appointment with Benny and one with someone named Bitsy. He also had a scheduled time next to a scrawled JTB, which I had to assume was the Johnson Tuberculosis Hospital. This appointm ent was with someone named Roy.
I knew who Benny was, but who the heck was Bitsy? I couldn’t remember a soul in town named Roy. I searched further and found a sketch of what looked like a layout for a mall. That must have been his idea for the property. Pecan Bayou did not have a mall as of yet. Most people drove over to Andersonville to do their department-store s hopping.
I searched through his right desk drawer. I found memo pads, business cards and a few scattered breath mints. My hand skimmed over something sticking up in the back. I tried to grasp it as all of Canfield’s business cards came sliding toward me. I seemed to be lifting out the bottom of the drawer. I pulled it completely out, letting the cards and mints hit the floor. I had stumbled onto a hidden section in the drawer. There were several credit cards and a couple of identification cards with Oliver Canfield’s picture on them, but not his name. One said Javier Torres and another had the name Oscar Bianchi. It seemed Mr. Canfield, or whoever he was, had more than one identity. I looked at the credit cards and was surprised to see they were all issued to women. Ruby Morris, Martha Johnson, Molly Baumgartner and – I couldn’t believe it – Maureen Boyle. What was he doing with her credit card? Did he steal it from her, or did she give it to him? If I hadn’t just broken into this office, I would be calling my dad right now. Trying to explain how I learned this information was a conversation I didn ’t want to be having right now.
I looked for Canfield’s computer. There was an empty area on his desk where it should have been. The police were probably searching through his hard drive for their investigation.
I turned around and headed toward a row of filing cabinets on the back wall. Upon opening the first drawer, I found files listed by property. It seemed Mr. Canfield closed more real estate deals than I had been aware of. In the next drawer, the files were listed by last name. Once again I saw some of the same names I had seen printed on the credit cards. I reached for the file marked “Maureen Boyle” when suddenly the reflection from the lobby lights went black. Upon turning around, l looked through to the glassed-in front office. The entire building was dark. Had there been a power outage? I walked forward a few steps and felt pain shoot up my leg as my knee collided with the corner of Canfield’s desk. I placed my hands on the desk for leverage and tried to see the path to Canfield’s office doorway. I heard a soft sound in the next room. Could that be the outer door opening? Had the cleaning lady come up here? I crouched down by the desk. If it was her, I couldn’t let her see me. I could hear breathing as whoever it was moved around the r oom. I tried to hold my breath.
My phone jangled “The Eyes of Texas are Upon You.” I jammed my hand into my pocket, trying to grab at it.
“Dad!” I whispered a scream. Then pain spread across my skull as something hard hit me in the back of the head.
*****
I came to with a sudden jolt as I coughed to clear something in my chest. I coughed again, feeling pain as my lungs labored to breathe. Smoke was everywhere. My eyes fixed on a bright light now illuminating the doorway. Was the office on fire? Staying away from the clouds of smoke I saw billowing above me, I started crawling towards the door. My head throbbed, and I recognized the coppery taste of blood in my mouth. As I came close to the fire, I forced myself to stand up, although my head felt like a giant bell was ringing inside of it. I took a deep breath and immediately went into another cough for my efforts. I shut my eyes and leapt over a darting flame, ready to feel the impact of my body hitti ng the floor on the other side.
“Betsy!” The
I knew who Benny was, but who the heck was Bitsy? I couldn’t remember a soul in town named Roy. I searched further and found a sketch of what looked like a layout for a mall. That must have been his idea for the property. Pecan Bayou did not have a mall as of yet. Most people drove over to Andersonville to do their department-store s hopping.
I searched through his right desk drawer. I found memo pads, business cards and a few scattered breath mints. My hand skimmed over something sticking up in the back. I tried to grasp it as all of Canfield’s business cards came sliding toward me. I seemed to be lifting out the bottom of the drawer. I pulled it completely out, letting the cards and mints hit the floor. I had stumbled onto a hidden section in the drawer. There were several credit cards and a couple of identification cards with Oliver Canfield’s picture on them, but not his name. One said Javier Torres and another had the name Oscar Bianchi. It seemed Mr. Canfield, or whoever he was, had more than one identity. I looked at the credit cards and was surprised to see they were all issued to women. Ruby Morris, Martha Johnson, Molly Baumgartner and – I couldn’t believe it – Maureen Boyle. What was he doing with her credit card? Did he steal it from her, or did she give it to him? If I hadn’t just broken into this office, I would be calling my dad right now. Trying to explain how I learned this information was a conversation I didn ’t want to be having right now.
I looked for Canfield’s computer. There was an empty area on his desk where it should have been. The police were probably searching through his hard drive for their investigation.
I turned around and headed toward a row of filing cabinets on the back wall. Upon opening the first drawer, I found files listed by property. It seemed Mr. Canfield closed more real estate deals than I had been aware of. In the next drawer, the files were listed by last name. Once again I saw some of the same names I had seen printed on the credit cards. I reached for the file marked “Maureen Boyle” when suddenly the reflection from the lobby lights went black. Upon turning around, l looked through to the glassed-in front office. The entire building was dark. Had there been a power outage? I walked forward a few steps and felt pain shoot up my leg as my knee collided with the corner of Canfield’s desk. I placed my hands on the desk for leverage and tried to see the path to Canfield’s office doorway. I heard a soft sound in the next room. Could that be the outer door opening? Had the cleaning lady come up here? I crouched down by the desk. If it was her, I couldn’t let her see me. I could hear breathing as whoever it was moved around the r oom. I tried to hold my breath.
My phone jangled “The Eyes of Texas are Upon You.” I jammed my hand into my pocket, trying to grab at it.
“Dad!” I whispered a scream. Then pain spread across my skull as something hard hit me in the back of the head.
*****
I came to with a sudden jolt as I coughed to clear something in my chest. I coughed again, feeling pain as my lungs labored to breathe. Smoke was everywhere. My eyes fixed on a bright light now illuminating the doorway. Was the office on fire? Staying away from the clouds of smoke I saw billowing above me, I started crawling towards the door. My head throbbed, and I recognized the coppery taste of blood in my mouth. As I came close to the fire, I forced myself to stand up, although my head felt like a giant bell was ringing inside of it. I took a deep breath and immediately went into another cough for my efforts. I shut my eyes and leapt over a darting flame, ready to feel the impact of my body hitti ng the floor on the other side.
“Betsy!” The
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