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I waved James goodbye with the paw of the stuffed dog. As soon as he left, I took a closer look at the tag around the dog’s neck. Neil’s name and work address were printed on one side. On the other side, there was a message.
Dear Neil,
Thank you so much for your continued support.
Margaret (AAS)
Neither the name nor the acronym stood out to me, even though I had studied our list of contacts in the office manual back to front. I shrugged it off.
The door to Neil’s office was closed but unlocked. I pushed it open. The room was dark, quiet, and still. Dust particles floated in a beam of dull light through a half-open blind. The room seemed even larger in Neil’s absence. Large and empty. The smell of the coffee I spilt lingered in the air, mixing with the comfortable scent of leather and old paper.
It crossed my mind that maybe I shouldn’t be here, but wouldn’t he have locked the door if that were the case? I was just going to put the dog down, then I’d leave.
Stacks of paper topped Neil’s desk in an orderly fashion. It wasn’t tidy enough for my liking, but it appeared he had some kind of system going. The surface was free from personal effects—no photographs, no knickknacks. Hardly surprising. Neil didn’t seem like the sentimental type.
I placed the dog on Neil’s chair. As I moved away, I realised it looked like the dog was sitting at the desk. I chuckled to myself. Neil probably wouldn’t find it half as amusing, but at least he couldn’t miss it.
My focus drew to the shelves behind the desk. Something had caught my eye. All the books and folders stood flush in neat rows—except for one file. It stuck out as if Neil had recently accessed it. It bugged me so much that I couldn’t leave it like that. I walked to the shelf and pressed my fingertips to the spine. I hesitated. What was it that Neil had been looking at? I pulled the file out further, just enough to read the label. My eyes widened.
The label said Alex Patterson.
Why had Neil been looking at information about the deceased former CEO? Curiosity overwhelmed me. Neil wasn’t back yet, and if I listened carefully, I’d hear him if he was coming. Could I risk a peek?
Yes, I decided.
I pulled out the file and flicked through the documents inside. Details about Alex and his family. A personal profile. A picture of the crime scene on the office roof. A graphic photograph of the body on the ground. I gasped, slamming the file shut in disgust.
What the… ? Why does Neil have this?
A connection I hadn’t made before flashed through my mind. Neil was here on the morning of Alex’s death, and there was a rumour that someone had tampered with the railing on the roof. Did Neil know something? Was he involved somehow? If he wasn’t set to become CEO yet, why was he even here on that day?
Footsteps approached. Footsteps that matched Neil’s urgent, even stride. I tried to shove the file back into place, but in my rush, I fumbled and dropped it. The pages fell out and scattered on the floor. I got on my hands and knees and tried to gather them in time, but my effort was futile.
“Do you make a habit of entering my office and snooping around while I’m out?”
I felt Neil’s deep, silken voice in my bones. He stood over me, assessing me through narrowed eyes. He had an uneasy look on his face. A look I hadn’t seen from him before. “Stand up,” he said.
I did so, my cheeks burning.
“Explain yourself.”
“I brought in a delivery for you, then I saw this file sticking out?—”
This piece of information seemed to disarm him. “It was sticking out?”
I nodded.
“I was careless.”
He bent down to pick up the papers. I followed suit. In the scramble, I didn’t notice much more information than I had already seen. When one page was left, we both reached to grab it. Our hands brushed. His touch startled me so much that I couldn’t move. Neil pulled away first. I picked up the last piece of paper and handed it to him. Rather than returning the file to the shelf, he unlocked a filing cabinet and stored it in there instead.
I wanted to ask him why he had all that personal information about Alex—not to mention crime scene photographs—but I feared the consequences of prying. While I was still deciding whether to bring it up, Neil spoke. “I take it that dog is for me?”
“Someone called Margaret from AAS sent it to you.”
“I should thank her.”
“Do you want me to email her a thank-you note?”
