A Table By the Window by Lawana Blackwell

Loretta for one of the Realtor’s cards, she offered to go ahead and make the appointment. Through the door came the squeak of a chair and, presently, her barely audible voice. Stanley passed a fee sheet across his desk, showing the hours he had worked for the estate, and payments made to Mr. Wingate, an insurance company for homeowner’s insurance, and Lockwood Funeral Home.
    â€œThat last statement is so high because they shipped Miz Walker’s body up to Washington after the memorial service, to be buried alongside her husband. He had a prearranged policy, so there’s no bill from up there.”
    â€œI see.” Carley stifled the surge of disappointment by telling herself that the memory she would carry back to California would be of where her grandmother had actually spent the last four years of her life, rather than of a headstone.
    â€œYou okay?” the attorney asked, studying her.
    â€œYes.”
    He nodded and continued. “There is no inheritance tax in Mississippi on estates less than a million dollars. Combined, everything reduces the cash portion of your estate to one hundred and thirty-nine thousand, seven hundred and thirty-three dollars.” He smiled. “And six cents.”
    Carley shook her head in wonder. “And I was hoping for enough to pay off my student loan and credit card.”
    â€œI gather it’s enough to do that?”
    â€œWay more.”
    â€œWell, you’ll still want to check those figures yourself. I’ll give you a calculator and a little privacy.”
    â€œI’m sure they’re accurate,” Carley said.
    â€œNever assume anything when you’re dealing with finances, Miss Reed,” he advised, pushing out his chair. “Money can bring out the worst—in people you would never suspect.”

Chapter 5
    â€œIs it all right if Kay Chapman comes by the house at nine in the morning?” Loretta asked after Carley signed the papers.
    â€œThat’s fine, thank you.”
    â€œVery good. Let’s take my car to your new house, and I’ll bring you back for yours later.”
    Loretta steered the Town Car on what she called the back way, toward the school, then south, followed by another right turn onto Third Street. She turned into the driveway of the third house on the right, sending a trio of squirrels scattering. Carley stepped out of the car.
    The house was white frame with forest green shutters. Concrete steps rose to the left side of the covered porch, flanked by two iron pots of winter-blooming yellow daffodils. Above the steps was a white door with long glass panels on either side and a transom overhead. At the right end of the porch, a wooden swing hung by chains, faced sideways in front of a window.
    A delightful aroma wafted Carley’s way. She drew in a lungful and turned to Loretta.
    â€œSweet olive,” Loretta said before she could ask. She nodded toward a tall green shrub with tiny white blossoms between the driveway and house. “They bloom in winter, and folks plant them by their porches because they smell so good. By the way, the Paynes live there on your left. Stanley gave them a key and asked them to keep an eye on the house. They refused payment out of respect for your grandmother.”
    Carley looked at the two-story pale green wooden house, the empty driveway parallel to hers. “How kind. I’ll be sure to thank them.”
    On the porch, Loretta unlocked the door and handed Carley a ring with two identical keys attached. She smiled. “You first.”
    â€œAll right.” Carley stepped into a long living room with braided rug on a hardwood floor, blue toile print sofa and wing chairs heaped with pillows, a coffee table and two end tables with lamps. Floral prints decorated ten-feet-high buttery yellow walls.
    Loretta, coming in behind her, flicked on the light switch. “Good. I called the utility company yesterday. You should have gas and water