Dark Corners READY FOR PRC (26 page)

He smiled and returned my wave as he walked out. I went to Danny’s desk in the study. It was exactly as he left it and looked like he’d just popped away for a minute—except for  a layer of fine dust giving evidence that he never came back. 

The desk stood in the room almost as a memorial to him. I ran my fingers along the surface and rubbed the dust between my fingertips. I scanned the piles of receipts from home repairs and do-it-yourself books. I tried not to cry over the lists in Danny’s handwriting—tasks that still needed to be completed. I sat in his chair and leaned back, still not moving a thing. I looked for a long time, as if I was drawing a picture of it all in my mind so I would never forget.

Finally, determination got the better of me and I plucked one of his lists from the desk. Nothing on it jumped out at me. I grabbed the notebook that was under the list. Again nothing appeared important. I tore off the pages with his writing on them and threw the rest of the pad away. I stacked all of the receipts on one corner of the desk and the books on the other.

I organized the random pens, pencils, and paper clips. In the middle drawer his planner lay alone, as if asking me to notice it. I pulled it out, my fingers trailing down its spine. I set the planner on the desk and opened the next drawer. In that drawer were various files with tax information, receipts, our wills, bank account information, and all other important documents. For the time being, I left the files where they were and moved to the next drawer, but it was locked. The key was nowhere to be found so I pulled out a sharp letter opener, determined to pick the lock—after all, it looked so easy in the movies.

It was not, however, quite as easy as I had hoped.  All I managed to do was scar and gouge the desk. Eventually I gave up, promising myself I would tackle the job again when I had better tools. I directed my attention back to the drawer of files, pulling each file out and stacking them on the desk. Once I’d taken all of the folders out, I found something wedged in the bottom. It was an old paper, too old to be Danny’s. It appeared to be some sort of drawing, a blueprint of the house. While interesting, it wasn't the clue I had hoped it would be. I started going over the contents of the files, looking for anything at all out of the ordinary.

Everything in the legal file seemed in order. I had both of our passports and birth certificates, the deed to the house, and both of our copies of the wills. The tax folder also was in order. We had copies of all of our filings and everything we were supposed to keep. I briefly glanced through the receipts, but nothing struck me as unusual.  I heard the front door open and close.

“Hello?” I called.

“Your wish is my command,” Gabriel said as he walked into the study loaded down with boxes.

“Well, thank you, Sir.”

He set them aside and came over to the desk, moving the receipts so he could sit on the corner. “So what do we have here?” he asked.

“Well, I have receipts for home repairs,” I said holding up the folder he had relocated. “Personal finances stuff and generic legal documents, home repair books, a blueprint, and our bank stuff.” I held up the folder on my lap. “I'm about to go through it now.”

“Blueprint? Can I see that?’

“Sure.” I handed it to him as I flipped through the bank folder. It was mostly normal statements for our joint account, and then I noticed something a little funny. There was another account—one with only Danny’s name on it. Air caught in my lungs. The urge to put the folder away and pretend I’d never seen it was almost too much, but I had to look no matter how my heart pleaded. The balance wasn’t huge, but it was significant enough to make me concerned.

“Hey, look at this,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant as I handed Gabriel the top part of the statement.

“What am I looking at?”

“Apparently, Danny had his own account.” I struggled to keep my voice even and neutral.

“Oh?”

“We always had joint accounts—or so I thought.” Anger slowly began to fill me.

I looked at the second page that showed transactions from the account. There were a few withdrawals totaling about seven thousand for the month.

“Could this have been a home repair fund?”

“I don’t really know. If it was, why am I not on it?”

Gabriel shook his head. “How much did he withdraw?’

“Seven thousand dollars for the month on this statement.”

Gabriel lifted his eyebrows. “That’s a healthy amount.”

“Hmph.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions just yet. There could be a reasonable explanation. You're his wife, you inherited everything that was his—go to the bank and ask about the activity on the account, and if possible where the money came from.”

“Yeah." The angry part of me wanted to refocus on this, but the more insistent part wanted to forget I had seen it. I could only climb one mountain at a time. “That won't be a quick process.”

I wanted to yell at Danny.  What the hell was he doing that was so secret? Why’d he keep it from me?  But I couldn't let anger consume me or I’d get nothing else done, so I changed the subject. “I forgot to tell you this drawer is locked. I couldn’t find a key. You wouldn’t happen to have any police tricks for opening it?”

“I don’t know about police tricks, but I can probably pick a lock.”

“More of that misguided youth?”

Gabriel smiled devilishly at me and asked for a bobby pin. When I came back, he had taken the chair and was studying something on the desk.

“Here you go,” I said.

“You didn’t mention his appointment book.”

“Oh yeah—I buried it under stuff and it slipped my mind. I don’t think he used it much since the move.”

