Citrus and Skeleton Keys

“Damn shame. They were so young,” Aunt Clara frowned, clearing a plastic covering from the dining set before sitting down, “everything you will need is here. I know it’s dusty, but we’ve done our best to keep the house ready for you. Uncle Art will be over in the morning to get the car ready, and to help with any mechanical repairs needed for the car or the appliances.” She opened her purse and pulled out a packet, motioning for me to come sit at the table. “This pouch has the deed, titles, copies of their wills, death certificates, and all the court documents that transfer their estate to you; all this is yours, now that you’re eighteen. Keep it in a safe place.” She reached into her purse, retrieving a second packet, and as soon as she handed it to me, I dumped it out onto the table before me. Keys, a locket, a wallet, a small purse, a pocket knife, a watch, and 3 golden rings tied together with a ribbon tumbled out. “Oh Rommie, I never saw your mother without that locket on,” She picked up the locket and opened it, exposing a picture of me as a toddling on one side, an etching of a constellation on the other. “I remember the day you came to me, those tiny ringlets, your chubby cheeks, you were just so adorable! Now look at you, all grown up. Rommie, are you sure you don’t want me to take the day off to help? All this has got to be so overwhelming, there’s just so much to be done here,” she paused as I held up my hand.

“Auntie, I promise I’ll be fine. I was 3 when they died, I really don’t remember much about them. It’ll be an adventure to explore the house and see what all is here.” I picked up the purse and opened it, turned it upside down, spilling the contents on the counter. Old lipstick, a checkbook, a leather wallet, and a set of keys tumbled out, but the purse felt a little awkward, as if there was still something in it. Upon closer inspection, I found a skeleton key tucked away in a little pocket, hidden next to a seam. Holding up the key, I gestured behind me, “It’s anyone’s guess as to how long it’ll take me to figure out what this goes to, unless you have an idea?”

“Hmm, I’ve never seen this before. Your father built this house, it could honestly go to anything. I have no idea, but now I’m really curious—let me know if you find it.” She looked down at her watch, “I have to leave for work, call me or Art if you need anything, okay?” She stood up, kissed my forehead, and walked to the door. “I left some household supplies for you in the garage.” She stalled another moment, “I mean it Rommie, call me if you need anything.” I waved her off, and she left.

I picked up the skeleton key, putting it in my pocket, nestled the rest of the items into mom’s purse, and got up to explore the house. I started by pulling the drop cloth from the kitchen island, citrus permeating the air. I remember very little of her, but the one vivid memory I have of my mother is that she loved citrus. Oranges, tangerines, mandarins, lemons and grapefruit were always readily available in this basket she kept on the kitchen island. Even now, though the basket now sits empty on a shelf, the scent of fresh citrus wafts up from the wood counter. I looked around the kitchen, discovering 15-year-old canned food, various appliances, china, flatware, and cutlery.

I walked through the living room, removing drop cloth and plastic sheeting from the furniture and fireplace, pulling towels off the photos and paintings on the walls. I bundled up the plastic, putting it in a garbage bag, and folded the drop cloths, leaving a pile of them next to the garage door. They’ve got to be good for something, right?

I walked into the den, pulling cloths off all the furnishings in the room. The more I uncovered, the more the room smelled of citrus. The desk was exquisite--cherry, maple and some sort of purple wood were inlaid into walnut, creating intricate vine-like patterns along the edges of the desktop and legs--the tables to either side of the small leather couch were inlaid to match. I sat down at the desk, taking in the room once I had removed all the coverings. Shelves were built into the far wall; the fireplace was surrounded by natural granite, edged on both sides with bookshelves, and the mantlepiece was a solid slab of granite. I slid open the center drawer, it had pens, pencils, an eraser, and stacks of matched stationery. In the bottom drawer to the right, folders and packets- mostly bills that have long since been paid. In the drawer to the left there was a stuffed bear, but the drawer should have been deeper. The back moves. It took me several minutes of futzing about to figure out there was a catch under the drawer. Once I pushed the catch back, the drawer slid easily open, revealing an ornate wooden box. I picked up the box, it was smooth, shiny, and inlaid with the same accents the desk and tables, and had an opening for a skeleton key!

