the bulky one. She unstuck it and had just reached back into the box to return it when she noticed the label.
PEIRCEVIL. VEGRELLION C.O.N.
If Tal hadn’t read that scroll, she never would have spotted the name … or actually, the
change
of name.
But
to
what?
What did Vegre change his name to, and how could he have if he’s been in prison for a century or more? Yet, she couldn’t imagine two people having that same weird name.
She spoke the words quietly enough in the entry that not even Eunice would be able to hear. “And what the hell do I do now?” Should she open the file? Steal it and open it later? Leave it here and wonder about it for the rest of her life—which might be short if we can’t find him before he does whatever it is he’s planning.
Ethically, she had no right to look. Morally, she had a
duty
to look. She heard Eunice’s voice from inside the vault. “Having trouble finding it?”
She put on a fake smile and answered lightly. “Just buried a bit. Bringing them in now.”
What to do? What to do? She finally settled on folding up the slender envelope and tucking it inside her front pants pocket, even as the
Oh, you know Mila was ringing accusingly in her ears. If I just had a minute or two with it. That’s all I’d need.
As if in answer to her prayer, the buzzer sounded behind her. She turned to see Rachel standing on the other side of the glass. She held up her hands in front of her as though praying, mouthing the word,
Eunice?
Pleeease? She called into the vault. “Eunice, Rachel’s at the door. I guess she needs to talk to you. Can I open it?”
Her white curls poked out again and she sighed as she walked toward the locked glass. “I’ll take care of it. Take those envelopes inside and wait for me.
Don’t
open them until I get back. We need to put an affidavit in the boxes to replace the envelopes and I need to sign it that I was there when you opened them.”
“Not a problem. I won’t peek.” And she wouldn’t—at least not in Baba’s files. But as soon as the door latched behind the other two women, Mila removed the envelope in her pocket and carefully lifted the thick cellophane tape securing the flap with her fingernail. Only one tiny bit of the manila stayed with the tape, and it wouldn’t even be noticed when she smoothed it back down.
There was a single-paged document inside … the originally signed copy of an Order of Change of Name signed by a judge from the district court down in Douglas County. It changed the man’s name from Vegrellion David Peircevil to … David Rellion Pierce.