Straps

She ran her finger along the frayed leather edge, wondering where it had come from. "What a strange thing for someone to have left and how did it get here?" she thought. The black notebook was in Cindi's office drawer, but she was certain she had not left it there before she left for vacation. Even more strange was that the drawer had been locked before she left. She distinctly remembered turning the key, of which Cindi had the only copy, and dropping her keyring in her purse, which had been with her the entire week.

The notebook was small, black, leather and had two of those straps and buckles, to hold it shut. The buckles had a small lock with a small keyhole, that indicated this may be someone's diary or contain private information. The age of the notebook appeared to be decades-old. The edge gilding on the pages was worn down as if the pages had been turned hundreds of times, leaving only remnants of its former glory. The binding was cracked and the natural brown coloring of the leather peered through the black pigmentation which covered the book.

Cindi went door to door to coworkers' offices, inquiring as to the origin of the notebook. One after another, here colleagues looked perplexed as to where this newly found object could have come from. One or two showed a bit of concern as to how something came to be found in a locked desk drawer in a locked office. Most people simply shrugged it off and said they did not know whose it was. Cindi even went as far as to email the night custodian, who also knew nothing of the notebook.

After no luck in finding whose notebook this was or from where it came, Cindi dropped it into her purse and went on with her day. After all, a week away from the office does not afford one much time to solve a small mystery on the first day back.

That evening at home, she took the notebook out and sat it on the table. Its presence made Cindi uneasy, knowing that someone had gotten into her office and desk and that no one claimed ownership. Maybe if she could get into the notebook, she could solve the mystery of its origins. "Maybe I can pick the lock," she thought. She pulled her phone out and did a search for a video on how to pick a lock. After watching two tutorials and now feeling strangely like a criminal, she said aloud, "Fuck it!" She went to the drawer and got a knife to cut the leather straps, which had so nicely secured the notebook's secrets until this point.

The pages inside the notebook were not as interesting as Cindi had hoped. There were notes inside, such as grocery and to-do lists. These were hardly secrets worth securing under lock and key. As she thumbed through, about thirty pages in, she opened to a surprise. The pages were hollowed out and inside were a stack of $500 bills. Cindi had not seen bills of that denomination in decades. When she had it was only once when she was a child, and her parents carried a couple of those large bills on a family vacation. She was not even sure bills of that size were being printed anymore. She sat down and counted them - forty in total. That added up to $20,000!

The next morning, Cindi got up early and took her treasure to the local police station. She picked up the phone to talk to the clerk behind the glass window, and explained what she had found. The clerk came out into the reception area and collected the notebook, now wrapped in a plastic grocery bag. The clerk said that the detective would get ahold of her later on.

The whole incident flooded Cindi's head with a myriad of unsettling thoughts. She still felt extremely uneasy about someone getting into her office and desk drawer while she was out of town. Her boss, after Cindi's questioning coworkers about the owner of the notebook, offered to rekey her office and desk. Cindi was glad to have that done. The money - in that denomination - also brought back memories of her parents. Years after that family trip, her parents had been in a car accident. Her dad died immediately; her mom passed a few days later. Having just returned from time away, the memories of that childhood family vacation began to haunt her, as she pictured the the portrait of President McKinley on the bills.

A few days later, Cindi's cell phone rang.

"Is this Cindy Schultz?"

"Yes, this is she." Cindi replied.

"This is Detective Largent. You left a book with some money in it a few days ago at the station."

"Yeah. Thanks for calling."

"Right. Well, I don't have much to tell you. The bills are pretty old. They're dated from the 1950's and early 60's. There were some fingerprints on them. Since this is a large amount of money, we ran them through an FBI database. The only match on them was yours."

"How do you--" Cindi stopped.

"Oh, that's right."

She remembered about ten years before, she had a background check for a job she applied for. They hired someone else with more experience, but they must keep those things on file forever, she thought.

"Anyway," continued the detective, "We really don't know whose this could be. How did you say you got it?"

"I came back from vacation a few days ago, and it was in my office desk drawer." She replied.

