Chapter 5 - The Name No One Said Out Loud
214 Wexler Street had been abandoned for twelve years.
At least officially.
Saraphene remembered it differently.
She remembered the scent of machine oil and coffee.
Dozens of clocks ticking out of rhythm.
Her grandfather humming while he worked.
The brass bell above the front door.
Now the windows were dark.
The old WINTERS CLOCK REPAIR sign had been removed, leaving only pale rectangles in the brick where screws once held it.
Selian’s SUV stopped half a block away.
Saraphene reached for the door.
Selian caught her wrist.
She looked down.
He released her immediately.
“Sorry.”
The apology came without hesitation.
She noticed that.
“Then don't do it again.”
“I won't.”
He nodded toward the building.
“We don’t know how many people are inside.”
“You promised police.”
“They’re two minutes behind us.”
“And yet we're already here.”
“Because Morrison may leave.”
Saraphene studied him.
“You’re terrible at ‘legally as possible.’”
“I’m improving.”
Adrian, sitting in front, made a noise suspiciously close to a laugh.
Police arrived before anyone entered.
That fact mattered to Saraphene.
Two detectives from the stalking case joined them.
Detective Lila Ramirez had dealt with Trent before and appeared distinctly unhappy to learn his name was connected to another investigation.
“You stay outside,” Ramirez told Saraphene.
She looked at Selian.
“See? That's how you give a reasonable instruction.”
His expression remained perfectly serious.
“I'm learning.”
Officers entered the building.
No Trent.
No Victor.
Only a chair positioned in the center of the former repair shop.
On it sat the stolen music box.
Saraphene saw it through the doorway.
“That's mine.”
Ramirez stopped her.
“We'll process it first.”
An officer photographed the box.
No explosives.
No visible traps.
Finally, wearing gloves, Ramirez opened it.
A delicate melody filled the abandoned shop.
Saraphene had heard it hundreds of times.
Tonight it sounded sinister.
The tiny brass key was gone.
Inside the box rested a folded piece of paper.
Ramirez removed it.
One sentence.
ASK HER WHAT HER GRANDFATHER CALLED THE KING.
Saraphene stared.
“The king?”
Selian looked at her.
“Does that mean anything?”
“No.”
She walked slowly through the shop after police cleared it.
Most original fixtures had been removed.
But the back wall still carried scratches where her grandfather’s enormous workbench once stood.
She could almost see him there.
Joseph Winters.
White hair.
Thick glasses.
Always telling her never to throw away anything mechanical before understanding why it had stopped.
The king.
She closed her eyes.
Grandfather loved chess.
He kept a board beneath the counter.
Customers played while waiting.
He had carved his own pieces.
One king had a crack through its base.
Saraphene’s eyes opened.
“The chessboard.”
Selian stepped closer.
“What about it?”
“My grandfather had a carved chess set.”
“Where is it?”
“My mother kept some of his things after the shop closed.”
“Where?”
Saraphene’s heart sank.
“Storage.”
Twenty minutes later, they were driving toward a storage facility in Northbridge.
Ramirez followed.
The unit had not been opened for years.
Saraphene found the chessboard beneath boxes of old records.
The pieces were wrapped individually.
She unwrapped the white king.
Cracked base.
Exactly as she remembered.
Her fingers trembled.
“Grandpa always called this one ‘the king who limps.’”
Selian took a flashlight.
“There’s a seam.”
Ramirez photographed it.
Then Saraphene carefully twisted the bottom.
A compartment opened.
Inside was a tiny brass key.
No one spoke.
The second key.
Saraphene sat back on her heels.
“All this time.”
Selian crouched beside her.
“You couldn't have known.”
“Trent did.”
“Not exactly. He knew a second key existed.”
“What does it open?”
The music box had contained the first key, now missing.
Second key hidden inside the chess piece.
Two keys.
Saraphene looked around the storage unit.
Her grandfather had owned hundreds of clocks.
Then she remembered his largest piece.
A nineteenth-century French longcase clock.
It had never been sold.
“There's another unit.”
Ramirez raised an eyebrow.
“Another?”
“My mother couldn't afford this one originally, so we split the storage. Larger furniture went somewhere else.”
“Where?”
Saraphene checked old paperwork.
The second facility was forty minutes away.
When they arrived, the lock had been cut.
Ramirez drew her weapon.
Selian moved in front of Saraphene without touching her.
Police cleared the unit.
Someone had beaten them there.
Furniture overturned.
Boxes opened.
At the back stood the old longcase clock.
Its wooden door hung open.
The clock face had been removed.
Behind it was a metal panel with two keyholes.
One already scratched from attempts to force it.
The second untouched.
Saraphene held up the brass key.
Selian looked at Ramirez.
