Chapter 18: The Good Chair

Maggie's kitchen was built for one bus driver and held three of us, a casserole and a black phone.

She had set the table with paper plates and a roll of paper towels for napkins.

"Nobody sits in the good chair," she said. "The good chair has my back."

Minnie looked at the good chair.

She sat on the step stool instead, holding a covered pie plate in both hands.

"What's that?" Maggie asked.

"Apple. I made it this morning."

"I don't take bribes."

"It isn't a bribe. It's a pie."

"Same thing, in my family." Maggie took the plate, lifted the foil and sniffed. "Is that cardamom?"

"A little."

Maggie cut a wedge and ate it standing at the counter, with her eyes closed.

Minnie and I watched her chew.

She swallowed and put the fork down.

"Fine," she said. "Sit in the good chair."

"I'm okay on the stool."

"Sit in the chair, or I'll tell everyone I fed you pie and you refused."

Minnie sat in the good chair.

Maggie served the casserole, which was tuna noodle, and nobody said a word against it.

"All right," Maggie said, clapping her hands. "Show me the thing."

Minnie slid the black phone across the table.

She had already opened the spreadsheet she'd found on it.

Maggie put on her reading glasses and scrolled with one finger.

There were eleven names.

Each one had a dollar amount next to it and a date, and a last column that said Closed.

"This is Milwaukee," Maggie said, tapping. "Ninety thousand. Here's Minnie, two hundred and twelve."

"And me," I said.

The line read, N. Hatch, via D. Crowe, 48K.

Under it, in the notes column, Slade had typed: Useful through Sat. No further use after.

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