“Why?” I asked. “What did Daniel do?”

“He wanted this house, and he wanted the land,” Claire said, her voice rising slightly. “He claimed the trust belonged to them, not to us.”

She reached out, her thin, liver-spotted hand trembling as she touched the brass key in my palm.

“That key opens the compartment in the master bedroom,” she whispered.

“The one behind the wainscoting?” I asked.

Claire nodded slowly, her face pale in the dim light of the desk lamp.

I led the way out of the study and up the creaking wooden stairs.

The air in the hallway was cold, smelling of old wax and damp plaster.

We entered the master bedroom at the end of the hall.

The heavy velvet drapes were drawn, shutting out the gray afternoon light.

I walked over to the far wall where the wooden panels met the baseboard.

I knelt on the dusty floor, searching for a keyhole or a hidden latch.

“Near the corner,” Claire directed from the doorway. “Under the third vertical groove.”

My fingers traced the wood until I felt a small, circular indentation.