| |
The dream was so vivid; it was like I was back there.
The man had one arm around me and pressed the cold steel of the blade against my throat. Only this time, I didn’t get away. Before I could make my move, he pulled the blade across my neck, spilling warm fluid down my chest.
I sat up in my bed with a scream caught in my throat. My sheets were wet with sweat, and it took me a moment to realize what just happened wasn’t real. I put my hand to my throat for reassurance. There was no wound. No blood.
Kicking my blanket off, I stood and went out to the hall, then into the bathroom. There, I splashed cold water onto my face and took several deep breaths to calm down. My hands were shaking, and my lip quivered.
Strangely, I hadn’t thought about that moment since it happened—back in the ski resort, Christmas decorations all around, a killer’s knife to my throat. I wasn’t scared then and hadn’t dreamt of the moment since. In reality, I’d gotten out of it. The killer was arrested, and all ended well, at least for most of us, snowed in at the time. So, why was it haunting me now? What was my brain trying to tell me?
You’re getting into another case, I thought to myself. It’s just nerves messing with you.
Sure. Had to be it.
I finished up in the bathroom and drifted back to my room. Once there, I checked my phone. Nearly six in the morning. There was no way I’d get back to sleep. So instead, I went downstairs to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. I was surprised to find my dad already up and sipping on his own at the counter while scrolling through his phone.
“Hey, Dad.” I greeted him before making a coffee for myself.
He looked up once from his screen and then went back to scrolling. “Morning, honey. You’re up early.”
“Yeah. Bad dreams.” I scrunched my nose as I thought about it while pouring an ample amount of coffee into a Peanuts Christmas mug.
“Been there. You want to talk about it?”
“No. I’m alright.”
“I hate to keep bringing it up, but have you given any more thought to Louisville?” I turned to find he was studying me over the top of his glasses.
I leaned against the counter, holding my mug with both hands. “I have. Still thinking.”
“Fair enough.”
We both went silent as I stirred peppermint mocha creamer into my coffee. Then, sitting across from him, I sipped, thinking about asking the question that had been bothering me for some time. “Dad, can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” he smiled, laying his phone down to offer his complete attention.
“It’s about Mrs. Kenilworth. Did she really seem like the type to kill herself?”
“Oh, honey. Is that what’s causing the bad dreams?”
“I think so.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.
“While I didn’t know her all that well, I can say I never got that impression. But of course, it’s hard to tell with most people. Many of us put on a brave front or wear a mask of positivity and good humor, but you never know what’s going on behind the eyes. Some people have an outlet for their dark thoughts, like those writers you love so much. Something therapeutic. Others aren’t so lucky, and those thoughts consume them. Sometimes to a point where they can’t handle it anymore.” He gave me a meaningful look.
“What about you?”
“I like to think I’m pretty healthy mentally. But still, I write as well. Sure, little of it has seen publication, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m putting it on the page. We writers bleed through a keyboard. There, we store our pain and move on.”
“Maybe I should try and write,” I said thoughtfully. “People assume I’m going in that direction anyway.”
Dad chuckled, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t one of those people.”
“It’s hard to make it as a writer.”
“That it is. Still, if something’s bothering you, the best thing you can do is talk to someone about it. If that’s not an option, put it in a book or a poem. Maybe write a song. Or even put it in a journal.”
I stared down at my mug for a moment, then looked back at him. “And what if that doesn’t work?”
He placed a hand on mine. “Find something that does. Luckily, you have me and your mother. If something is bothering you, don’t hesitate to talk to us. We’ll always be there for you.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Dad.”
“It’s what I’m here for, sweetheart.”
I took my coffee back to my room. My father was right; keeping something bottled up was never healthy. I have no doubt Mrs. Kenilworth was aware of this fact as well. Somewhere in that household, we would find the evidence we needed.
***
Two cups of coffee and a short drive later, my mother dropped me off in front of the school, where Gwen waited patiently for my arrival.
