“My husband died three years ago,” I added.
The woman stood.
“Wait here.”
When she returned, she carried an old clipboard.
“My name is Marcy,” she said. “Three weeks ago, someone rented one of our freezer units for private storage. Paid cash. Short term. Yesterday, he added an overnight delivery.”
“Who?”
She turned the form toward me.
The name written on the contract was:
DANIEL.
My throat tightened.
“That’s impossible.”
“That’s the name he used,” Marcy said. “Older man. Worn coat. Nervous. He kept asking whether the freezer temperature stayed constant.”
“Did he show identification?”
“He said the information matched an old storage account his brother used to manage. I shouldn’t have accepted it.”
“Why Daniel’s name?”
Marcy hesitated.
“He said something strange.”
“What?”
“If she comes looking, she needs to know it’s connected to him.”
That was the first moment I stopped feeling threatened.
