It turned with a heavy, metallic click.

I pushed the door open.

The hinges groaned softly in the quiet house.

The room smelled of stale coffee, leather polish, and old paper.

A pale bar of afternoon sunlight cut through the wooden blinds, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, letting the lock click back into place.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I walked over to Richard’s large mahogany desk.

Everything was in its place, just as he always kept it.

A neat stack of folders rested beside his laptop, and a brass pen holder stood perfectly centered on the leather blotter.

I sat down in his leather chair.

It was still slightly warm, or perhaps that was just my imagination.

I tugged on the top desk drawer.

It was locked.

I looked at the brass key in my hand, but it was too large for the small lock on the drawer.

I began to search the other drawers that were unlocked.

Paperclips, spare notebooks, and receipts for oil changes filled the middle drawer.