Reluctant Detective by Finley Martin

Burtons home on North River Road. The Burtons had become quite taken with him and insisted he stay at their home. He lived in a guest apartment above their attached garage. It had a separate outdoor entrance, one which opened into the upstairs hallway of the main house. They not only gave Somerville free run of the entire house but, when the Burtons went on vacation last week, they’d also left it in his care. Mrs. Murphy had also noted that his schedule recently included yoga classes one evening a week. One of those classes was tonight. And Anne planned to nose around there to see what, if anything, might turn up.
    Anne closed the folder, stood up, and headed toward the file cabinet just as the phone rang.
    â€œDarby Investigations and Security. Anne Brown speaking. May I help you?”
    There was a disconcerting period of silence at the other end. Anne was about to hang up when a male voice said, “I’d like to speak to Mr. Darby, please.”
    â€œI’m sorry, but Mr. Darby is unavailable. Can I take a message?”
    â€œIt’s urgent. I must speak with him.” The voice seemed anything but urgent. In fact, Anne felt it was cold and dispassionate and, oddly, rehearsed.
    â€œMr. Darby is not here. Nor will he be available for some time. He’s… in the country. Can I…”
    â€œListen carefully,” said the voice. “Mr. Darby and I have an agreement. I give him a package. He delivers it tonight. It’s been prearranged.”
    â€œI’m aware of all of Mr. Darby’s business dealings, but I’m not aware of this one. There’s no active client contract of this nature on file… so if you wish to come in and…” Anne felt a growing abrasiveness punctuate her words even before he interrupted her.
    â€œIt was a private agreement.”
    â€œI’m sorry, but I can’t accept any package or perform any services without his okay,” she said with a cool finality.
    â€œOn the contrary. It’s a done deal. Talk to Darby. The package is outside your office door right now, and, by the way… tell him not to fuck this up.”
    The line went dead. Unidentified Caller flashed on the phone’s LED display screen. Anne hung up the receiver and hurried to the office door. Outside, she found a mid-size brown leather valise.
    Anne heard no sound on the landing above or on the stairs leading down, but she thought she heard a light swish of the street door closing behind someone. She hauled the valise inside the office, dumped it on Billy’s desk, and looked out the window to the cobbled avenue below. Among the few early tourists no one hurried away, and no one else looked out of place or suspicious.
    Anne locked the front door, closed Billy’s office door behind her, and stared at the suitcase, her hands caressing the soft leather top. She didn’t like the tone of the anonymous caller, but she couldn’t give the valise back, and she was hesitant to open it. Who knew what it might contain? Perhaps, like Pandora’s box, she was better off not knowing. And why would Billy have gotten involved with something as off-the-record as this? That wasn’t like him. And not telling her? That made even less sense, she thought.
    â€œFor God’s sake, Anne, get a grip,” she said out loud. “Open the friggin’ thing!”
    She tugged firmly at a belt strap which fed underneath the hand grip and freed it. She squeezed the trigger locks on the hasps, and they parted. But as she started to lift the top, a chill ran up between her shoulder blades. She wondered if whatever lay within would reveal some dark secret in Billy Darby’s life, something that would deeply disappoint her, something which would stain his memory forever.
    What happens, happens, she thought . With a quick snap of her wrists, the lid flew open. She peered in.
    Then she gasped.

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    The bell for first class rang. Carson “the Kid”