Chapter 3 - The Key That Should Have Been Buried With a Dead ManCullen did not call Jolie immediately.
He called the police.
Not because he believed he had enough evidence for an arrest.
He didn’t.
But because his father had taught him another lesson Cullen had spent years resisting.
Never let pride keep a problem private when it has already become bigger than you.
An officer took the report.
Security logs were copied.
Maren Bell’s preliminary findings were preserved.
The missing camera intervals were documented.
Then Cullen did something his father almost never did.
He told Jolie everything.
They sat at the back table of a twenty-four-hour diner at 6:10 the next morning.
Posie was with her recovered babysitter.
Jolie wrapped both hands around a mug of coffee.
“So somebody used your father’s code.”
“Yes.”
“And a key.”
“Yes.”
“And you think Galen still has one.”
“I think he may have had access to one.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
She looked at him over the mug.
“You’re learning.”
“I was already capable of distinguishing facts.”
“Were you?”
His mouth twitched.
Then Jolie became serious.
“Galen used to keep keys.”
Cullen leaned forward.
“What?”
“When clients asked for them back, he’d return them. But he had duplicates made for route workers.”
“Without permission?”
“I don’t know whether clients knew.”
“Did you ever have a Strickland key?”
“No. I never worked this route.”
“Who did?”
“Mostly Galen himself.”
“Why?”
“Your father.”
Cullen frowned.
“What about him?”
“Galen said Carl Strickland didn’t like seeing different workers every week.”
That sounded exactly like his father.
“He wanted the same person.”
“Apparently.”
“Did Galen ever talk about my father after losing the account?”
Jolie hesitated.
“Once.”
“What did he say?”
“That your father was an ungrateful old—”
She stopped.
Cullen raised an eyebrow.
“Go ahead.”
“Man.”
“That wasn’t the word.”
“No.”
“What was?”
“You can imagine it.”
He almost smiled.
“What else?”
“He said your father owed him thirty years of loyalty.”
Cullen stared at his coffee.
“My father didn’t believe loyalty meant immunity.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“It wasn’t always.”
Jolie sensed the shift.
She didn’t press.
That made him want to explain.
“My father trusted nobody completely.”
“I figured.”
“He inspected everything.”
“Like you.”
The words came without cruelty.
That somehow made them sharper.
“My ex-wife said the same thing.”
Jolie went still.
Cullen stared at the black surface of his coffee.
“She said I inspected people instead of knowing them.”
“That why she left?”
“One reason.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“I know.”
There was something strangely relieving about saying it to someone who had not asked.
“She said being loved by me felt like being audited.”
Jolie winced.
“That’s rough.”
“She wasn’t wrong.”
“Wasn’t completely right either.”
He looked at her.
“You don’t know that.”
“No. But people are usually messier than one sentence.”
Cullen watched her for a long moment.
“What sentence would your ex use for you?”
The question surprised her.
She traced her thumb along the mug.
“Posie’s father wasn’t my husband.”
Cullen waited.
“He left when I was six months pregnant.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He came back when she was eighteen months old.”
Cullen said nothing.
“For three weeks.”
Then the meaning settled.
“He left again.”
“Yes.”
“Has he seen her since?”
“Three times.”
“In five years?”
“Yes.”
Her voice stayed calm.
Too calm.
“He sends birthday texts when he remembers. Sometimes Christmas.”
Cullen’s jaw hardened.
Jolie noticed.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Get angry for me.”
“I’m not.”
“You look like you’re deciding where to bury him.”
“He abandoned his child twice.”
“He also lives four states away, has no decision-making authority in her life, and knows I will file enforcement papers if he stops paying support. I handled it.”
Cullen sat back.
Jolie’s mouth curved.
“You really don’t know what to do with women who don’t need rescuing, do you?”
“That isn’t true.”
“You look disappointed.”
“I look impressed.”
That stopped her.
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then Cullen’s phone vibrated.
A message from the closing manager.
Found something in old records. You need to see this.
They drove separately to Strickland.
In the second-floor archive room, boxes from Carl Strickland’s office covered a long table.
The closing manager, Ben Harlan, held up a yellow file.
“I was looking for old key logs.”
He gave the folder to Cullen.
Inside was a letter on Strickland Hat Company stationery.
Dated fourteen months earlier.
Addressed to Galen Voss.
Cullen read.