“Hey. How’d it go with Jason yesterday?”
I laughed. “I’m surprised you waited this long to ask me.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t easy. But in the end, I figured I should respect your privacy. Besides, I didn’t want to interrupt anything.” She nudged me with one boney elbow.
I gaped at her. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Nothing happened. He just lost his mother. Did you really think he was out looking for a booty call?”
“No, I suppose not,” Gwen conceded but with clear disappointment.
I decided to throw her a bone. “We are hanging out again later this week?”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, but please promise me you will keep this to yourself?” I gave her a pointed look.
“Swear on Silver Surfer.” She held a pinky up, and I hooked it with mine.
“Good.”
“Do you still think this is just him looking for support?”
No... well, I hoped it was more. “Yes.”
“You’re no fun,” she said with a fake scowl.
I shrugged. “I never claimed to be.”
***
Until I could get into Jason’s house and look over his mother’s things, there wasn’t much else I could do. I had to be content with Googling Mrs. Shannon Kenilworth. So, that night, I opened my laptop and did just that. What I found didn’t really amount to much. Her social media profile was full of clever teaching memes and occasional pictures of the family. From that, one old photo of Jason really took me back to our days paling around at the tender age of seven.
On the school website, there were a few articles that included Mrs. Kenilworth, and some were accompanied by photos. In one, she accepted the award for Teacher of the Year after a record-setting fundraiser for the art department. In another, she gave a speech at Jefferson High’s graduation ceremony, which included students she’d had in her very first class as a fifth-grade teacher.
I found that she was a scholar with advanced study in mathematics and was even going for her doctorate. She attended Purdue University to acquire her teaching degree. And, though she had originally hailed from Detroit, Michigan, she continued to live in Lafayette after meeting her future husband in college.
Every article and post on social media told the story of a successful, well-liked school teacher who had worked hard to give back to her community. There was absolutely nothing to point to this pillar of teaching integrity as being the victim of a murder. But, then again, there was nothing that pointed to suicide either.
I sighed with disappointment and closed my laptop.
Helplessness set in. I told myself there was no point dwelling on the roadblock I was up against. Nothing could be done about it. The feeling stayed, nonetheless. With nothing else to do, I settled into my window seat and cracked open a book. In my mind, I was growing doubtful that searching the Kenilworth home would turn up anything. Being patient had never been my strong suit.
Twenty minutes into reading, my phone chimed. I picked it up to find a new text from Jason, I convinced him. He leaves town Thursday morning.
I sat up and responded, Good. We’ll search everything Thursday night.
And that was it. Thursday night, we’d be on the hunt for evidence.
***
The next two days seemed like the longest of my life. With my thoughts on the case and my impending decision about my future, I suppose I seemed a little distant. It didn’t take long for Gwen to catch on.
“Holly!”
“Huh?” I turned from my locker to find my best friend staring at me with clear annoyance.
“I’ve been talking to you all the way down the hall. Did you hear anything I said?”
“No. I’m sorry. I just have a lot going on.”
“Like what?”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I can’t tell you.”
She looked at me, her expression one of hurt. “But I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything.”
“Not this. I promised to keep it secret.”
She stared at me as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Is this about Jason?”
My silence told her all she needed to know. I really had to work on my poker face.
“I knew it! Are you guys...”
“No! Gwen, is that all you think about?”
“I mean... yeah, pretty much.”
“Well, that’s not happening, so you can put it out of your mind.”
Gwen crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. Still, it seems like a betrayal of our friendship to keep it from me.”
Rolling my eyes, I closed my locker and walked toward my next class. Gwen hurried to walk beside me. “Don’t be so dramatic,” I said, not bothering to hide my annoyance with her pestering. “It’s just none of your business. So, get over it.”
“Fine. Consider me over it.” She stormed off, and I knew then and there she was most definitely not ‘over it’.
