Mr. Callahan looked at me with admiration. “Now we call the police.”
“We can do that from the car.”
He sighed. “You’re not letting this go.”
“Would you?”
“No,” he admitted. “Probably not.”
The office at Harlan Ice smelled like wet concrete and stale coffee.
Something flickered in her face, like the word ‘watch’ had sparked a memory.
A woman in a sweatshirt sat behind the counter with invoices and an exhausted face. I showed her the video. She watched it twice.
“That looks like one of our trucks.”
“My porch agrees.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“What exactly do you want from me?”
“I want to know who rented the ice, who used that truck, and why my husband’s watch was inside it.”
This morning was obviously already too long for her.
Something flickered in her face, like the word ‘watch’ had sparked a memory.
Mr. Callahan stepped up beside me.
“Her husband died three years ago. We need to get to the bottom of this.”
The woman stood. “Wait here.”
She was gone for a while, and she came back, she carried a beat-up clipboard. This morning was obviously already too long for her.
She turned the form toward me. The name on the contract was Daniel.
“My name’s Marcy,” she said. “Three weeks ago, somebody rented one of our freezer units for private storage. Cash. Short term. There was also an overnight delivery charge added yesterday.”
“Who rented it?”
She turned the form toward me. The name on the contract was Daniel. My throat closed.
“That’s not possible.”
That was the first moment I stopped feeling hunted and started feeling led.
“That’s the name this guy used. I asked for ID. He said it matched an old storage account his brother used to manage for him. I shouldn’t have let it slide.”
Callahan said, “Did you know him?”
“No. Older guy. Worn coat. Nervous. Kept asking if the freezer stayed steady.”
I looked up. “Why use Daniel’s name?”
Then I found a name in the margins more than once.
Marcy shook her head. “He only said, ‘If she comes looking, she needs to know it’s connected to him.'”
That was the first moment I stopped feeling hunted and started feeling led.
I went home and dumped Daniel’s old hospital bag onto the dining room table. Socks. A paperback. Lip balm.
At the bottom was the notebook he used to collect some of his thoughts at times.
Most of it was ordinary. Grocery lists. Bills. Reminders to call people he never called.
Then I found a name in the margins more than once.
I called Ruth, the hospice nurse who used to visit. She remembered me right away.
Owen.
I called Ruth, the hospice nurse who used to visit. She remembered me right away.
“Did Daniel ever mention Owen near the end?” I asked.
A pause.
“Yes. An old friend. He came by once when you were home showering.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “Did Daniel give him anything?”
The address was hidden inside the back cover of the notebook, tucked beneath the cardboard lining.
“His watch,” she said. “I remember because Daniel told me not to list it with the rest of his belongings. He said, ‘This one’s already spoken for.’ I thought you knew.”
I closed my eyes. That single sentence snapped one piece into place and left the rest of the picture worse.
The address was hidden inside the back cover of the notebook, tucked beneath the cardboard lining.
No note. No explanation. Just an address on the industrial side of town.
A man at the back workbench looked up from a disassembled lawn mower.
The repair shop looked half dead from the outside, but the lights were on.
