The door at the top was locked, but I had the housekeeper’s master key ring in my apron pocket.

I slid the brass key into the keyhole and turned it as slowly as I could.

The lock clicked open with a tiny, clean metallic sound.

I pushed the door open an inch and peered into the hallway.

The corridor was empty, lit only by the low yellow wall sconces.

The house felt incredibly cold, the old radiators struggling against the autumn storm outside.

Rain lashed violently against the tall stained-glass windows at the end of the hall.

I slipped out of the basement and closed the heavy door behind me.

I kept one hand pressed against the ledger under my apron, keeping it from shifting.

Every small movement made the plastic sleeve rustle against my uniform.

I walked past the formal dining room, where the long mahogany table sat empty under the dark crystal chandelier.

The silver candlesticks on the sideboard looked like frozen branches in the dim light.

I could hear the muffled sound of voices coming from the second floor.