The detective nodded.
“Everything documented.”
Saraphene inserted the key.
Turned.
Click.
Nothing else happened.
“One key isn't enough,” Selian said.
“The first key.”
“Which Morrison has.”
Ramirez swore quietly.
Saraphene touched the metal panel.
“We need both at the same time.”
Selian examined the mechanism.
“Likely.”
“So Trent needs me.”
“No,” Selian said. “He needs your key.”
“That hasn’t stopped him treating those things like they're the same.”
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
This time Saraphene did not flinch.
She showed Ramirez before opening it.
A message.
YOU FOUND THE KING.
Then:
MIDNIGHT TOMORROW. COME ALONE WITH THE KEY.
A photograph followed.
Saraphene's mother leaving a grocery store that afternoon.
Her stomach collapsed.
“No.”
She called immediately.
Her mother answered on the second ring.
“Sara?”
“Mom, where are you?”
“At home. Why?”
“Lock the doors.”
“What happened?”
“Just do it.”
Selian was already speaking quietly to Adrian.
“Get a team there.”
Saraphene grabbed his sleeve.
“You said you're going legitimate.”
“Security team.”
“Good.”
He looked almost offended.
“I do know the difference.”
Saraphene returned to her mother.
“Mom, someone is coming to stay with you tonight.”
“What are you talking about?”
Saraphene closed her eyes.
How could she explain three years of hidden financial evidence, a missing man and a key concealed inside her grandfather’s chess piece?
“Grandpa left something behind.”
Her mother went quiet.
“What?”
“A key.”
Long silence.
Then her mother whispered, “Oh, God.”
Saraphene’s eyes opened.
“You know about it.”
“Sara—”
“You know.”
Her mother began crying.
Selian looked toward her.
Saraphene placed the call on speaker.
“What did Grandpa hide?”
Her mother's voice shook.
“He made me promise never to tell you.”
“Tell me now.”
“He said a young man named Elias came to him because he trusted him.”
Selian closed his eyes.
“Elias Ashford?” Saraphene asked.
“Yes.”
Selian turned away.
Saraphene continued.
“What did Elias give Grandpa?”
“A book.”
“A ledger?”
“I think so.”
“What happened to Elias?”
“I don't know. But your grandfather was terrified after he disappeared.”
“Why hide the keys with me?”
“He didn't.”
Saraphene frowned.
“What?”
“The music box wasn't Trent's.”
The storage unit became silent.
Her mother continued.
“That music box belonged to your grandfather. He asked me to give it to you if anyone ever started asking questions about Elias.”
Saraphene felt the floor fall away again.
“Trent told me it was from his grandmother.”
“He lied.”
Of course.
Again.
Always.
“Mom, why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't know Trent had taken it. It disappeared from my house years ago.”
Selian stepped closer.
“When?” he asked.
Saraphene’s mother heard the unfamiliar male voice.
“Who is that?”
“My name is Selian Ashford.”
Silence.
Then a gasp.
“Elias's brother?”
Selian’s control vanished for half a heartbeat.
“You knew Elias?”
“I met him once.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He said if anything happened to him, Joseph Winters would know what to do.”
Selian gripped the back of a chair.
Saraphene watched him.
Her mother began to cry harder.
“There is something else.”
“What?” Saraphene asked.
“Your grandfather told me the ledger wasn't only about money.”
Selian went still.
“What else was in it?” he asked.
“A list of people.”
“What people?”
Her mother whispered the next words.
“People responsible for Elias disappearing.”
Then the storage facility lights went out.
Darkness swallowed them.
A second later, a metal door slammed shut somewhere outside.
And from the far end of the corridor came a familiar voice.
Trent.
“Saraphene?”
She froze.
His footsteps moved closer.
“I know you're in there.”
Selian stepped between her and the entrance.
This time she didn't object.
Trent laughed softly from the darkness.
“You really shouldn't have brought Ashford.”
Selian's voice turned cold.
“You really shouldn't have followed her.”
Trent stopped laughing.
Then he said the one name that made Selian’s expression change completely.
“Elias begged too.”
Saraphene saw Selian move.
She grabbed his hand.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“That's what he wants.”
For several seconds neither man spoke.
Then police sirens sounded outside.
Trent's footsteps retreated.
Ramirez shouted orders.
A side door crashed open.
By the time power returned, Trent was gone.
But on the floor where he had stood lay the first brass key.
Beside it was a note.
NOW YOU HAVE BOTH. OPEN IT FOR ME.
Selian stared at the key.
Saraphene stared at the clock.
And suddenly they understood.
Trent had never needed to steal the second key.
He needed Saraphene and Selian to solve the hiding place for him.
May you like
They had just done exactly what he wanted.
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