The attic has never been locked. Never!
At least I know what the key looks like. It’s one of those old, heavy ones that was probably an original part of this old house. It used to hang on a nail by the attic door, but disappeared a long time ago. I just thought it had been lost.
Clearly it wasn’t or the door wouldn’t be locked now.
The first place I looked was in Mom and Dad’s room. I know I’m not supposed to go through their things, but I don’t care. All I’ve been able to think about are those letters and that pink box. What else did Kelsey write to Brandy?
Who the hell is Brandy? If I keep reading, I know I’ll find out.
The key is not in their room. It’s not in Mom’s jewelry boxes or in Dad’s box of stuff. I even looked inside the little safe where Dad keeps his guns. Dad taught me how to shoot a long time ago. I don’t like guns, not at all, but since I’m old enough to know how to shoot, and respect them, I’m old enough to know the combination to the safe.
The key isn’t in the second safe either. The one where Mom keeps important papers like birth certificates, deeds, titles, passports and stuff like that.
I’ve looked through every single drawer and cabinet in this house, and it isn’t anywhere.
Mom wouldn’t put a clunking thing like that on her key ring, but she may have put it in her purse. If she did that, I’ll never be able to get the key and get into the attic. I might be brave but not enough to sneak something out of her purse.
Maybe I’m making this too hard. Just because she locked the door, doesn’t mean she hid the key away.
I sit on a stool in the kitchen and look everywhere. Where haven’t I searched?
“The basement.”
I can’t imagine it would be down there somewhere, but it’s worth a shot. I’ve got to find that key.
There’s a lot of crap in the laundry room, but no key. Mom really should clean up this room. There’s cleaning stuff in the back of some of the cabinets that may be older than me. An iron that’s started to rust and a sack full of rags. Nobody needs that many rags. But, I’m not cleaning this room since top to bottom does not include attic and basement.
The last place not searched is Dad’s workspace. His domain. The place he likes to tinker when he has nothing else to do. The tools that are off limits to everyone in the family.
With slow steps I approach. As long as I don’t move anything, I won’t get in trouble. Actually, moving the stuff isn’t the problem. It’s the taking and not returning that he gets upset with, like the hammer when Brisa was hanging pictures in her room. Or the drill when Cheng was helping out with the set for a play at high school. It wasn’t so much that he took it without permission, but that he forgot to bring it back. They never did find it, and Cheng’s allowance was cut until he’d paid for a replacement drill. That took like a year.
Well, since I have no intention of moving or taking anything, I should be good.
I study all the pegs on the wall, but no key is hanging from any of them.
It’s not on the workbench or in any of the cans of nails or screws.
Taking a deep breath and muttering a prayer, I open one of the two drawers, then blow out a disappointing breath. Just paper, pens and pencils.
I open the second drawer, almost afraid to look because this is the very last place it could be in the house. I squint my eyes close, pull open the drawer, take a deep breath and look down.
“Yes!” I scream and grab the key before I rush up the stairs and into the kitchen.
I hear the front door open and my heart races with panic. Slipping the key into the front pocket of my jeans, I pray the shirt is long enough to cover it and nobody will notice it’s there.
“Kelsey?” Mom calls.
Is she going to be constantly checking up on me? I grab an apple and take a bite. “In here.” I call as I walk into the dining room that leads to the living room. “What’s wrong?”
“Spilled coffee all over my shirt.” She gestures to the brown stain on her white blouse. “I have a meeting with some important clients in about an hour and can’t go like this,” she says as she heads up the stairs.
So far, so good. At least she didn’t come home a few minutes earlier or I would have been screwed.
She takes her blouse off and tosses it to me. “Take that to the laundry room, put stain remover on it and let it soak in the sink, okay?”
“Sure.” I’ll do anything she asks as long as she leaves, and soon.
By the time I come back upstairs, she’s changed and is standing in the kitchen.
My heart is beating against my ribs so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t hear it. That key is in my pocket. I know I’m not supposed to have it, and I’m scared she’s going to see right through me and just know. “Need anything else?”
Mom frowns and opens the freezer. “I forgot to take something out for supper.” She grabs ground beef and tosses it in the sink. “I’ll figure out what to do with it when I get home.”
I just nod. Food is the last thing on my mind. I barely choked down that apple when I was in the basement. I only grabbed it to cover my reason for being in the kitchen so she wouldn’t know I was in the basement.
“Well, have a good day,” she says and heads for the door.
“Doing
