The Study
Aunt Edith's study is a paper avalanche paused mid-fall. On the desk, held down by a lighthouse-shaped paperweight, lies her journal. The last entry:
The town pretends not to notice, but I have counted, and I am right. We are being shortchanged. The lighthouse keeps what the town loses โ I am sure of it now. I have named the cat for what we lack, which the neighbors consider very poor taste, and which is precisely why I did it.
If anything should happen to me: the key is where I keep the tea. It always is.
On the shelf sits a tin marked ASSAM. Inside, on a bed of ancient loose leaf, lies a small brass key, cold and heavier than it looks. You pocket it.