Baby Kisses

Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Certified Delivery

Tooty pulled into the driveway of her parents' small clapboard home a few blocks off Main Street. Just as she reached to unlatch Harris from his seat belt, her mother rushed onto the front porch waving something. Tooty rolled down her window. "What's up, Mom?"

"The postman dropped off this slip. He said you have certified registered mail and you have to personally sign for it. He left it at the post office 'cause you're working that new job. Might as well head over and see what it is."

"Hi, Grammy." Harris leaned toward Tooty's window.

"Hi, punkin' pie. You wanna stay with me while your mother goes to the post office?"

"Okay. Did you make cookies?"

"I sure did—your favorites."

Grace Townsend walked around the truck and helped Harris out of his booster seat, giving him a loud, smacking kiss. Tooty sighed and backed out of the driveway. Why couldn't her mother turn some of that affection on her own daughter?

At the post office she waited in line behind Mrs. Doolittle who was sipping an iced coffee confection from Dixie's Cuppa Joe. Tooty said, "That looks delicious. What is it?"

"It's called a CinnaBomb. I think it's my favorite so far. You should try one."

"Oh, I will." Yeah, if I ever get a few extra bucks.

Mrs. Doolittle walked to the counter and after painstakingly perusing several nature scene stamps, finally bought a roll and waved goodbye to Tooty. The mail clerk said, "Hi, Tooty. Guess you're here for that big envelope."

"Yeah. I don't know what it is, but here's the notice Mr. Hornblower left with my mom."

Patty, the clerk for as long as Tooty could remember, walked behind a partition and returned with a thick envelope. "Sorry, but I have to ask for your ID."

"No problem." Tooty opened her purse and pulled out her driver's license.

Patty didn't even glance at it. "Sign here."

Tooty signed and when she turned to leave, Patty said, "You be sure and let me know if you won a million dollars."

Tooty laughed. "I surely will."

Back in her truck, she looked at the return address—a legal firm in Denver. Jeez, nothing good comes from attorneys. With nervous hands she tore the top of the envelope open and pulled out the many pages. She read the cover page.

Dear Ms. Townsend,

I am writing this letter to offer my condolences on the death of your distant relative, Beatrice Shipley. Our firm was retained by Ms. Shipley a few years ago to prepare her will. It was Ms. Shipley's desire that when she died, you would inherit her ranch house, outbuildings, and associated twenty acres. Said property is located in the County of La Plata in Colorado.

Tooty dropped the pages in her lap. Huh? She grabbed them back up and reread every word. There were attachments to the letter: copy of the will, deed, map, surveyor descriptions, and other documents having to do with the property. The letter ended by asking her to call and make an appointment with the attorney to sign documents and pick up her key.

Tooty drove home in a daze. She only remembered meeting Beatrice once, shortly after Harris was born. The elderly woman had come to her parents' house explaining that she was distantly related to them. She'd crooned over Harris while holding him in her bony arms. As she was leaving, she'd hugged Tooty and whispered, "You're the one." At the time, Tooty hadn't understood what she meant. She figured the woman was just old and her mind wandered. Now she understood.

The stop light turned red and she braked suddenly. Across the intersection, Billy Bob Reid in his new police car wagged a finger at her. She grinned sheepishly and slowly drove past him when the light changed. A couple of minutes later she pulled into her driveway and grabbed the envelope. Stepping out of her truck she gazed up at the beautiful blue sky and shouted, "Yes!"