The day dragged on, and things were fairly quiet. In the last period, I finally got a text from Jason saying he had weight training after school, but once that was done, he’d come by and pick me up. Great! More waiting. Not only that, I’d have to come up with an excuse to get out of the house and get in the car with a teenage boy. Of course, my mother would understand. My father, on the other hand...
Maybe I’d get lucky and leave before he got home.
Gwen spent the rest of the day avoiding me, so I decided I’d try to make it up to her later.
***
As soon as I got home and walked inside, I said hello to Marlow, then climbed the stairs to my room and dropped my book bag on the bed. From there, I grabbed a fresh set of clothes and moved to the upstairs bathroom for a shower. I needed to relax before diving into the search through personal items of the dead teacher, who once encouraged my reading by recommending books that were usually geared toward adults. Mrs. Kenilworth had nurtured that side of me. Now, I would use what I’d learned from those books to track down her killer. If there even was a killer.
I was out of the shower and returning to my room when I heard my mother come through the front door. “Holly, are you home?”
“Yeah,” I called down.
“I brought home Chinese.”
If my mother could get away with eating Chinese food every day, she would. But My father, on the other hand, thought it was better only on occasion and preferred to mix things up nightly. Once my towel was off and my clothes were on, I went downstairs to eat. “I take it Dad is working late?”
“How did you know that?”
“From your choice in takeout.” I sat in my usual spot at the table.
“Your skills of deduction never cease to impress.”
“Well, that’s good. I was afraid of how he’d react to the news of me hanging out with Jason tonight.”
My mother turned to me with surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I felt my cheeks redden.
“Is this more consoling, or is there something else going on?”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “There’s nothing going on, Mom. He enjoyed talking to me the other day and wanted to hang out again. That’s all.”
She slid a container of broccoli and chicken in front of me and sat down at the table. “Well, you guys were inseparable as kids. I’m not surprised that the friendship has rekindled. I wouldn’t worry about your dad. He loves Jason. Plus, you’re seventeen. If you want to date, you can date. Leave your father to me.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, pulling back the flaps on the container of food.
“I actually think it would be good for you to date. Hang out with friends more. You spend too much time with your face in those books. Don’t get me wrong, reading is fantastic. But you should get out and have a social life too.”
For some reason, I took offense at this. “Mom, would you rather I be one of the popular girls from school? I could score some booze, sex up the boys, and fill my social media with half-naked selfies.”
Her brow furrowed. “Holly, you know that’s not what I meant. I just think it’s good to have a few friends who aren’t fictional characters.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “Unfortunately, I have much more in common with those characters than I do with my peers at school. Besides, I have Gwen.”
“I know.” We were both quiet for a moment. Then she spoke in a calmer tone. “I didn’t mean anything by it, honey. I’m very proud of who you are and your love of books.”
I gave a fake smile. “Thanks. I have some homework to finish before I leave.”
My mother threw her hands up in exasperation. “Okay.”
I took the food container with me to my room and ate while I worked on an essay about Gore Vidal. I hadn’t accomplished much before getting a text from Jason that said he was on his way. As I put away my work and finished the rest of my dinner, I began to feel guilty about how the conversation with my mother had gone. I went downstairs and found her still at the dining room table with her laptop now open in front of her.
“I’m heading out, Mom,” I bent to kiss her cheek, “And sorry for acting like a jerk earlier.”
“It’s okay, honey. I could have been a little more tactful in my observation. Have fun. And don’t be out too late.”
“I promise.”
As I walked out the door, Jason pulled up in his Toyota, and I jumped in, only to be hit full force by the awful smell of a teenage boy fresh after weight training.
“Sorry,” he apologized, no doubt taking note of the sour look on my face. “I’m jumping in the shower as soon as we get to my place.”
“It’s no big deal,” I tried to assure him with a reluctant smile but, in my mind, I knew if my mother could smell what I did at that moment, she’d give up on any assumptions I’d want to date Jason.