Mr. Voss,
Effective November 1, Strickland Hat Company will no longer require your janitorial or exterior cleaning services.
The decision is final.
Do not contact my staff regarding reinstatement.
All keys must be returned no later than October 28.
Carl Strickland.
Beneath the letter was a handwritten note.
Tandy — confirm locks changed after key return.
Cullen looked toward the door.
“Were they?”
Ben shook his head.
“Not according to maintenance records.”
“Why?”
“No idea.”
A second page was clipped behind the letter.
This one was not addressed to Galen.
It was Carl’s internal note.
Voss invoice discrepancies. Three clients called. Polk Building damage complaint inconsistent with employee statement. No more business with him.
Jolie read the note over Cullen’s shoulder.
Her face slowly changed.
“The Polk Building.”
“You know it?”
“That’s where the first window was damaged.”
The one Galen had blamed on her.
Cullen looked at her.
“Your father knew,” she whispered.
“Maybe.”
“He knew Galen’s story didn’t add up.”
“There’s no date on this note.”
Jolie touched the edge of the paper.
“All those years I thought…”
She stopped.
Cullen saw tears gather before she looked away.
Not dramatic tears.
Angry ones.
The kind a person resented having.
“Jolie.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I can be not fine later.”
He understood that sentence more than he wanted to.
Ben opened another box.
“Here.”
An old brass key ledger.
Strickland Hat Company — issued keys.
G. Voss — rear entrance/master service.
Returned was blank.
Cullen felt anger rise.
His father had ordered the locks changed.
Someone failed to do it.
Or chose not to.
His phone rang.
Police.
The officer had reviewed nearby traffic cameras.
A white commercial van had passed the west intersection at 2:06 Thursday morning.
It returned at 2:31.
The license plate was obscured by glare.
But the rear door carried faint lettering.
VOSS BUILDING SERVICES.
Cullen turned toward Jolie.
She had heard.
Her face went completely still.
“Now?” she asked.
“Now we let the police work.”
“No.”
Cullen frowned.
“No?”
“I mean, yes, obviously. But Galen knows me. If they question him and he realizes Posie saw him—”
“He doesn’t know she did.”
“He might figure it out.”
Cullen understood.
This was no longer a damaged-window problem.
This was a mother calculating risk.
“We’ll make sure she’s protected.”
Jolie’s eyes flashed.
“You don’t get to promise that.”
He stopped.
She was right.
He had almost made the kind of promise powerful men made because they hated admitting limits.
So Cullen corrected himself.
“I’ll pay for additional security at your house and for your routes until this is resolved.”
“No.”
“It’s a business expense.”
“No.”
“Jolie.”
“I don’t accept gifts from clients.”
“It isn’t a gift. Someone targeted you because of my company.”
“Because of Galen.”
“To damage my property and blame my contractor.”
She opened her mouth.
Cullen continued.
“If an employee was threatened because of work here, Strickland would cover reasonable protection.”
“I’m not your employee.”
“Then invoice me.”
She glared.
He waited.
Finally, Jolie said, “Temporary.”
“Yes.”
“And I choose the company.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t send some giant man in a black SUV to sit outside Posie’s school.”
Cullen almost smiled.
“I was thinking discreet.”
“You own a cowboy-hat company. I’m not sure discreet is in the corporate vocabulary.”
Before he could answer, Ben called from the storage room.
“Cullen?”
They entered.
A metal lockbox sat open on the floor.
Inside were old keys.
Each had a paper tag.
Warehouse.
Basement.
Office two.
Display case.
One empty hook remained.
Its label read:
REAR MASTER — S3.
Cullen stared at it.
Then Jolie noticed something under the shelf.
A small brass key.
Ben picked it up using a tissue.
Stamped into the metal were two characters.
S3.
For one second, relief flashed across Cullen’s face.
Then he saw Jolie staring at the door.
“What?”
She pointed.
The dust beneath the lockbox had been disturbed.
Not months ago.
Recently.
A clear shoe print crossed the gray surface.
And beside it lay something that had not belonged to Carl Strickland.
A small strip of green fabric.
The same dark green used in Voss Building Services uniforms.
Someone had been inside the archive room.
Recently enough to leave fresh dust marks.
Which meant Galen Voss had not merely kept an old key.
May you like
Someone had come back into Strickland Hat Company after Carl Strickland died.
And whoever it was had known exactly where the old keys were stored.
Related Stories
