Priceless
Closing the trunk on her groceries, Margie turned to open the driver’s side door and thought she saw garbage thrown on her seat. The day was sweltering, and she'd left the window opened an inch to circulate air. Gingerly picking up the manilla envelop, she looked under and around it to make sure something sticky—or worse—was not hiding where she was about to sit. She climbed inside and closed the door. The sharp blow from the vents was hot, forcing her to roll down the window. No one seemed to be looking in her direction so Margie pinched the two small metal prongs together and peered inside the envelop at a red silk scarf, cash, and a notebook. Looking around the parking lot, she was certain there was some error. No one could mistake her old car for a drug dealer’s. Had the envelop dropped accidentally, gliding down through the open slot of her window? She rolled her window up, afraid someone was watching. With her hands under the dashboard, Margie pulled out the little, black, soft-covered notebook. Pushing back the flat elastic band, she opened to the first page where it read, “In case of loss, __.” No one had filled it in. Several pages presented instructions in neat handwriting.