“Yes, hello, um, this is going to seem like a strange question”—I let out a small, self-conscious laugh—“but by any chance did your logo used to be two horses, one standing in front of the other?”
There was a short pause.
“No. I haven’t worked here long, but David Deering, Sr. started the company in 1978, and they’ve had the same logo since it started. And if you ask me”—it sounded like she cupped her hand over her mouth and the phone as she suddenly sounded muffled—“it could use an update.”
I let out a laugh on a breath. “Okay, well thanks for your help.”
“No problem. Have a great day. If you have any storage needs in the future, be sure to call us.”
“I will. Thank you.”
The second one I called was a dead end as well. But when I called the third business on the list, an older-sounding woman answered, and when I posed my question, she paused and then said, “Oh yes, actually. We had our logo redone in 2000. People kept mistaking us for an equine storage facility, barns for shows and whatnot.” She clicked her tongue as my heart leapt with the success of the call. “It was a dumb choice in the first place if you ask me but—”
“That’s great,” I said excitedly. “I mean, not that the logo was a bad pick, but you see I have a key and I’ve been trying to figure out what it goes to.” I paused shortly. “It must be from a unit rented a long time ago, though. It still has the horse logo on it.”
“Oh no. They never reprinted their keys. Everything else was changed, but they didn’t bother with those, I suppose. Most of them are completely rubbed off at this point anyway. You s
aid you didn’t know what it’s to? Did you find it somewhere?”
“No, actually, it was my now-deceased husband’s. He died three years ago.”
“Oh I see. I’m terribly sorry. Do you know which unit it’s for?”
“No. Is there a way to look that up? I mean, if I came by?”
The woman paused. “That’s usually not . . . that is, we’re not generally allowed to give out that information.” She paused again as I held my breath. “But under the circumstances, dear, if you’re able to show some identification that was his, I can help you. I’m here until five. My name is Donna.”
I stood. “Thank you, Donna. I’ll be there within the hour.”
**********
The storage facility—now named Ace Storage—was directly off Legendary Run, just as Brant had remembered. There was nothing unusual about it as far as storage facilities went. The large lot was filled with rows and rows of units, each featuring a silver metal rolling door locked with a padlock. I pulled in front of the rental office and went inside. An older woman with a blonde up-do and too much makeup looked up from the desk, her bubblegum-pink lips turning up into a kind smile. “May I help you?”
“Donna? We spoke on the phone about an hour ago. My name is Isabelle Farris and my husband apparently rented a unit here?” I pulled Ethan’s driver’s license out of my purse. “This was my husband.” I handed it to her and she pulled on her glasses, looking at the license. I held my breath for a moment, hoping she didn’t recognize his name. Our story had been all over the news three years before. It was the main reason I’d gone back to my maiden name. It was easier to heal if I was anonymous, easier to move on without experiencing the looks of pity every time someone recognized my name . . . recalled the horror that had been flashed all over the news for months.
“Let me see here,” Donna said, tapping the keys on the computer and apparently pulling up a rental list. I released the breath I’d held in my lungs. If the name seemed familiar, she apparently hadn’t placed it. “This would have been rented three years ago, you say?”
“At least. Maybe more.”
“Hmm. Okay, this might take a minute. Hold on.” I waited as she tapped at keys for a minute or two, finally looking up and saying, “Aha! Here we go. It’s locker number two twelve. And you’re in luck because he took out a five-year lease that runs out in two months. That locker would have gone up for auction. Two twelve is only two rows over from here. You should find it easily.” She took the key I’d set on the counter and quickly peeled a small, round sticker from a sheet on her desk and wrote the number on it, handing the key back to me.
“Thank you so much, Donna. Truly, I couldn’t be more appreciative.”
“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need any help with anything.”
“Thank you.”
I left the rental office, getting back in my car and driving two rows over as Donna had instructed, moving slowly as I craned my neck to look for two twelve. “What did you need to rent a locker to store, Ethan?” I murmured as I pulled up in front of the unit belonging to my dead husband. Five years. He’d rented this unit five years ago, two years before he’d died. Elise had been two years old . . . I’d known I didn’t love him anymore, if I ever really had at all. And I’d known he didn’t love me back. But the idea that he was hiding something from me, something he knew he’d need a five-year lease for, was hard to swallow. I hadn’t realized we’d kept so many secrets, and it made me sad as I recalled my utter loneliness during that time.
My pulse quickened as I got out of my car, gripping the key, and walking to the door of the unit. For a moment I just stood there, semi-frozen, wondering if I really even wanted to know what was inside this large silver box and why my husband had kept it from me.
But no, I had to know. Fate had led me here and I would not turn back now. Steeling myself, I inserted the key in the lock and turned it. Despite the amount of time it’d been left unopened, the key turned easily, and the door rose smoothly.
The afternoon sun illuminated the space, glinting off the silver sports car parked inside. For a moment I simply stared, baffled. Ethan had bought a car without me knowing? How? He’d made good money, as his investment business had done well. He and Aaron were accumulating more clients every year. We’d lived a comfortable life, but we hadn’t been able to afford a . . . I stepped closer, squinting at the make . . . a Porsche. It was a silver convertible Porsche. I couldn’t even begin to guess how much a car like that cost, but I guessed a whole helluva lot. “What in the world, Ethan?”
Feeling shell-shocked, nervous, and like I was snooping somewhere I didn’t belong, I glanced backward as if something else unexpected might sneak up on me.
I trailed a finger along the car, walking around it, peering inside. The upholstery was light gray leather, and when I reached in and touched it, found that it felt just as soft and buttery as it looked. There was nothing inside the car except a thin layer of dust, built up since its owner had been buried in a cemetery only a few miles from here.