***
Jason’s house was about the same size as ours and laid out in a similar way; only everything seemed turned around as if it were a mirror image of the house I lived in with my parents. This wasn’t surprising. I’d once read up on the area, and many of the housing additions were constructed by the same company in the late 90s and early 2000s. There were only a handful of designs.
“Make yourself at home.” Jason pointed to the sofa. “There’s sodas and water in the fridge.”
“Is your sister here?” I inquired. I didn’t want to make myself at home only to be surprised by a visit from an inquisitive kid.
“Nah. She’s staying with my aunt and uncle while Dad is out of town. Our cousin is her bestie, so it works out pretty well.”
“Oh,” I said awkwardly. “Okay.”
“I’m going to take a quick shower, and then we can get started.”
I nodded, and Jason took the stairs two at a time. His stink hung around for a moment afterward.
In the kitchen, I helped myself to bottled water, then moved around the living room to look at the family pictures that were on display there. A photo of the Kenilworths in front of the Grand Canyon caught my attention. Jason’s sister was a toddler with two front teeth missing from her mouth. Next to her was the young Jason that still held a place in my memory. Among the smiling faces was a woman who had no reason to commit suicide. She had a beautiful family, a loving husband, great kids who excelled in school and sports, and a long and proud career as an educator. Suddenly, I was starting to see why Jason couldn’t fathom his mother committing suicide. The more I looked at her life through the pictures, the more I doubted it myself.
“Hey.” I turned to find Jason, freshly showered and dressed in a gray Colts shirt and black sweatpants, coming down the stairs to join me. “Sorry about that.”
“Oh, don’t be.”
He clapped his hands together. “So, ready to get started?”
“Lead the way.”
Jason walked through the kitchen and to the hallway beyond. “Excuse the mess. We haven’t felt much like cleaning up since it happened.”
There were dishes stacked on the counter near the sink, and two coffee mugs sat forgotten on the island.
“My mom kept an office back here,” Jason continued. “My dad’s is upstairs.”
I followed him to a room with closed double doors and glass panes set in four large frames per door. He opened the left side, and I followed him in. The desk was neat and well organized. The bookshelf beyond held several volumes on teaching, as well as a shelf full of romance novels. I rounded the desk and started running my index finger over each one, reading the titles in turn.
“She loved those books,” Jason pointed out. “Always called that her ‘guilty pleasures’ shelf.”
“That’s cute.” I smiled, recalling my old teacher fondly as she snuck a page or two in while we took our weekly spelling tests on Fridays.
Jason sat at the desktop and logged in. “She used the same password for everything. I use this computer sometimes for schoolwork.” He stood and motioned for me to take a seat. “I’ll let you take a look. Just let me know if you have any questions.”
I started with the stored folders. Mrs. Kenilworth kept her folders just as organized as her desk. I opened the one marked ‘Bank Statements’ and went to the most recent entry. Scrolling through, I found grocery purchases, online shopping, fast food, gas, and all the usual stuff. I closed the month I was in and moved to the previous month while Jason looked over my shoulder. After finishing with this one, I closed it and moved to the next. “There doesn’t seem to be any odd spending.”
“No,” Jason agreed.
“Let’s look at her emails.” I backed out of the folder and went to her main inbox. Scrolling down the page, I noticed there were plenty of emails from faculty members at the school and a few from her husband. “Does any of this look strange to you?”
Jason scanned through the emails and, after some time, sighed with disappointment. “No.”
“Did your mother keep an appointment book?”
“Yeah.” He reached down and pulled one of the desk drawers open. When he didn’t see what he was looking for, he closed it and opened the one beneath. “Here it is.”
I took the book from him and placed it on the desk. At that moment, I caught movement just outside the window from the corner of my eye. In a low voice, I warned, “Jason, don’t look now, but there’s someone watching us.”
“What?”
“Just out the window behind you. Play it cool. Don’t look. Casually go out of the room, like you’re getting a soda or something, and see if you can sneak up on them.”
