Part Two

Stuart sits at the kitchen table with a dumbfounded look on his face trying to figure out what the key could open. Does it go to a bank deposit box? Or a safe? Does Grandma have a secret? He places the key back into the jewelry box and locks it. Stuart finishes his dinner and puts his dishes into the dishwasher before heading upstairs. Throbbing pain rumble in his feet with each step he takes. In the morning, Stuart attended a webinar about what type of protocols to use when someone’s information has been explicitly stolen. After the webinar, he did his reports from an earlier investigation. Then, the murder on West Avenue happened.

It’s been a long day; I’m ready to take off my work clothes and put on cozy sweatpants, a muscle t-shirt, and crawl into bed. Stuart’s head hits the pillow, and a cold breeze scurries across his shoulders. Instantly, he reaches for his fluffy steel gray blanket that has his college’s mascot on it: Tim the beaver, the mascot of Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Stuart majored in computer science and minored in computer forensics. The hit television show CSI and his friend, Riley, inspired him to get into criminal investigations. He never pictured himself going to the police academy and taking a course at FBI headquarters to become a detective because of the way his grandmother left earth.

The blanket is up to Stuart’s neck, and he still feels chilly with goosebumps on his arms. All he wants to do is go to sleep. His eyes feel heavy. A whistling sound wakens Stuart shortly after he drifts off to sleep. His body jerks awake as the sound becomes louder. I guess I have to get out of my warm bed to see where that noise is coming from.

He throws the blanket off and swings his legs over to the edge of the bed. Stuart’s bedroom window is wide open. I don’t remember opening the window today. He gazes out the window looking at the stars twinkling in the clear night sky.

He crosses his arms and says, “It’s a chilly, cold night.”

Stuart closes the window instantaneously and jumps back into the bed. He fluffs his pillow and rolls over on his left side. Sweet harmonious music plays softly in his ears. He rolls over onto his back and blinks twice. An African American man is playing the trumpet, the smell of tobacco is in the air. Men and women are dancing on the ballroom floor. A woman wearing a champagne sequin fringe dress with a feather in her hair points her finger at me. Her eyes are blue, like the sea, and her facial features look very familiar. I think I’m dreaming about my grandma attending a party. I walk through the dancing people like I’m a ghost. She is dancing with gentlemen wearing a sharp suit like Mr. Jay Gatasy in the book written by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

She is holding something in her hand. What’s in your hand, grandma? Something shiny with a curvaceous top. “I see it, I see it,” Stuart shouted, and then the room went pitch black.

Grandma gave the key from the jewelry box to a man I have never seen before. What was the reason?

“Help me, Stuey,” a voice cried out!