Chapter 5 - THE HIDDEN KEY
Elaine made it six steps before a bailiff stopped her.
The emerald necklace broke in her hand.
Green stones scattered across the courtroom floor.
One bounced beneath my table.
Another rolled toward the judge.
Elaine stared down at them like pieces of a body.
“Don’t touch them!”
Too late.
The bailiff had already picked one up.
I crouched and reached under the table for the stone near my shoe.
That was when I noticed something strange.
It was too light.
Not the stone.
The gold setting.
There was a tiny seam along the back.
I turned it over.
A hidden compartment clicked open.
Inside was a key.
Tiny.
Brass.
Elaine went white.
I looked at her.
“You knew.”
“No.”
“You knew that was in there.”
“No!”
Lucas stepped forward.
“Mom, stop talking.”
The judge ordered everyone back to their seats.
The key was entered into evidence.
Elaine’s attorney requested a private conference.
Denied.
The judge ordered the entire jewelry collection secured until ownership could be determined.
Elaine looked ready to explode.
Outside court, Samuel pulled me aside.
“Margaret designed that necklace herself.”
“You knew there was a key?”
“No.”
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
“Safe deposit box?”
“Maybe.”
I stared through the glass courthouse doors at Elaine.
She was shouting at Lucas.
Vance stood between them.
Lucas looked more afraid than angry now.
“Samuel.”
“Yes?”
“Why would Elaine run over a necklace unless she knew what was inside?”
He didn’t have an answer.
That afternoon, Detective Harris called.
The photo of Dad’s safe had been sent through an encrypted messaging service.
No easy trace.
But the court case had changed his interest.
Especially the forged trust document.
He agreed to review Dad’s death file.
“Official cause was cardiac arrest,” Harris said.
“Was there an autopsy?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He had a documented heart condition. His wife reported the death. Paramedics found no obvious trauma.”
“Who was home?”
“Elaine.”
“Lucas?”
“The report says he arrived later.”
My stomach tightened.
“What time?”
“Twelve fourteen a.m.”
The photograph had been taken at 11:42.
I emailed Harris the reflection of the silver watch.
Then I went home.
My apartment door was unlocked.
I stopped three feet away.
I never left it unlocked.
I called 911.
Police arrived twelve minutes later.
Nothing valuable was missing.
Laptop still there.
Television.
Jewelry.
Cash in a kitchen drawer.
But my bedroom had been searched.
Not destroyed.
Searched.
Closet boxes opened.
Desk drawers moved.
Mattress lifted.
The brown folder was still with me.
So was Dad’s envelope.
But someone had found an old framed photograph of my mother.
They had placed it facedown on my pillow.
Underneath it was another message.
This one handwritten.
THE KEY DOESN’T OPEN A BOX.
I stared at the note.
Detective Harris bagged it.
“Someone wants your attention.”
“Yeah.”
“Any idea what the key opens?”
“No.”
That night, I didn’t sleep.
At three in the morning, I took out the only photograph I still had of Mom wearing the emerald necklace.
Christmas.
I was ten.
Dad was beside her.
Behind them stood our old house.
Then I noticed something.
Mom was touching the necklace.
And with her other hand, she was pointing toward something behind the photographer.
I zoomed in.
Barely visible through the window was a small structure at the back of our property.
A garden cottage.
Mom’s studio.
After she died, Dad locked it.
Elaine told me there was mold inside.
Eventually, the building disappeared from the property.
Or so I thought.
At seven a.m., I called the county records office.
The cottage hadn’t been demolished.
It had been moved.
A preservation permit showed Dad relocated it to one of my mother’s original properties outside Boulder.
Samuel answered my call immediately.
“Do you know the old Mercer property?”
Long pause.
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Your mother’s first inheritance.”
“Is the cottage there?”
Another pause.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Don’t go alone.”
That was all I needed to hear.
By nine thirty, I was driving toward Boulder.
When I arrived, the gate was already open.
May you like
And parked beside my mother’s old cottage was Lucas’s black Range Rover.
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