Neither of us spoke.
I looked at the words again.
Ask Henry.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Matthew's.
My husband.
The man whose final request had shaped so much of our lives.
The man whose photograph still stood in our living room.
And now his handwriting was pointing directly toward the man sitting beside me.
Henry stared at the page.
“I don't know what that means.”
“Do you remember anything?”
“No.”
“Think.”
“I am.”
His voice was tense.
I watched his face.
He looked genuinely confused.
That should have comforted me.
Instead, it frightened me more.
Because if Henry didn't know why Matthew had written his name, then perhaps there was something Matthew had known that neither of us understood.
I called Eleanor.
She came downstairs slowly.
When she saw the notebook, she stopped.
“You found something.”
I nodded.
She read the two words.
Ask Henry.
Her face changed.
“You know what this means?”
“No.”
She looked at Henry.
Then at me.
“I remember Matthew asking me whether Henry had spoken to me.”
“When?”
“A few days before the accident.”
My heart raced.
“What did you tell him?”
“That Henry hadn't.”
“Why would he ask?”
“I don't know.”
Henry frowned.
“Did he say why?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Did Matthew ever contact you directly that week?”
Henry thought.
“I received one call.”
“When?”
“The night before the accident.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did he say?”
“He asked me whether I was home.”
“And?”
“I told him yes.”
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
“That's it?”
“He said he would call back.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I forgot.”
I almost reacted angrily.
Then I stopped.
People forgot things.
Especially after trauma.
But the pattern was becoming difficult to ignore.
Matthew had called Henry.
Matthew had written Henry's name.
Matthew had asked Eleanor about Henry.
And Henry had been the last person Matthew spoke to at the crash.
There was a connection.
We simply didn't know what it was.
Daniel arrived the next morning.
We showed him the notebook.
He photographed the page.
“Did Matthew often use symbols like this?”
“I don't know.”
Henry shook his head.
“Not that I remember.”
Daniel studied the entries.
“These marks may indicate something he was tracking.”
“What?”
“Could be people. Could be vehicles. Could be dates.”
I asked, “Can you determine whether the handwriting was written at the same time?”
“We can compare ink and pressure.”
He looked at Henry.
“You said Matthew called you the night before the accident?”
“Yes.”
“What did he sound like?”
“Concerned.”
“Afraid?”
“Maybe.”
“Did he mention anyone following him?”
“No.”
Daniel nodded.
“Then we'll need your phone records if they're available.”
Henry agreed.
The investigation became more concrete after that.
Records were requested.
Old company files were examined.
The vendor connected to the number was contacted.
The man Eleanor remembered was eventually identified.
His name was Martin Hale.
He had worked for the company that supplied equipment to Matthew's employer.
He had also spoken with Matthew several times during the months before the accident.
Daniel arranged an interview.
I did not expect Martin to come to our house.
But he did.
He was older than I imagined.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
A dark coat that looked too formal for the weather.
When he entered the living room, his eyes immediately went to Matthew's photograph.
He stopped.
“I haven't seen that face in years.”
My skin prickled.
“You knew my husband.”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
“Well enough to know he was worried.”
Henry stood beside me.
“What was he worried about?”
Martin looked at him.
“That's why I'm here.”
Daniel sat across from him.
“Tell us what you know.”
Martin took a breath.
“Matthew believed someone was using company information for personal gain.”
I frowned.
“What kind of information?”
“Contracts.”
“Money?”
“Potentially.”
Henry asked, “Was my name involved?”
Martin looked at him.
“No.”
Henry relaxed slightly.
“But Matthew was asking questions about you.”
My heart tightened.
“Why?”
“Because he trusted you.”
I stared at him.
Martin continued.
“He told me you were the one person outside his family he could rely on.”
I looked at Henry.
He looked stunned.
“Then why did Matthew write my name?”
Martin shrugged.
“I don't know.”
“Did he fear you?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Martin leaned back.
“He wanted you to know something.”
“What?”
“I never found out.”
The answer frustrated me.
“You're telling us my husband was investigating something, but you don't know what?”
“I know he was asking questions.”
“About whom?”
Martin hesitated.
Then he said, “About the driver.”
The room became silent.
“The truck driver?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Matthew had reason to believe the driver had been drinking before he left his route.”
I frowned.
“That doesn't make sense. He was drunk.”
“Exactly.”
“Then what did Matthew suspect?”
Martin looked at Daniel.
“He suspected someone had encouraged the driver to take that road.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“He thought the driver had been given an unusual delivery instruction.”
Henry stepped forward.
“By whom?”
Martin shook his head.
“Matthew never told me.”
“Then why say this now?”
“Because after the accident, I found something.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“What?”
“A copy of the delivery instruction.”
My heart raced.
“Do you have it?”
Martin nodded.
He reached inside his coat.
He placed a folded document on the table.
The paper was old.
Yellowed at the edges.
I looked at the writing.
Then at Henry.
“This is from the same company?”
Martin nodded.
“Look at the signature.”
Henry bent over the page.
His face went blank.
“What?”
He pointed.
“This isn't a company signature.”
Daniel examined it.
“Whose is it?”
Henry stared.
“I don't know.”
I looked at the signature.
The handwriting seemed vaguely familiar.
Then Eleanor entered the room.
She saw the paper.
Her face drained of color.
“No.”
I turned.
“What?”
She whispered, “That handwriting.”
She stepped closer.
“I know it.”
“Whose?”
Eleanor looked at me.
Then at Henry.
“It belonged to someone Matthew knew.”
“Who?”
She shook her head.
“I can't believe it.”
“Tell me.”
Her voice broke.
“Matthew's old business partner.”
Henry frowned.
“I thought he moved away.”
“He did.”
“When?”
“Two months before the accident.”
I looked at the document.
The signature suddenly felt heavier.
“Where is he now?”
Martin answered.
“No one knows.”
Daniel folded the document carefully.
“We need to find him.”
I looked at Henry.
He seemed shaken.
“Why didn't Matthew tell me?”
Eleanor answered quietly.
“Maybe he was trying to protect you.”
I remembered Matthew's final words.
Protect her.
Stay with her.
At the time, I had thought the promise concerned my grief.
Now I wondered whether it had also concerned something else.
Someone else.
A danger Matthew had seen coming.
That night, I could not sleep.
Henry sat beside the window.
I watched him.
“Do you think Matthew knew something was going to happen?”
Henry's eyes stayed on the darkness outside.
“I don't know.”
“Do you think he was trying to warn you?”
“I don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
I moved closer.
“Then what do you know?”
He turned toward me.
“I know I loved him.”
“I know.”
“I know he trusted me.”
“I know.”
“And I know that whatever he was investigating, he didn't tell me.”
I sat beside him.
“Maybe because he wanted you to protect me.”
Henry looked at me.
“Maybe.”
The baby stirred in the nursery.
We both heard the soft cry.
Henry stood.
“I'll get him.”
I watched him leave.
Then I looked at Matthew's photograph.
“Why did you write his name?”
The room gave me no answer.
But the question would not leave me.
The following morning, Daniel called.
They had located the old business partner.
He had been living in another city under a different name.
And he had agreed to speak.
