occupied by servants and now considered an attic, used only for storage.
“No way,” she thought aloud. The elevator didn’t run to the third story, and the access from this floor had been blocked forever, the door locked securely.
Unless someone had a key. Or climbed up from the doorway off the pantry on the main floor.
Figuring she was about to follow another dead end, she found her way to the main staircase, hurried down, and slipped across the foyer and through the kitchen. Around the pantry, she walked to the old staircase that no one used, as it was as old as the house and needed to be replaced.
Tonight, though, Ava decided to mount the rickety stairs rather than face the basement again. She flipped on the light switch, but one of the bulbs was burned out, so the path up to the second story was dim. At the second floor, she ran her flashlight’s beam around the door that was locked from the outer hallway near one of the spare bedrooms. There was a flip switch on this side, similar to a dead bolt, and it worked easily, as if it had been recently oiled.
Odd.
And disturbing.
Sweeping the beam of the light over the stairs, she saw that the dust on each step was uneven and disturbed, that someone had used them recently.
She stared up the curving staircase and wondered if someone was still in the unused rooms. No better time to find out than right now. As quietly as she could, she hurried up the remainder of the flight, the beam of her flashlight catching in cobwebs and showing evidence of mice.
At a final curve, she found another door.
And it was locked, of course. Great. Now what? She tried the handle, but it wouldn’t move, and the hinges were on the inside, so removing them was out of the question. But there had to be a way.
When she was a kid, her grandmother had employed a full staff, and not only a governess but also two maids had lived in these quarters. The door, as she remembered it, had never been locked, and the only other access was the fire escape located on the back side of the house or . . . She looked around a curve, where the stairs narrowed noticeably and wound upward, to the roof. Carefully, she worked her way up the old stairs and saw that here, the dust hadn’t been disturbed, and the cobwebs were thicker as she made her way to the final door that led to the roof and the widow’s walk, upon which no one had trod for years.
Of course it was locked.
She pushed her shoulder hard against the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
Stymied, she ran her light around the casing, hoping to find a key tucked on the top of the door. No such luck. But someone had to get up there, on the roof, in case repairs needed to be made. Someone had to have a key. Same with the third floor. If there was a problem with water leaks or pests or whatever, someone in the house needed access. At one time, she’d had a key ring that held the keys to every room in the house, every outer doorway, even the outbuildings, but she hadn’t seen those keys since returning from St. Brendan’s. In fact, when she had used the car, Wyatt had given her his car key.
She’d asked about hers, and he’d smiled and said, “Of course you can have them when you’re better.”
At the time she’d been so fragile she hadn’t cared, but now things had changed. Convinced she wouldn’t find a hidden key anywhere on the staircase, she made her way back to Wyatt’s den and began the search. Some of the drawers in his desk were locked, and after rifling through the drawers and cubbies that were open, she found nothing that would help, not even a letter opener.
She was nervous, beginning to sweat at the thought that she’d be caught snooping through his office. How long had it been since he’d boated across the bay? Was he coming back tonight? Would he find her? There had to be an easier way.
Think, Ava, think! This is your house. You’ve lived here most of your life. You know its secrets. There can’t be just one set of keys. What if one got lost? Someone—a caretaker—had to have access to all the floors, to the damned roof—
The keys in the back hallway!
Hadn’t she seen them