Chapter 4 - The Key in the HearthI froze as footsteps echoed from the upper landing. Heavy, slow, and unmistakable.
Uncle Richard.
He must have stayed over to help oversee the liquidators. A floorboard groaned directly above the study. I scrambled backward into the shadows of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, clutching Julian’s stolen folder to my chest.
‘Who’s down there?’ a gruff voice called out from the dark hallway.
A shaft of yellow light cut across the doorway as the overhead hall switch clicked. Uncle Richard stood in the doorway, wearing a flannel bathrobe, squinting into the gloom with a heavy brass poker in his hand.
‘Brenda? Is that you eating cereal again?’ he muttered.
I didn't breathe. I pressed myself flat against the mahogany shelves, praying that the dark shadows of the alcove would swallow me whole. Richard took two heavy steps into the study, his eyes scanning the room. He spotted the open briefcase on the floor.
His brow furrowed. He bent down, picked up the stray papers left scattered on the rug, and cursed under his breath.
‘Julian, you sloppy idiot,’ Richard mumbled, shaking his head. He shoved the papers back into the case, closed the brass latches, and turned around, walking back out into the hall without ever glancing toward my hiding spot.
The front door clicked shut as he returned to the guest room upstairs.
I waited five agonizing minutes, letting the silence settle back over the house. When my pulse finally slowed down, I remembered the marble fireplace in the living room—the very place where I had stood during the funeral while Brenda delivered her ultimatum.
Grandma Shirley had always told me, ‘Never hide anything where a thief looks first. Hide it where a child plays.’
When I was seven, I used to sit inside the cold hearth during summer months, reading comic books by the dim light filtering down the chimney flue. I dropped to my hands and knees on the soot-stained bricks, reached my hand up along the inner iron mantle ledge, and felt around the rough stone mortar.
My fingertips grazed something cold and metallic.
May you like
A small, notched safe-deposit box key, tied to a faded blue ribbon embroidered with my initials: N.V.
I pulled it down into my palm, tears finally breaking free, hot and silent down my cheeks. Grandma hadn't just trusted me with a memory; she had left me the keys to the entire kingdom.
