I might have mentioned once or twice my suspicion that Hick could be trying to kill me. He's not a sophisticated criminal. His tactics have obviously not been working. Doesn't keep him from trying, in my opinion! The latest possible attempt came on Friday, the night Hick notified me mid-afternoon that he'd be going to an auction that evening.
Hick got home as I was getting ready to leave for town. He'd be gone before I returned. Hick said he was getting some of his SUS2.5 money out of one of the safes, in case he found things he wanted to buy. He asked if I could change some smaller bills into bigger bills. Yes! Val is a magician, you know!
Let the record show that I keep a stash of cash in one of the safes. I save some every month, like our own personal Christmas club, so there will be money if we need it. I keep it for expenses we expect, like insurance and taxes, and miscellaneous items like car repairs or road gravel or flip house catastrophes. That money is set aside, and won't alter our regular budget or take a chunk out of the checking account that might require money to be moved around.
Anyhoo... I told Hick to bring up one of my marked envelopes, and I would set out what he needed before I left. Hick was watching Gunsmoke when I was ready to go. He said he had put my envelope on the kitchen table, but hadn't counted out his bills yet. I was in no mood to stand around, using up vital knee comfort before walking down the porch steps.
"I'll leave your big bills on the kitchen table. You can put your cash under your Senior Center menu, and I'll put it back in my envelope when I get back, for you to take back to the safe later. Then it won't be in plain sight in case anybody prowls around and looks in the window. I should be back in about an hour."
Hick said okay. He was gone when I came home. I lifted the menu to get the money, but
IT WASN'T THERE!
What in the Not-Heaven??? I searched all around. In my envelope. Under the rubber-banded bundle of mail. On the kitchen counter where I usually set my glasses case, and Hick often leaves receipts. On the table beside Hick's recliner. On the dresser in our bedroom. No money was to be found!
Was Hick trying to give me a heart attack? Where had all this money gone? Did he take HIS money and also the big bills I had provided? I was sure nobody had broken in while I was in town. The door was still locked. Nothing disturbed. How could that money just disappear?
Hick didn't get home until 9:30. Said he didn't buy anything, because the price was more than he wanted to pay. I asked where the money was.
"I left it right there on the table."
"WHERE? It's not where I told you to put it!"
"It's right here."
Hick picked up the bundle of mail. Took off the rubber band. And pulled the money out from between the envelopes that were inside a cardboard-type advertisement wrapping them.
"Did I tell you to put it there? NO! I said under the menu."
"You did? Huh. I guess I didn't hear you."
Hick IS somewhat deaf. But he had said "okay" to my instructions. A simple mistake by a man hard-of-hearing... or an EVIL PLOT to hasten my demise?
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