“The Oklahoma jokes are getting really old. We’re not a bunch of hillbillies…you’re friends with me, aren’t you?” she said, breathless.
“Yes, Beth! Yes, we’re friends! You’re right, I’m sorry. I won’t say anything else about Oklahoma.” I could feel my eyes widen in bewilderment. Beth was upset with me.
“And that goes for Kim, too,” she grumbled.
“I can’t speak for Kim, but don’t hold your breath.”
Beth tried not to smile, but giggled, anyway. I smiled apologetically and we hugged just outside of our dorm room.
“You’re crazy, but I love you, anyway,” I giggled.
“I love you, too. I wouldn’t rather be shacked up with any other Yankee,” she said in a horrible southern drawl.
The next morning Beth decided to rise early and head out with me for coffee. I felt closer to her after our understanding the night before, and she seemed to be in an uncharacteristically good mood for being up so early.
Classes went by without delay. Before I knew it, I was sitting in my room alone, thinking about Jared and his unexplained appearances in my life. My mind abruptly switched to Mr. Dawson. I picked up my cell phone and dialed Thomas’ office. His secretary answered and informed me that he was out for the day. I hung up, frustrated.
I couldn’t recall a secret safe or any important real estate deal my father was involved in, which wasn’t exactly surprising. I was typically clueless about my father’s business dealings and had gratefully remained that way. That was before strange men started following me around, though. At least one person thought I had access to that file. I had to know why it was so important.
I burst through the door of my parents’ home and called for Agatha.
“Yes, Nina love! What’s the racket about?” she answered, scurrying around the corner.
“Is Mother home?”
“She’s at Crestwood, planning something ‘er other. You know how busy she keeps these days.”
Of course she would be out. Immediately after Jack’s funeral, my mother immersed herself into every group, every organization, and every charity she could find. She had several meetings a day and, although it was at times frustrating being unable to reach her, I was appreciative of her time well spent away from my dorm room.
After an hour of thumbing through my mother’s mail and snooping in every closet downstairs, I headed to Jack’s office. It was the most obvious place to look, so I assumed I wouldn’t find anything that would be of help. I took my hand off the knob and had almost convinced myself to look elsewhere, but I wheeled around and shoved myself through the door.
It hadn’t changed.
His mahogany desk and swivel chair sat commandingly in the center of the room. Hundreds of books including tax law, encyclopedias, poetry, the classics and Dr. Seuss lined the back wall.
I crossed his plush, imported rug and planted myself in the desk chair. The last papers he had looked over before his accident lay strewn on one side, and unopened envelopes on the other. I started with those. Opening one after another, I sifted through statements, invitations, requests and letters. Seeing nothing of interest, I pitched them into the wastebasket under the desk.
Just as I was about to put the letter opener back inside the drawer, the inscription caught my eye. My mother had purchased it for me so I could give it to Jack for his birthday. The inscription read simply, “To Daddy Love, Nina”. I ran my finger over the words affectionately and shoved it into my back pocket. My mother wouldn’t miss it.
My eyes flitted to a two-inch stack of papers with sign here stickers poking out in various bright colors. I thumbed through them, but didn’t see anything about properties.
I pulled his lower desk drawer open and thumbed through every file, but I saw nothing of importance. Searching the remaining drawers, I rifled through old photos, envelopes, paperwork from the last ten years of tax filings, and a set of car keys. I slammed the last drawer shut and puffed.
My eyes wandered over to the file cabinets along the left wall. I started with the highest drawer in the cabinet closest to the back wall and searched for anything pertaining to properties, commercial or otherwise. I began to feel possessed. Every time I shut a drawer, I stifled a sob. Each drawer was slammed harder and harder. Only one cabinet wouldn’t open.
While searching through the last drawer my hands began to shake. Upon finding no suspicious evidence or anything related to Mr. Dawson I kicked the drawer shut, causing the cabinet to rock back and forth.