The Keyholder by Claire Thompson Page B

Jack said. “It’s definitely worth a shot.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and held it up. “You guys both have your phones?”
    Charles nodded, patting his pocket. “Mine’s still in the harem room. I’ll get it,” Nora said, glancing at Charles, who nodded. As Nora dashed from the room, Jack continued, “I’ll make myself scarce up here while you guys go downstairs. You can tell him I already went home if he asks. All the other keyholders have already left for the night, am I right?”
    “Yeah,” Charles confirmed.
    “Text me once he’s down there, and I’ll run up to the third floor,” Jack said. “Keep him down here as long as you can. If I find something or”—he swallowed, the seriousness of what they might be facing finally hitting home—”someone, I’ll text you right away.”
    Nora returned, and the two of them moved quietly down the hallway to the stairs, while Jack went to the harem room, which was farthest away from the stairway.
    It seemed like an hour, but was probably more like two minutes when he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, first overhead, and then as Phillip descended the flight to the first floor. Another hour passed, or maybe it was another two minutes, and Jack’s phone buzzed in his hand.
    “Go for it,” the screen said. Adrenaline kicking in, Jack sprinted for the stairs and took them two at a time. He stood on the third floor landing a moment, getting his bearings. There were three doors along a long, narrow hallway. He moved to the closest and turned the knob. Reaching inside the doorframe, he felt for a light switch. After a moment his fingers found not a regular switch, but a sort of button. This must be one of those old-fashioned switches, he realized, and he pushed it inward.
    The room was illuminated by a single overhead light. It was a storage room, filled with stacked boxes, rolled up rugs and what looked like a large chandelier set on its side on the floorboards, the crystals coated with a fine film of dust. He entered the room, feeling ridiculous as he softly called, “Hello? Is someone in here?” He froze as he heard a small scrabbling sound, but realized after a moment it must just be a mouse in the walls. He poked around among the boxes until he was satisfied no one but himself was in there. Turning off the light, he left the room, closing the door again behind him.
    The next door along the hallway was ajar, the light on. As Jack stepped cautiously in, he saw this must be the caretaker’s living quarters. The room was unexpectedly large. One half contained a king-size bed with a massive wooden headboard, along with a bureau and an armoire. The bed was unmade; the covers appeared to be hastily thrown back. Across the room was an old stone fireplace, which must share the same chimney as the fireplace in the harem room. Two armchairs were set in front of it, a table between them with some books piled on it.
    Again feeling slightly ridiculous as he entered the room, Jack called out softly, “Hello? Anyone in here? Are you okay?”
    Silence.
    He moved quietly but quickly through the room, peeking under the bed, opening the armoire and looking into the attached bathroom, even pulling back the shower curtain that ran the perimeter of an old-fashioned freestanding bathtub.
    Nothing.
    Back in the bedroom, his eye was caught by the cover of the topmost book on the fireside table. It was a glossy mass-market paperback with the title How to Train Any Woman for Complete and Total Submission by Master Blake . There was a photograph of a kneeling woman on the cover, arms behind her back, her body crisscrossed with both faint and fresh welts. Jack drew in his breath as he stared at the photo. Rather than finding it erotic, he found the image very disturbing. The young woman’s head was shaved bald, and her dark eyes, which appeared too large for her thin face, seemed to beseech the viewer, her expression at once one of pleading and