Chapter 10 - The Second Key That Was Never Recorded
Elena arrived at seven in the morning without calling first. Her trench coat was soaked through at the hem, and her hands were trembling so violently she nearly dropped her coffee cup onto the marble floor of the foyer.
"Where is Alexander?" Elena demanded, ignoring Evelyn’s outstretched hand.
"Upstairs getting Ethan ready for school," Evelyn answered, shutting the heavy front door against the gale. "Elena, what happened at the cemetery?"
Elena didn't answer immediately. She walked into the library, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, and stopped in front of the empty third shelf where Margaret’s blue train car stood. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small velvet pouch, dumping its contents onto the mahogany desk.
Two objects spilled out.
The first was an antique brass safe-deposit key stamped with the number *409*.
The second was a fresh, hand-delivered envelope addressed to *Alexander Whitmore, Esq.* in precise, calligraphic ink—the same handwriting that had governed every ledger in this house for forty years.
Alexander came down the spiral staircase, adjusting his cuffs. He stopped dead when he saw the key. "Where did you get that?"
"It was taped to Mother’s headstone," Elena said, her voice dropping into a ragged whisper. "Underneath a bouquet of white lilies. Not garden lilies, Alexander. Stargazer lilies. The ones she had flown in from the Netherlands every December."
Alexander stepped up to the desk, his jaw set so tightly the muscle twitched. "Someone is playing games. Margaret died in the county hospital. We signed the certificates. We watched the casket go into the ground."
"Then who paid the sexton?" Elena countered, pulling a folded receipt from her pocketbook. "I went to the groundskeeper's office before I drove here. A man came by yesterday afternoon in a black sedan. He paid cash for perpetual maintenance on the plot next to Mother’s—the plot reserved for the family crypt."
Evelyn walked over, picking up the envelope. The paper was heavy vellum. "Alexander, there’s writing on the back."
He took it from her. On the flap, scrawled in faded blue ink, were six words:
May you like
*You opened the box. Now pay.*
***