Detective Largent paused for a moment, and then asked, "Any idea who left it?"

"No, no idea." Cindi said, "I asked around my office and no one knew anything."

"Does anyone have access to your office?" he asked.

"Sure. The custodian, but I asked and he didn't know anything. My boss has a key to my office, but not my desk. I'm the only one with that key."

"Interesting. I see." The detective continued, "Did it look like there was any sign of forced entry? Was the keyhole scratched, or is there damage to the drawer?"

"I don't think so." She then looked down to see. "No. It doesn't look like it."

"Hey, how did the straps get cut?" He asked.

"Oh," Cindi stammered. "Sorry. I did that to get in."

"Right," he said, "You probably shouldn't have done that."

"Yeah, I didn't know."

"I understand. Don't worry too much about it."

"Thanks." She said.

"This is a really strange one, Ms. Schultz. Unless, someone reports something missing, I'm not sure I can do much more. Obviously, with this amount in cash, I'm inclined to suspect some criminal activity, but with the age of the bills -- I mean, they stopped printing these things in the sixties -- I can't imagine what." The detective paused again. "Are you sure you didn't leave anything unlocked?"

"Yeah. I'm sure! I remember locking up before leaving and dropping the keys in my purse."

"Hmm. That is strange."

"So, what happens now?" Cindi asked.

"Well, I'll run the serial numbers on the bills, but I can't imagine anything'll come of it."

"So, that's it? Does it just stay an open case?"

"Well," the detective answered, "Sort of. In all likelihood, if no one claims it and we can't connect the money or the notebook to any crime, you can have it back."

"I see." She said. "Well, thanks for letting me know."

"Absolutely," Detective Largent replied, "I'll be in touch."

Cindi did not feel good about the possiblity of some criminal stashing drug money or whatever it might be in her office. She felt even less at ease about how someone could have gotten in or why it was in her possession. Even though the idea of getting all that money back sounded good, the circumstances left her feeling a bit nauseous.

Six weeks went by and her phone rang again.

"Cindi Schultz?"

She recognized Detective Largent's voice.

"Yes, this is she. Is this the detective?"

"Yes. It is." He answered. "Well, I sort of have some news for you. Actually, I don't have any news. The serial numbers didn't match anything. No new matches on prints. The handwriting didn't match anything anyone could find. So, as far as I'm concerned, the case is closed, and you can have the book back - contents and all."

"I see." Cindi said, feeling overwhelmed by all kinds of emotions. She started thinking about what might happen if the owner now came looking for it. She started remembering how the bills brought back childhood memories. She wondered what she would do with the money. She didn't feel right about taking dirty money, but she supposed it was hers now.

"Thank you, detective." She said. "I'll come by after work and pick it up."

"Sounds good. I'll stick around a bit and you can collect it from my office. Just tell the receptionist you're here to see me."

"Thanks. I'll see you then." Cindi said.

That evening, she left a few minutes early, and went by the police station. She met with Detective Largent, and they chatted briefly for a few minutes. She collected a zipper bag with the notebook in it and went home.

As she sat at her kitchen table, Cindi opened the notebook. She thumbed through the pages, slowly looking at the notes, the grocery lists, and reminders. She got to the carved out pages, and there was the stack of old bills. All forty were there. Cindi looked a bit further in the notebook. On the last page, was a note, which said, "Enjoy dear." How odd, she thought. Maybe her head was spinning, but even the handwriting looked familiar, with the distintive slash to dot the j and the loops in the cursive. She decided the whole thing was too much to think about right now.

She closed the notebook, and for some reason began to think again about that childhood vacation with her parents. What would they think of her toting around all that cash? She remembered at that moment, she had a family photo from that trip in an album in the living room coffee table drawer. Cindi thought about it and decided to fetch the album. She turned the pages and found the picture of her and her older brother and parents, standing in front of the Ferris Wheel. She remembered that picture. Her dad grabbed a passerby to take it.

Cindi turned the page of the album and saw a picture she took of her mom on that same trip. Then, she noticed something in the picture on the hotel table behind her mom. There was a little black leather notebook, shut with two straps.