She observed another search point to attack; the drawers. There were two brown mahogany pieces of furniture standing on either side of the book shelf with four chests of drawers on each. Nicole started with the one by the left. The first three drawers each had piles of different stuff, mostly papers, which include mortgage files, bank files, bills, picture albums, more notes, more magazines and more papers. The last drawer however, had a piece of cloth neatly folded in it.
Nicole took it out and unfolded it. It's a light blue hand-made cardigan, one hundred percent wool with big black buttons. It was the type Maggie had given her only that hers was turtleneck.
Cute.
She folded it; but just when she was about to put it back, she noticed something: a number by the left shoulder, intricately woven by deep blue wool.
Oh great. I got a jersey.
Wait a minute...
On a closer look, she realized she was looking at it wrongly; and when she turned it the other way round, the number turned to a letter: P!
"You are good old woman; real good"
She stood up, the cloth in her hand looking again at the letter. It had downed on her now that she has found something that could be another clue. PABLO starts with a letter P which could be short for the name.
She placed it back into the drawer, at the same time, making a new decision: she must search every item in the house for a P. This is a task she didn't think could be done in a week; but she'll try.
The next item that caught her eyes was a white Italian flower vase at the top of the drawer. She checked it thoroughly and there was no letter P. She checked the other vases, then the pictures, the paintings on the walls, the drapes, the CD rack, chandeliers and posters; still couldn't find anything. She drank more wine placed the cup on the computer monitor and went upstairs.
Nicole was greeted by darkness and a thick chocking air when she opened Maggie's bedroom. The room had not been opened for days and the peculiar smell of an unventilated enclosure hovered in it. The long, thick drapes on the windows were all drawn, keeping the room warm but chocking. Nicole hit the switch, pulled aside the curtains and opened the windows.
There's nothing unusual for an old lady's bedroom. The door was by the right; there was a brown piece of furniture with three chests of drawers a few inches away from the door and the bed was by the left. She attacked the drawers first.
The first one had some clothes in it; underwear mostly. She dug her hand into the clothes and fumbled, but found nothing. The second and third drawers also had nothing suspicious in them. Next were the smaller drawers by either side of the bed of which a chandelier was placed on each. Each had two small drawers; Nicole started with the one by the left. Both drawers had nothing in them so she went on to those on the right side.
There were some pictures in the first drawer; she had seen them before; they were pictures of Edward and Margaret, their daughter and her husband and the granddaughter. The date each picture was taken was scribbled on the back. Nicole put them back and pushed in the drawer.
She yawned and swore under her breath. It's getting boring, she thought. She pulled out the next drawer. There was something in it: a thick black diary. She looked at the object for a few seconds before bringing it out. She turned the book in her hand. It is quiet heavy; and knowing the kind of person Maggie was, gave her a strong feeling the diary must be heavier in words than in weight.
And if it is what she thinks it is, then she believes it may not only contain records of events for more than five decades, but could have memoirs replete with intriguing secrets.
Nicole had learnt to respect privacy since when she was just five and she grew up with it. When she was in med school, her carefree roommate, Barbara, used to give Nicole the password to her e-mail to help her retrieve some messages. But every time she's logging in, she'd asked Barbara to tell her the password again because she had forgotten it.
"How come you keep on forgetting it?" Barbara once asked her.
"I deliberately programmed my psyche not to memories it because it's someone's secret. It shouldn't be known." Nicole would say.
"Weird." Barbara would say.
Weird really, because Nicole is about to do something she hates to do especially now that she has no right to do it. She braced herself.
Just when she was about to open the book, the phone rang rudely; she got startled and dropped the book on the floor.
"Holy shit!"
The phone ring sounded like a shot from a short gun. She glared at the telephone as it kept on ringing, wondering who the hell it is.
She decided not to pick, but considering the fact that Maggie is dead, she decided to take it. She swallowed.
"Hello"
"This is Dr Jeffry Scholes from Seattle Metro Hospital; I'm calling for Margaret Fletcher please."
"She's.... Ahm... She's not available right now. Is there a problem; I can take a message."
"Ok. Her Granddaughter, Ms. Kimberly Otis had an accident yesterday; she's in our hospital right now."
"Oh my God!"
"Don't panic, she's alright. But she's kind of shattered, emotionally. She's been crying for hours. She needs someone close to her; like a family or something, for emotional support. She gave us Mrs. Fletcher's number."
"Oh, thank God."
"So please tell Mrs. Fletcher that, and ask her to call me back."
"Right; I will. Thank you doctor." she dropped the receiver; gave a long sigh of relief and sat on the bed.
Kim has been found; she's alright. I gotta go get her.
She stood up, about to walk out of the room but stopped. The diary was still on the floor where she dropped it. She got back, picked it up and started thinking of what to do with it. A better part of her was softy telling her to put it back but the devil in her yelled in her mind to take go with it.
She thought about Maggie's last word and of Kim in Seattle.
What the hell!
She placed it back into the drawer and pushed it back; then rushed back downstairs, fished out her cell phone from her bag and dialled a number.