The girl cleared her throat, recovering from her surprise, “Just a moment. I’ll bring over Mr. Hillis.”

Martha folded her hands in front of her and waited quietly.

Soon a little man in a suit came hurrying over, talking quickly and quietly to the redhead. As he approached, an uneasy smile spread across his face. He held out his hand.

“Miss Mannes. How good to see you.”

Martha looked at his hand and held out her left one. The man squeezed it gently, then led her back to his desk, in the corner of the big room. “Please. Have a seat. Some coffee?”

“No. I want to talk about my money.”

“Fine. What can I tell you?”

She looked blank. “Everything.”

His smile faded. “Everything. One moment.” He pushed a button on a little box on his desk and spoke into it. “Julia, please bring in the Martha Mannes file.” He sat back and studied Martha. “You look well.”

“Thank you. I feel good.”

In a moment, a tall, thin girl placed a thick folder on the desk. Mr. Hillis put on a pair of half glasses and began to sift through papers.

“I assume you know nothing of your financial status?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay. Let’s start from the beginning. There is a trust in your name, a gift from Mrs. Addie Smith. The original amount was for just over twenty-five hundred dollars, but it’s grown now to . . . let’s see . . . almost nine thousand.” He took off his glasses and smiled at her. “We invest our clients’ money wisely.” She just looked at him, trying to understand. “Ahem. Then there was your parents’ estate. They left everything to you, of course, and your mother, uh, Fern Mannes, left the bank here as trustee.” He took down his glasses again, and looked at her. “That means, Miss Mannes, that we would take care of you, give you the money that you need, and when you . . . uh, died, the rest was to be given to the various charitable organizations that your mother worked with while she was alive.”

“How much?”

“All together?”

“Yes.”

“Well, just a moment.” He fingered a calculator, riffling pages as he went. “Not including the farm, let’s see. Not including the farm, I see a net worth here of one hundred thirty seven thousand dollars.”

“Would you write that number down for me, please?”

“Certainly.” He tore off the calculator tape, circled the last number and handed it to her.

“And to get money, I just come in and ask for it?”

“Yes. But please, don’t spend it all.”

She smiled at him for the first time. This was very tiring. “I just want some new furniture.”

He grinned, broadly. “You just tell the store to send the bill to me. Within reason.” He handed her his card.

“Ran-dolp Hiles.”

“Randolph Hillis.”

“Thank you.”