Jason moved away and spoke loud enough for the peeper to hear, “I’m going to grab a sandwich. Do you want anything?”
“A sandwich would be great. Thanks.”
I continued to leaf through the planner, not really reading what was on the page. My imaginative mind kept going to the worst possible outcomes of the situation. I could picture Jason rounding the side of his house and coming upon his mom’s killer, then getting shot. Or stabbed. Or strangled. I’d like to think if I heard a struggle going on, I’d rush to Jason’s aid, but in the heat of the moment, I had no idea how I’d react.
However, when I heard a scream from outside, it wasn’t Jason. Instead, it came from a female. I rushed to the window and threw it open. There in the sideyard, Jason was wrestling with a familiar form dressed in a familiar pink jacket.
“Gwen?”
The two of them stopped struggling and looked up at me, a sheepish smile formed on my best friend’s face.
“You wouldn’t tell me what you were up to, so I came to see for myself.”
I gave her my best-disappointed mom look. “Come on inside.”
As I walked into the hall and toward the front door, Jason and Gwen entered the foyer. “Gwen, you scared the crap out of me!”
She gave a shrug. “Sorry, not sorry.”
“I should be the one angry here,” I shouted.
She flinched as if I’d thrown a punch at her. “You can’t be serious.”
“I told you to leave this alone. I told you, Jason didn’t want it out there for just anyone to know. The fact that you can’t respect my request or Jason’s privacy shows exactly how much our friendship means to you.”
“No!” Gwen exclaimed. “Don’t turn this around on me. We’re not supposed to keep secrets from each other. You’re the one who betrayed our friendship.”
At that point, we both took to shouting at each other even though neither of us could understand a word the other was saying. I wanted to reach out and pull her hair. Or flick her forehead. Maybe even punch her for real.
“Woah!” Jason yelled over the both of us. “Woah! Woah! And woah!”
I got quiet, even though I could feel my face flushed and my hands shaking. I crossed my arms to hide that fact from Gwen and Jason. Gwen stopped shouting as well and shoved her fists into the pockets of her pink jacket. We scowled at each other.
“Listen,” Jason said in an attempt to appeal to both of us. “There’s no reason this should come between the two of you. Holly, it’s okay to tell her.”
“Are you sure?” I was reluctant now just because I was angry with her.
“It’s okay. Besides, an extra set of eyes couldn’t hurt.”
I turned back to Gwen, whose expression had softened, and she even managed to look ashamed of her behavior. “Alright, fine. But you cannot tell anyone what we’re up to here. Not a soul.”
“Swear on Silver Surfer.” She raised her hand as if the other were on a bible.
Jason looked confused by this, but I pressed on without explaining our inside joke. “Jason thinks his mother was murdered. He asked me to help him look into it.”
Gwen’s jaw dropped open. “Oh my God! That’s scary.”
“So, you see why I didn’t want you to know about it, right?” I pointed out. “If there is a killer behind this, anyone involved could be in danger.”
“I get it.” Gwen acknowledged. “I honestly thought I’d look in the window and see you two making out.” I ignored Jason’s smirk at this statement but blushed nonetheless. “However, now I know. There’s no turning back.”
“Fine. We were just searching Mrs. Kenilworth’s office for clues.”
I led the way back to the office of the late teacher, still seething from my argument with Gwen. It was unlike us to fight that way, but every once in a while, a big argument would break out. Though Jason was the client and had every right to include Gwen’s involvement on the case, I wasn’t happy about it. I thought about saying as much. It wasn’t like Jason was paying me.
But I pushed these petty thoughts aside and carried on where I’d left off before we were interrupted. “I’m going to keep checking the planner. Gwen, you can go through that file cabinet against the wall. Look for anything out of the ordinary.”
“Like what?”
“Receipts or invoices that don’t fit with Mrs. Kenilworth’s personality. Anything that seems out of place.”
“What can I do?” Jason asked, with a look of hope in his eyes.
