Chapter 8 - THE BIRTHDAY KEY
Evelyn's seventy-second birthday had been four days earlier.
The same night she played the recorder.
The same night investigators came for Quentyn.
Coincidence again.
Evelyn no longer believed in it.
They searched everything connected to Thomas.
Old notebooks.
Safe deposit records.
Estate documents.
Personal letters.
Digital archives.
Nothing mentioned a birthday key.
Then Samuel remembered the watch.
Thomas had owned a gold Hamilton wristwatch.
It had belonged to his father.
After Thomas died, Evelyn stored it in a safe.
She rarely opened the safe because most of the contents were sentimental.
The watch sat inside its original leather case.
Evelyn held it carefully.
The back was engraved.
T.H.
1948.
Nothing unusual.
Samuel examined the case.
"There."
A small raised section in the velvet lining.
He pulled it loose.
Beneath it was a thin metal object.
A key.
No larger than a thumbnail.
Evelyn stared.
"That was here for twelve years."
Miriam photographed it.
Daniel examined it.
"Looks like a safe deposit key, but smaller."
On one side was engraved 072.
On the other:
E.H.
Evelyn's initials.
Her birthday.
Seventy-two.
Daniel said, "Could be symbolic."
Samuel shook his head.
"Thomas hated symbolism."
Evelyn smiled faintly.
"True."
The next clue came from Thomas's notebook.
A line they had overlooked:
72 reaches the place where 18 began.
Eighteen.
Thomas was eighteen when he met Evelyn.
They met at Briarwood Public Library.
Evelyn worked there during the summer before college.
Thomas came every afternoon pretending to study engineering manuals.
He later admitted he understood almost none of them.
He only wanted to see her.
The Briarwood library still existed.
At five the next afternoon, Evelyn entered with Samuel, Miriam, and Daniel.
The interior had been renovated, but the original basement remained.
Evelyn remembered an old wall of private research lockers once rented to local historians.
Most had been removed.
Six remained.
Locker 72 existed.
Daniel looked at Evelyn.
"That's promising."
The small metal key fit.
Inside was nothing.
Samuel muttered, "Damn."
Evelyn reached into the compartment.
Her fingers touched paper taped beneath the top panel.
She removed an envelope.
Her name was written in Thomas's handwriting.
Evelyn.
She sat.
For several seconds she could not open it.
Twelve years disappeared.
She could almost smell Thomas's aftershave.
Hear his laugh.
Feel his hand.
Samuel touched her shoulder.
"You don't have to do it here."
"Yes, I do."
She opened the envelope.
Inside was one page.
Ev,
If you're reading this, I failed to stop something before it reached you.
I hope I'm being paranoid.
I hope you turn seventy-two, find this little puzzle, laugh at how dramatic I became, and go home irritated with me.
But if Q is still around, do not trust him.
More importantly, do not assume he works alone.
Diane knows part of the truth.
Claire knows another part.
Samuel knows less than he thinks, which is exactly how I wanted it.
The files are not here.
The key is not really a key.
It is a number.
72.
Three digits.
Three places.
Begin where we began.
End where we promised never to return.
Do not tell Livia until you know which side she chose.
I love our daughter.
But love should not make you blind.
Forgive me for writing that.
And forgive me for leaving you this burden.
T.
Evelyn read the letter twice.
Then handed it to Samuel.
"Which side she chose," he whispered.
Thomas had suspected Livia twelve years ago.
Evelyn felt physically ill.
Miriam focused on the clue.
"Three digits. Three places."
Daniel looked around.
"First place is the library."
"Where did you promise never to return?" Samuel asked.
Evelyn knew immediately.
"The lake house."
Thomas and Evelyn had once owned a small lake property two hours north.
Twenty-two years earlier, their ten-year-old nephew drowned there during a family reunion.
They sold the property months later.
Evelyn never returned.
Neither did Thomas.
The current owner was an architect named Benjamin Lane.
When Miriam called and explained that Evelyn wanted to visit the property for a personal matter, he agreed.
They arrived the next morning.
The house had been renovated.
But the old boathouse remained.
Evelyn stood near the water feeling twenty-two years of grief return.
"Three places," Miriam said.
"Library. Lake house. And something between."
Samuel read the letter again.
"Begin where we began. End where we promised never to return."
Evelyn looked across the lake.
"Where did Thomas propose?"
Samuel asked.
She smiled faintly.
"The train station."
Three places.
Library.
Train station.
Lake house.
72.
At the Briarwood station, locker zero existed in the old luggage-storage section.
Inside, they found a brass token engraved 7.
At the lake house boathouse, behind a loose wooden beam, Daniel found a small waterproof cylinder containing a token engraved 2.
Zero.
Seven.
Two.
72.
The tokens fit together into a narrow metal strip.
On the back was an address.
318 Wellington Avenue.
Evelyn knew the address.
Harper Agricultural Systems had maintained a small legal office there decades earlier.
The building now housed private offices.
Suite 072 was listed as vacant.
Miriam obtained access from the property manager.
Inside was a single desk.
No computer.
No files.
No furniture beyond one chair.
On the desk sat a sealed black box.
Evelyn approached.
The box required three number combinations.
0.
1.
2.
It opened.
Inside were six hard drives.
A handwritten ledger.
Three sealed envelopes.
And a photograph.
The photograph showed Thomas.
Diane Mercer.
Claire Bennett.
And another person.
A younger Quentyn Harper.
They were standing together.
Smiling.
The date printed on the back was sixteen years earlier.
Four years before Thomas died.
Evelyn turned it over.
Thomas had written one sentence.
The first time he lied to me.
Then the lights went out.
Daniel shouted, "Nobody move."
A crash came from the hallway.
Samuel cursed.
Miriam grabbed Evelyn's arm.
Emergency lights flickered on.
The black box was still on the desk.
Daniel moved toward the door.
Someone ran down the stairwell.
Police later found a side entrance forced open.
May you like
Nothing had been taken.
Except one of the six hard drives.
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