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“Of course, ma’am.” He smiles and nods.
“Andy, how have you been doing?” I see his eyes shift from the road to the rearview mirror for a second before he answers.
“Oh, I’m okay, ma’am. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay too, I guess. Just taking it a day at a time.” I sigh, looking out the window for a moment as we leave the city.
“That’s understandable. In times like these, that’s all you really can do.”
“Andy?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Was there—” My eyes meet his in the mirror. “Was there anything that I should know about Dane?”
His brow furrows. “What do you mean, Mrs. Ashford?”
“Oh, just anything. Was there something I missed? Maybe something he was hiding from me?” I swallow the nervous lump in my throat, watching him in the mirror. I focus on his expression, trying to determine if I perceive a flash of concern or nervousness, but there’s nothing.
“I don’t think so, ma’am. Nothing that I was aware of. You know Mr. Ashford, he was always just so joyful and talkative. I’m sure that whatever he was struggling with, he didn’t want anyone to know.”
I smile at him. “Yeah, that’s what everyone keeps saying.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I can promise you that none of it was your fault. All Mr. Ashford cared about was you; you’re all he ever talked about.”
I don’t respond as my gaze drifts out the window. I let my forehead rest against the cool glass as I close my eyes and replay every conversation and second of our final few hours together.
No matter how many times I replay that night, no matter how many times I try to make it make sense, it just doesn’t. Dane lived for our anniversary parties. It felt like he was more excited about our fifth than any other and to kill himself on the same night? I shake my head slowly. There’s just no way he would do that.
When I get back home, I head straight to Dane’s office. I close the door, locking it behind me although I know nobody else would be coming in here. I sink down into his desk chair, dragging my fingers slowly over the papers left behind by him. Dane was extremely organized; very little was ever left out of place in his space. I close my eyes and lean back in his oversized leather chair. The scent of his cedar cologne still lingers in the space. A single tear gathers at the corner of my eye and I squeeze my eyes tighter, willing myself not to cry again.
For the past few weeks, it feels like my life has been drowning in tears. I’ve moved through phases of sadness mixed with hopelessness, only to find myself back at anger and needing answers. My eyes pop open and I wipe away the stray tear before pulling open one of the drawers and leafing through the papers inside.
“Nothing,” I mutter to myself as I close the drawer and reach for the next. This is the third time I’ve looked through these drawers. Apart from the credit card statements I found for a credit card I didn’t even know existed, I haven’t found anything that’s giving me answers. I slam the drawer shut, but this time when it closes, I hear a faint jingle sound.
“What the—?” I pull the drawer back open and pull out the papers but there’s nothing inside that would make that sound. I slam the drawer again, and again I hear a faint jingle. I reach inside the drawer, feeling around; maybe there’s a false bottom. I tap on the bottom of the drawer but it doesn’t sound hollow. I yank it harder when I open it, trying to release it from the track but it won’t release. I drop down to my knees on the floor, reaching back behind the drawer and running my fingers along the back. That’s when I feel it, a tiny little hook with a single key. I fumble with the key, struggling to pull it off the hook, but I end up getting it.
I stare at the small gold key, trying to figure out what it could go to. I can tell just by looking at it that it doesn’t go with this desk. None of the drawers are locked anyway. I stand up, turning to look through the bookshelves to see if there’s a small box or compartment. I check the cabinets in the corner of the room, the door to the closet, even the door to his office, but the key doesn’t go with anything.
Finally, I give up for now. I turn my attention back to the $250,000 charge required quarterly from MXB.
“MXB… MXB.” I say the initials to myself a few times. “Why do those sound familiar?” I type them into Google for probably the fifth time since I first saw them, but it doesn’t shed any light on what they might be. I scroll through the search results of mostly motocross and bike parts before giving up again. I reach into my pocket and pull out the key again. Maybe it has something to do with that payment. Maybe it’s a private storage company and this is the key to access it.
I slide the key back into my pocket, turning back to my phone and typing in Private Investigator Services. The results populate more than a dozen agencies close by, all with varying reviews. I click on them, reading through a few reviews before picking a smaller agency located just two miles from my house.
“Hey, Andy.” I pop my head into the kitchen where Andy is having a cup of coffee with Tilly. “I’m going to go out for a drive.” He begins to stand up, but I hold out my hand. “No, enjoy your coffee. I just wanted to let you know in case you needed me for anything.”
“Are you sure, Mrs. Ashford? I can grab the keys right now.”
“No, no, no. I’ve missed driving my little sports car, and I just want to take it out for a quick spin.” I smile at both of them, offering a quick wave before heading to the garage.
It’s been at least a year since I’ve driven, but I’m sure I can manage. I find the keys labeled red Mercedes and click them. The lights blink as the small two-door sports car unlocks. I climb in, starting it up and immediately dropping the convertible top.
The sun and breeze feel amazing on my skin as I cruise along the road toward the private investigator agency. I’m half tempted to close my eyes and let the sun lull me to sleep when I stop at the stoplight, but the horn sounding behind me reminds me I’m the one driving.
The agency is small, just a glass-front office on the main street of one of the small towns next to where I live. I didn’t call ahead and now I’m wondering if I should have. There’s no open sign, but the door opens when I push on it, a small bell signaling overhead.
“Afternoon, ma’am.” A small older man shuffles out from behind a wall in the back right corner. “What can I do for you?”