“I don’t see your mother’s purse or phone. It would be helpful if we could look through those as well.” When Jason didn’t move, and a strange look washed over his face, I grew concerned. “What is it?”
“Um... th-that stuff is in my parents’ room.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “That’s where it happened. My father and I haven’t gone in there since. Pop... he’s been sleeping on the couch.”
I placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Jason, I’m sorry. I can go up there if that’s okay with you. It would probably be a good idea for me to see the room anyway. If it is a crime scene, there could be something there the police missed.”
After some thought, Jason voiced. “Yeah, okay.”
“We’ll switch then. Keep looking through the planner. I’ll head up.”
“Got it. It’s the room to the left from the top of the stairs. Straight ahead. The door will be closed.”
I nodded and left the office. Down the hall and up the stairs (where the wall was lined with many more family photos), I turned left at the top and slowly opened the door to the room that Jason’s parents once shared. Feeling around in the dark, I found the light switch to my right and flipped it up. I walked around the bed toward the window and stopped. The large stain on the carpet was clearly where the blood from Mrs. Kenilworth’s wound had pooled.
For a moment, I was frozen—entranced by it. I wondered who cleaned it. It was something I didn’t remember reading in the novels. Was it the medical examiner’s office? Was there a crew that specifically cleaned the scene where a person had died? Did Jason’s father have to do it?
I wasn’t sure.
Carefully, I stepped around the stain and to the nightstand. I tried to picture how it happened. On the wall above the head of the bed, I could see streaks where cleaning had recently been performed. Rather poorly, it seemed. From what I could tell, she must have sat on the edge of the bed, placed the gun against her temple, and... then fell limp to the floor.
Pulling open the drawer on the nightstand, I rummaged around a bit and came up with nothing. Then I knelt and, with sharp eyes, looked around the area where the murder (suicide) took place. I looked for anything that would point to a second person being in the room when the trigger was pulled. A hair follicle. A fingernail. Any signs of struggle. There was nothing. If there was indeed a killer, he or she had done an excellent job cleaning up after themselves.
The purse I was looking for was on the end of the bed, which was still made. I pulled out my phone before leaving and snapped several photos of the stain and the surrounding area. Then I turned to grab the purse when my eye caught something out of place. The closet door (which was, in fact, two accordion-style doors) was slightly ajar.
It could be nothing, I thought. But I knew I had to cover all my bases. So, I reached out and pulled the left side door open. There, on the floor of the closet, in a messy pile, were several articles of clothing. The clothes themselves were nothing out of the ordinary (although the Kenilworths seemed too well-organized to have a messy closet), having fallen from the adjacent hamper, but there was something more to them. The anomaly I had been searching for had finally appeared. The clothes were tramped down as if someone had recently stood on them. Added to this was a solitary, golden fall leaf. One that seemed to have come from the shoe of an intruder.
Suddenly, I saw the entire house in a different light. It was a crime scene. I moved to the window and checked the lock. The latch was still in the lock position, so I left the room and moved down the hall to the next room. I flicked the light on and found what was clearly Jason’s room. Posters of football players covered the walls, and there was a bookshelf that held several trophies from years of sports. Over to the window, there was no evidence of an intruder around the frame or windowsill, but it was unlocked. I carefully pushed it open and looked out to find a trellis along the side of the house. The killer could have used this to enter and exit the house. However, there was no clear evidence to prove that theory. If there had been any kind of shoe prints, they’d have been washed away by the rain we had since the night of the murder.
I quickly checked the other rooms and found nothing out of the ordinary. Back downstairs, I returned to the kitchen and called for Jason.
“What’s up?” he questioned, coming out from the office. Gwen followed but leaned silently in the doorway.
“These two coffee mugs on the island. Have they been there before your mother was discovered?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. We haven’t touched anything, really. We’ve been eating takeout.”
“And her memorial?”
“It was held at my grandparent’s house.”
“These two coffee mugs could prove to be important down the line. Is there somewhere we can store them where they won’t be disturbed?”