“If he did, it could give us an idea of what he was doing while you were gone.”

“Didn’t you have in the original investigation?”

“No, you said he didn’t use one,” he said offhandedly, but I suspected the mental note he made was more damaging to me.

“He didn’t really. He was always here working on the house, so what could he have possibly put in it?”

Gabriel flipped to the week Danny died. There were a few things scribbled on the lines, but it was written in his shorthand, which was nearly impossible to translate. He had
P – 1:00, E- 8:30, S- 11:30, Pt- 4:00.
These types of notes were scribbled throughout the week at various times. The date I found him held the only legible note: 
Ella comes home
with a circle around it.

“Do you have any idea what this means?” He asked pointing to the
P – 1:00.

I shook my head, my eyebrows pulling together as I looked at the book.

Gabriel stared hard at the pages as if the answer would magically come to him.

Discomfort overshadowed my previous anger. There seemed to be the unspoken notion that I was keeping things from Gabriel in the air, but I honestly wasn’t. I really hadn’t thought the appointment book was used.

“I'm going to work on the closet upstairs,” I said, needing space.

“Okay. Remember to check his pockets.”

“What?”

“Check the pockets for match books, receipts, anything that could be a clue.”

I sauntered up the stairs not in a big hurry to remove Danny from my life. Why was I so impulsive? My mind quickly followed my heart’s question with what was Danny hiding from me? I went into our room.

“Christ, I need a drink,” I muttered as I opened the closet door again.

I slumped down inside the closet and stared into my past. How was I supposed to be objective about this? How was I supposed to find clues in what used to be my life? My muscles felt heavy, too heavy to move. I could hear the birds chirping outside, the entire world moving on without me, while I waited in purgatory. But this was not the time to be idle, I had to push forward. Unfortunately, willpower was hard to come by. I’d grown too comfortable in my present state of agony to push the envelope very much further especially when it looked like things could actually get worse.

I woke up in the morning to sounds of hammering. I hated the hammering constantly drumming through my mind. I tried to cover my head with Danny’s pillow, but the noise was only muffled.

“Aurghhh.” I complained loudly. What happened to the days when he would wake me up with breakfast or kisses? I stood up, stretching, and slipped into my robe and slippers. In the kitchen the hammering seemed more muted and farther away. I poured myself a bowl of cereal and took it outside to the porch to escape the persistent noise. After a few moments, Danny came out to find me.

“What are you doing out here, sweetie?”

“It was nice of you to wait until I woke up to start the godforsaken hammering,” I said irritation and tiredness taking over me.

“I wasn’t hammering.”

“It was thundering throughout the house.”

“What are you talking about? I was watching television, there was no hammering.”

“I'm not making this up.”

Danny looked concerned and cradled my face in his hands. “Do you still hear it?”

I pushed him away from me. “No, I don’t still hear it. Why are you messing with me?”

“I swear I'm not.  There was no hammering.”

I clicked my teeth together a couple times, a nervous habit from childhood I could never kick. Some people bite their nails, I click my teeth.

He looked at me, but didn't say anything. He left it to me to arrive where he already was.

“I’ll go see the doctor Susan recommended,” I said quietly, “but I’m not crazy.”

“I know you’re not, El—but you have a lot of stress. Maybe he can help.”

“Yeah, and maybe fireworks will start shooting out of my butt.”

Danny smiled. “Well, that would be something, wouldn’t it?” He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “I love you.”

“I’ll never understand why.”

“That’s one of the many reasons why I do.” He took my hand and hauled me up from the step. We walked back into the house. I took my bowl back into the kitchen, Danny following me until the phone rang. He answered it in the hall. I finished my cereal at the counter and he still hadn’t come to the kitchen. He was talking quietly when I found him. He glanced at me for a moment then promptly ended the call.

“Who was that?”

“Susan. She had a question about my last order.”

I nodded. “Did you get that straightened out? You were talking for quite a while.”

“Yeah, I also got the number for Dr. Livingston.”

“Wasting no time I see.” I couldn't help feeling betrayed that he was talking to my best friend about me in a whispering sort of way.

“Did I miss something? Didn’t we just agree you would make an appointment with him?”

“No, you didn’t miss anything.  You are absolutely right. I did say that. I just think it's funny you rushed right in to call her.”

“She called me!”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”  I stormed upstairs and stomping around our room. But slamming things while I was getting ready didn't help me feel better. Something about all of this was bothering me and not adding up. Why was I so angry I
had
agreed to everything he said, and I knew that she called him—it only made sense for him to get the number while she was on the phone. But I was still pissed off. Deep inside, it felt like he was lying to me though I had no evidence. When I was dressed and more collected, I went back downstairs to apologize and call Dr. Livingston. Obviously, I did need help, if not for my own peace of mind, then for my marriage.