This time, they came without lights or sirens.
Diaz photographed the entryway while Mercer checked the windows and listened as Emma described what happened. She asked questions carefully, never suggesting that Emma was mistaken.
“Was the key warm or cold when you held it?” Mercer asked.
Emma frowned, thinking.
“Cold at first.”
“And before it disappeared?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you hear any sound?”
Emma closed her eyes.
“The curtain moved.”
We all looked toward the narrow window beside the door.
A linen curtain hung there, still now.
Mercer examined the frame.
“The window is locked,” she said.
Diaz crouched near the floor.
“There’s something under the cabinet.”
He reached beneath the narrow entry table and pulled out a folded white card using a gloved hand.
My name was written across the front.
Daniel.
The handwriting was not Claire’s.
Mercer opened it.
Inside was one sentence.
The key was never meant for the cabinet.
No signature. No explanation.