“Um... we could put them in the fridge out in the garage. My dad only uses it when he’s fishing, and he said he’s done for the winter.”
“Perfect.” I pulled the sleeves of my shirt over my fingers and carefully moved the mugs to the fridge one at a time while Jason opened the door to the garage and then to the fridge.
“What are you thinking?” Jason looked at me with a critical eye.
“I don’t have a solid theory yet, but since there are no signs of forced entry, it could be your mother knew this person. Perhaps even shared a cup of coffee with them. Another possibility is they got in and out through your bedroom window, which was unlocked.”
“It wasn’t me,” Jason replied with his hands up as if he had just been accused of taking the last slice of pizza. “I haven’t had that window open since August.”
“I found something else.” I walked back into the office with the purse still under my arm and shared what I found with Jason and Gwen, showing them the photos of the depressed clothes and lone leaf on my phone.
“So, that proves it,” Jason’s expression was hopeful. “Right?”
“Not yet, but it’s a start.” I sat the purse down on the desk. “Think hard, Jason. Are you sure there was no sign of forced entry?”
“I’m sure. And the police looked for that. Every door and window on the first floor was locked. It’s one of the reasons they were so quick to call it a suicide. I guess they didn’t think to check the second floor.”
“That’s possible. An intruder likely wouldn’t break in on the top floor. If someone was in here that night, they were very careful not to leave any traces behind. The leaf is where they slipped up, but it’s something small. Not exactly evidence that would hold up in court. It tells us there’s a possibility of foul play. It tells me to keep looking.” I pulled Mrs. Kenilworth’s phone from her purse and handed it over to Jason. “Do you know the password?”
“No. That one she did not share with me.”
“Any idea what it could be?”
He shrugged. “None.”
“Think about any possible six-digit code. She would have made it from something important to her. If we start trying random codes, it will eventually lock us out.”
Jason smiled as if the answer was obvious. “Us. There was nothing more important to her than family. I bet it’s our birth dates.”
“Okay, good. What order would she put them in?”
“Probably highest to lowest,” Gwen offered. “She was a math freak when we were in her class. Remember?”
“That’s true.” I agreed. “She would likely put them in an ascending or descending order.”
“You’re partially right,” Jason pointed out. “But, whenever we had to decide on taking turns for something, my mother always went from oldest to youngest. I’m betting she did the same thing here. So, it would be my dad, me, then my sister.” He read the birthdates off as he entered them. “Zero-seven, twenty-three, fourteen.”
The phone unlocked, revealing a home screen photo of Jason, his sister, and their dad.
“Very impressive,” I observed.
“Thanks.” He handed the phone to me. I began to search through it as he returned to the planner, and Gwen moved down to the second drawer of the filing cabinet. I went through the text messages. Mrs. Kenilworth had conversations with her husband and children and updates on sales from Hobby Lobby. There were a few other texts from other teachers on the faculty at the elementary school. In the social media chat app, she had messages from her mother and sister, old friends she had gone to high school with. Most of the messages were old. Nothing strange.
I opened the photo app and browsed her pics. They were mostly of her husband and kids. The pumpkins they carved at Halloween. Fireworks from the Fourth of July celebration in the park. I closed this gallery and scrolled down. The ‘Recently Deleted’ folder showed there was one file there. I opened the folder and found a video within. I played it with the sound up.
“Guys,” I called. “Take a look at this.”
Jason and Gwen looked over my shoulder, and we watched together. On the screen, there was a man standing under a streetlight on the corner across from the Kenilworth house. The man stared at the house for a long time, and then the voice of Jason’s mother spoke in a whisper. “I don’t know who this man is. He’s been staring at the house for ten minutes now.” Silence for several seconds as the man turned and disappeared into the darkness. “What’s more,” Mrs. Kenilworth said, spinning the camera around to show her face. “I’m pretty sure he followed me home.” And the video ended with the scared face of Mrs. Kenilworth.