Mysteries of the Untold - The Kate Hardy Mystery Stories

Two

"Uncle Frank, what are you doing here?" I said as he walked past me into the open foyer.

"I came by to talk to you about your fathers will."

Ah, so at last, not a distraction.

He walked over to the brown leather sofa, perched up against the window and sat down, motioning for me to join him. I did so, walking over cautiously. This was the first time I had seen my uncle since my fathers funeral. As I sat down next to him, I could feel myself sink into the cushion of where my father used to sit. I glanced over at Uncle Frank, who seemed to have a worried look across his face. "What is it? What's the matter?" I asked, as I tucked one leg under the other.

"Your father, he, uh - didn't know how to handle the bills very well after your mother passed. She handled all of the important stuff." He paused for a second, giving into the silence filling the air around me, "Katie, your father owes a lot of money to the bank. He took out a second mortgage on the house just a couple months before he died. But now that he's gone, the responsibility of his affairs go to you." 

"How much money did he owe?"

My uncle took a deep breath, letting out a long sigh as he exhaled as if he was about to deliver the worlds worst news, "Two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

                                                                                          ***

Two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars?  

What the hell was he thinking?

That's all I could think about for the remainder of my evening, but I knew there had to be an answer behind it. My father would never put us at risk like this, not unless he really had to. Not unless his life depended it. 

I made my way up the staircase, the boards creaking under my feet as I stepped down upon them. As I reached the top of the stairs, my gaze towards his study, I caught myself wondering if there was something in there that would explain this mess he had left me.

Desperate for answers, I walked up to his beautifully handcrafted desk and began rummaging through his drawers. The first one I opened contained a few worn-out batteries, writing utensils with the absence of ink, and an old calendar booklet. The second one held some office supplies such as a handful of paperclips and thumbtacks. With no answers in sight, I slid open the third and final drawer, and there stood a flash drive. 

I surgically removed the drive from the drawer, slamming it shut. Sitting on his desk was his laptop. Lifting it open, the screen requesting his password abruptly came into sight. As I leaned over the desk, my arms reclining onto the edge, I attempted to access my way into his computer.  There were only two things his password could be, my name, or my mothers.

Nancy.

I hovered my finger over the enter key, wondering what would lie beyond the gates. I took a deep breath and placed my finger on the key, pressing it inwards. Finally, the gates opened and on the screen was a picture of my father and I that took me back a few years.

It was my high school graduation, nervous with a case of non-stop-nail-biting, I walked over to the mirror and stared deeply at myself. My long blue gown touching my knees. I patted my hands over the wrinkles, feeling the satin between my fingertips. Titling my head a bit, I noticed my father standing in the doorway of my room, the warmth of his smile hitting me. "I wish your mother could see you right now." he said, waltzing over towards me. 

He placed his hands onto my shoulders, and kissed my head. "She would be amazed at how far you've come. Top of your class, scholarship to Boston University, working towards your journalism degree. Everything you've had to deal with growing up and somehow you managed to turn it all around and into something incredible." my father said as he withdrew himself, walking back over to the doorway of my bedroom. "I did it because of you, dad." I said. Smiling at me, he vanished into the hallway leaving me to stare at myself in the mirror once again.

Placing the distant memory into the back of my mind, I pushed the mysterious flash drive into the port. Suddenly, a file jumped onto the screen, I opened it, urgently waiting for the document to appear before my eyes. As it loaded, the words "Bookcase" came into view.

Looking up from the computer, I noticed a bookcase with numerous rare books standing tall in front of me. I closed the laptop, and began making my way over towards his mint-condition collection, the spines were like new and the pages still a beautiful cream color. I brushed my hands up against them as if a clue would touch my fingertips. 

Instantaneously, I came across a faded yellow book from the year 1807 that looked its age. Something about it wasn't right. My father took care of every other book, so why not this one? As I reached over to inspect it, the bookcase swung open, revealing a staircase to the unknown.

What was my father hiding?