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the bank doors opened, I followed Jo inside and down a flight of stairs to a large glass door obviously locked from the inside. Jo rang a buzzer. The door opened and an elderly man wearing a gray jacket with a white carnation ushered us into the safe-deposit-vault area. Jo signed a slip and handed him a key. He vanished into the vault area and returned quickly with a large steel box, which he carried toward the rear of the room, Jo and me following.
    We entered a small carpeted room with three chairs and a long table. He set the box down on the table and left the room without a word, closing the door behind him.
    We just sat there and stared at the box. I didn’t understand what we were doing there.
    Finally Jo said, “I was down here yesterday to pick up Harry’s will. Do you know that it was the first time in fifteen years I had looked in the safe-deposit box?”
    “I never had one,” I replied.
    “Oh, they’re quite nice, quite functional,” Jo replied, and I caught a hint of sarcasm. Or was it bitterness?
    “Would you please open the box for me, Alice?” she asked.
    I leaned over, disengaged the latch, and lifted the heavy steel top. I straightened up quickly. Inside was more money than I had ever seen in my life. The box was stuffed with packs of hundred-dollar bills held together by rubber bands.
    “Do you see it? Do you see it?” she asked in a hysterical whisper.
    I passed my hand over the top layer, gingerly touching the money.
    “Three hundred and eighty-one thousand dollars, Alice. Three hundred and eighty-one thousand! Where did Harry get all this money? Why didn’t he tell me? How did he get the money?”
    I shook my head. I couldn’t even fantasize an answer.
    “Do you know what I think, Alice? I think this is why he was murdered. I think this is why.” She slammed the top of the box shut.
    “Have you told the police?” I asked.
    “No,” she replied abruptly. She paused, staring at me, and then said, “I was going to tell them. But I thought about it. And now I’m not. Look, Alice, Harry and I didn’t have a dime. Everything was mortgaged. We owe everybody. And I think Harry wanted this money to pay off our debts and give us the farm free and clear. Harry would want me to use the money for that. Whatever he did to get the money, I know he did it for us, and the cats, and the carriage horses. This was his Christmas present to all of us, and if I tell the police, they’re going to impound the money or do something like that or take half of it for taxes. Do you see what I mean, Alice? I’m not being a thief. I know what Harry would have wanted.”
    “He never said anything about this, Jo?” I asked skeptically.
    “Never. Not a word. I swear, Alice. Never, never, never.” Then she stood up, placed her palms on either side of her head, saying, “Do you think he robbed a bank? Poor Harry. Maybe he robbed a bank because he wanted a Christmas present for all of us. I said to him about a month ago, when we couldn’t pay the heating-oil people, that I was so sick of it I wanted to die. He just kissed me on the forehead and said I shouldn’t get upset.”
    She started to cry, then caught herself and clapped her hands together as if she was a teacher and I was a boisterous kindergarten pupil. “I want a cup of coffee, Alice. Can you take me for a cup of coffee?”
    Five minutes later we were sipping coffee from containers in the Citicorp Atrium. On the walk over, Jo had kept chattering nervously: “Have you ever seen so much money?” “Did you see the way it was packed?” “All those rubber bands. All those hundred-dollar bills!”
    As hundreds of children raced through the atrium, brought there to view the Scandinavian Christmas decorations, which hung from ceiling to floor, Jo sent me for another cup of coffee and for something sweet. I returned with a raisin Danish. She began picking off the raisins with a plastic spoon.
    “Now, listen to me, Alice Nestleton,” she said. “I