The Click Of The Key

Donna quickly withdrew her bare foot from he front stoop as she reached for the newspaper.

“Hmm? That’s odd, the newspaper was always at the bottom of the steps.”

She heard a small thump as she turned the paper over to look at the headline. On the floor was a small black book. Tossing it on the foyer bench, the headline read, “A $20,000 Mystery.”

The coffee pot was just finishing an aromatic cup of coffee. Curiosity was killing Donna. Grabbing the cup, she descended into her grandmother’s rocking chair.

“Abandoned at birth, a slight woman was told yesterday by a shady character (as described to the police) that she had been left a large sum of money. There was a catch to receiving the money, he had continued, she had to produce the key to the diary of her benefactor. All her formative years had been spent in an orphanage. She remembered having a small key she wore around her neck. The other kids would tease her and grab for the key, she told me. The key had been put in a safe place when she turned 18 and left the orphanage. In her various moves it had been lost. The diary, a little black book, contained the directions on how to retrieve the mysterious money, as she was further told. The diary, however, had been stolen and the name of her benefactor had gone to her grave when she died of suspicious causes. She is asking for help to retrieve the $20,000. It could be used to pay her large debt. She asked that her name not be revealed at this time.” There was no elaboration on how she knew it was $20,000 or why she had a large debt, Donna noted As she continued reading. “If you know of a way to help please contact The Post and ask for me.”

There was no key. ‘The diary had been stolen and the name of the benefactor had gone to her grave when she died of suspicious causes.’ Donna read and reread this line. Loving a good mystery she saw this as an opportunity to prove what a sleuth she could be. Dressing quickly she made solving this mystery her top priority. She even missed breakfast, her favorite meal, as were all meals if you were to witness her voluptuous size. Donna smiled, the black object she had dismissed when she came in might be the diary. She slipped it into her bag.

The investigative reporter fidgeted with his eyebrow, a habit formed when a child so he could distract his boring teacher, and listened to Donna‘s plan. Shaking his head, he thought this was just one more crackpot he had listened to today. Then he heard her say, “And this morning a little black book just happened to fall out of the newspaper with someone else’s name on it.” His ears perked up. Donna produced the book and simultaneously they saw the lock. Could it be the diary?

The look in his eye said he was up to something big. However, he told her the diary had to remain intact. It must be opened by the key.

“I will give it to the lady and she can figure out what to do with it,” he said, reaching for it

Donna had different plans and would not hand it over. She wanted to meet the other woman face to face. Together they would search for the key. The larger question was why did Donna get the book and who did he newspaper belong to? She knew of no one called Martha in her neighborhood.

Leaving, she took herself down the street and plopped in a booth in her favorite restaurant. Ordering the meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, her comfort food, she took the book out and felt it all over. Faded gold engraving stood out. The meal arrived; she put the book down while she gobbled her food.

Breathing harder than expected on the walk home she recited her mantra:

“I must take weight off, that’s all there is to it.”

Donna sat with her third cup of coffee and retrieved the book once more. The engraving was embossed. She ran her finger over and over each indentation. Again and again this task was performed until she was certain of what it said; Martha Hays. “Why that was the name on the newspaper label!” she exclaimed to the air. Jumping to a conclusion, Donna now thought she knew the name of the benefactor. She must meet the slight woman; she must.

Donna rang up the newspaper reporter and told him what she had found and could he set up the meeting. He said yes now that there was something to communicate that might lead them to the key.

Three days later the women sat opposite each other in a Chinese/Vietnamese restaurant. The other woman ate nothing while Donna had spring rolls, hot and sour soup, and Kung Pao Chicken. Probing, as they politely talk, Donna found out they both loved flea markets; they were collectors of odd items. After the slight interrogating conversation the little black book was produced. Kim, the slight woman, asked, “Why do you think you got the book?”

After many moments of thinking, “Probably because I collect old keys.”

“Do you think maybe you have the key?”

“Of course, why didn’t I think of that! Let’s go back to my house.”

Quickly paying the bill and putting on their coats the unlikely pair exited the restaurant; the leftover styrofome sat right where it was left.

Walking as fast as Donna could, for three blocks, they arrived winded.

Fumbling for the key to the door, Donna informed Kim they would have to go to the attic to search. Opening the heavy front door and throwing their coats on the foyer bench they headed straight for the attic access. It looked like a rabbit hole. With a lot of squeezing and groaning Donna made it in and Kim quickly followed her.

There were five steamer chests full of flea market findings But only one contained the key obsession. And the steamer was almost full. They dug. Hours flew by as skeleton keys, obvious house keys, keys to safes, bicycles and mailboxes were cast away. The pile of potential keys grew. The sun set on the two women.

Dragging themselves down from the attic the two declared it a day of success. Tomorrow they would look for the key. Their backup plan was to go to flea markets on the weekend, though Donna was convinced she must have the key, why else would she have gotten the book. Fate was a good explanation.

At exactly 10:00 AM Kim showed up at Donna’s house. There had been a doctor appointment for Kim earlier that morning. Just more money to add to her large medical debt.

In the attic the digging began again. Donna, being the sleuth she was had studied the lock and knew precisely what she was looking for. Unfortunately, the key was generic. Kim just picked them up, key after key, and tried them all. Three hours later and one tenth of a pile of tiny keys they still hadn’t heard the familiar click a keys’ lock makes when it opens. They broke for lunch.

“I have a new idea,” Donna proclaimed, “let’s sort the keys again into shines, dulls and well used. Then we will start with the well used.” Tired of all the looking, sorting and trying keys, Kim agreed.

At 4:34 PM they tried there first key.

“Stop! I remember wearing it around my neck and having to polish it periodically. We are looking in the wrong pile.”

“Oh my gosh,” Donna replied.

The smaller pile of bright keys was all the motivation they needed to become optimistic again.

“I found it!” Kim’s hands trembled as she heard the familiar click.

Staring at the book in disbelief she opened the cover. There on the first page was a lengthy inscription. “If you are reading this you know who your mother was. I always loved you from afar. Inside these pages is my life story. Read it at your leisure. The last page will tell you how to obtain a large sum of money, but it’s important to read the story leading up to it so you understand why you were orphaned, where I have been and how the money is left for you. I love you, sweetheart, your mother, Martha.