Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
The brass deadbolt was cold against my fingers as I inserted the gold-plated key. It turned with a heavy, satisfying click that echoed in the empty corridor.
I pushed the door open, stepping onto the thick oriental rug. The room was exactly as he had left it, the desk blotter aligned with the edge of the mahogany desk, his fountain pens resting in their leather tray. I pulled the key from the lock, stepped inside, and closed the door behind me.
My hands did not shake as I opened the bottom desk drawer. The black leather-bound diary was there, tucked beneath a stack of medical journals. Beside it lay the bank logs, showing the neat columns of three hundred and fifty dollar withdrawals that had drained our joint account over the last eight weeks.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and switched the camera to the high-resolution setting. I laid the first page of the diary flat under the desk lamp.
“July twelfth: Rachel left the stove burner on after making tea. She seemed surprised when I pointed it out,” the neat, black script read.
