The Curse of Frank Sinatra
Beth smashed a lamp against the living room wall, cursing the jagged pieces of porcelain as if they had betrayed her. Stewart sat on the sofa threading an eight-millimeter projector with a newly discovered home movie, amused by the crackhead logic of his little sister thinking she would discover bundles of $100 bills hidden inside a lamp.
Beth trashed closets and ripped up carpet, positive there was treasure hidden somewhere in their dead father’s house. Convinced by the memory of that certain Christmas when they were kids, when their mother had secretly traded in the old man’s Buick for a new one. Then like in the car ads on television, Christmas morning saw a shiny new sedan parked in the driveway wrapped in ribbon and bow. But unlike television, the old man created an ugly scene as he bullied the car dealer away from his family and managed to undo the deal. By noon the old Buick was back in the garage where the old man unscrewed the interior panel of the driver-side door, then blew out a tremendous sigh of relief. The $197,000 in cash was still there.