I retrieved the key from my pocket, and unlocked the box. Inside it was a small, black, leather-bound book, a picture of my parents on their wedding day, and 2 more skeleton keys, both slightly different from the first. I put the keys in my pocket, and opened the book. Inside the cover was an inscription from my father to my mother.

“My Dearest Stella,

Today you make me the happiest man alive. I promise to build the most beautiful home and fill it with the most beautiful furniture, for my gorgeous wife and our beautiful future children. As you and I create our family, I hope you continue creating wonders, and that just maybe this book will help you to do so.

With Love,

Jack”

As I flipped through the pages, there were diagrams of furniture, schematics for things I didn’t really know what I was looking at, and pencil sketches of my father and I. There were leaves and flowers pressed between some of the pages, and between others there were random paper currencies from around the world. I got to a page that looked much like the room I’m sitting in, but there was a third door. Looking at the next few pages, and looking around the room, I realized it wasn’t a door—one of the bookshelves hides a passage. I flipped back and forth, studying the pages. The pencil had smudged, making some of it hard to read. It looks like there should be a lever built into the trim, but the details aren’t clear. I tuck the book in my pocket, and start poking about the shelves next to the fireplace.

The inlay near the center moved slightly, revealing a keyhole. I slid a skeleton key into it, but it wouldn’t turn. I tried the second key, and it turned easily. The sketch showed the shelf open into the room, and no matter how much I pushed or pulled, it wasn’t budging. I grabbed the key, and just as I was about to turn it, I sneezed, pressing the key hard into the hole. With a click, the door popped open just enough to be able to swing it open. Now it opens effortlessly.

Behind the shelf was a narrow stairway with little lights dimly lighting the way down. I poked my head in, looking down the stairs, and was surprised to see light spilling in from a room below. I slid the couch up against the shelf to keep it from closing me in, and followed the stairs down.

Somehow sensing my presence, the lights in the stairway followed me as I descended the steps, getting brighter as I approached and dimming as I moved past them. As I arrived at the bottom of the flight, a large room opened up before me. On the north end of the room, a play area with a gate, child sized furniture, and toys strewn about. Suddenly I remembered playing in here while my mother worked. Across the room was another set of steps, but first I have to look around down here. Why isn’t it dusty down here like the rest of the house? Her work area had several machines I have no idea what they are or do. Industrial shelving with gadgets galore. Tucked back into the corner was some device full of gray-brown fluid, bubbling away. I remembered seeing something similar in the pages of Mom’s book- I pulled the book out of my pocket and started looking around the room. Air purification system with water filtration. That explains the gray. It’s been running on the same water supply for over 15 years! The “Nano Generator,” as she called it must be what’s been powering the house. Aunt Clara said she couldn’t figure out where the power was coming from. This has to be it. On a shelf next to her work bench was another box like the one upstairs, only it had “Andromeda” inlaid into the top. That’s me! I picked it up and tried the third key. Inside the box were copies of my birth certificate, social security card, and bundles of cash. There has to be at least twenty thousand dollars here! At the bottom of the box were waxy pages, neatly folded to fit. I pulled one out, carefully unfolding it. It was the schematic to the house. It looks like the stairs at the far end of the room open into the kitchen, under the island. I carefully folded it up, set it aside, and pulled out the next one. It was the schematics to the generator. All these gadgets she had been designing and building were here. A compact desalination device sat on the shelf, the notes in her book said it didn’t remove all the salt, she had still been tweaking the design. This stuff is priceless.

I can’t sell any of it. This is the kind of stuff big companies would view as a threat to their profits. No wonder my parents went to such great lengths for secrecy. My mom had been working on solutions for so many worldly problems- clean water; clean, cheap electricity, there were even plans for vertical gardens. My mom was a genius, and I had no idea. She could have been some sort of gadgety hero. I don’t understand much of what I’m looking at, but if I went to college, and took the right classes I just might.

Auntie always said I was my mother’s daughter.

I could be a gadgety hero…