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The lacquered box I got from my father’s desk.
I take it out and look at it. My fingertips run over the surface and a slight smile graces my lips.
I wasn’t sure I should take it then, but now I’m glad I did. It’s the only memento I have left of my father now.
I’m about to press it to my chest but it opens and the marble Antonio gave me falls on my lap. I pick it up and squeeze it, willing it to take some of my anxiety away. I consider holding on to it as I lie down but I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep and it will get lost so I put it back.
At least, I was going, to but the box slips from my hand and falls on the carpet.
Shit. Why do I have to be so clumsy right now?
I kneel on the floor and pick it up. After I do, I notice that there seems to be something peeking from beneath the felt layer at the bottom of the box. There’s a hole in a corner and a glimpse of something white. I push down on the felt and feel something soft. Paper?
I slip my nail into the corner and the layer comes off. I see the note right underneath.
A note in my father’s handwriting containing a set of seven numbers.
My eyebrows furrow. What’s this? A bank account? No. That would be more than seven numbers. A phone number with no area code? Or is it a hidden message, like the numbers are supposed to stand for something?
I try to change the numbers into letters but that doesn’t work. The letters don’t make sense. They don’t even make a word.
I let out a deep breath.
What’s this, Dad? Are you trying to tell me something? What is it?
I stare at the piece of paper, reading the numbers over and over, both silently and in a whisper. At the same time, I begin to pray.
Please, Dad. Help me. I have a feeling you’re trying to tell me something important but I’m missing it. What am I missing?
I close my eyes and try to imagine him at his desk writing this note, surrounded by his books and his plaques and his case files and…
I open my eyes and look at the number again. Weren’t his case files organized by seven-digit numbers? There was the year and month the case was filed and a final number that was his own personal code.
His case files are gone now, lost in the fire, which is probably what the arsonist intended to happen. Still, if I can access the court records, I can figure out what case this number refers to.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I fold the piece of paper.
Maybe I can find out who killed my father.
Chapter Eight
Leo
“Fuck.”
The curse escapes my lips as my gaze falls on Jodie’s bed. There’s no sign of Jodie. Or her purse. Or her shoes.
My jaw clenches.
I should have known she’d leave the apartment while I was out buying food. She was probably already dressed under the covers when I went to her room to check on her and to tell her I was leaving. I didn’t want to leave her, but I had to get some of my stuff from the house and buy food. I also wanted to buy her some things to cheer her up, and I did – a few books, a bouquet of fresh flowers, a coffee mug.
Fine, maybe I should have asked someone else to do the shopping. Or maybe I should have asked someone to watch over her while I was away. I’ll make sure to do that next time. For now, I have to find her.
I take my phone out of my pocket and dial a number.
Where are you, Jodie?
After the third ring, Dino answers. “Yes?”
“I want you to track a phone for me ASAP.”
~
“What the hell?” Jodie gets up from her friend’s couch as soon as she sees me. “What are you doing here?”
“Picking you up,” I answer.
She frowns. “How did you even know I was here? Wait. Don’t tell me you tracked my phone. Did your father tell you to? Did he tell you to drag me back to the apartment and lock me up?”
“My father doesn’t even know you left the apartment,” I tell her. “I didn’t tell him. Believe it or not, I don’t actually tell my father everything, or do everything he tells me to. I’m not that dutiful a son.”
“Um, I’m sorry to interrupt,” the other person in the room, a woman with short blond hair, speaks up. “But who’s this?”
The question is directed at Jodie, so she answers. “Someone who doesn’t know how to stay out of other people’s business.”
Ouch. I thought we were finally getting along, but I guess she hates me again. I try not to mind it.
