Chapter 1 - The Door at the End of the Hall
For the first three weeks after moving into the house on Hawthorne Ridge, Andrew Bennett told himself the locked door was nothing more than an inconvenience.
The house was large enough to contain inconveniences.
Six bedrooms. A glass-walled study overlooking the trees. A kitchen Renee had fallen in love with before the realtor finished saying “Italian marble.” A winding upstairs hallway with soft brass sconces and, at its far end, one narrow walnut door whose antique lock had resisted the realtor, the locksmith, and Andrew’s impatience.
“The previous owner probably lost the key,” he had said.
Renee had said nothing.
That should have bothered him.
It didn’t until Friday evening.
Andrew had just returned from work when five-year-old Sophie padded into the hallway in pink socks, carrying a stuffed rabbit by one ear.
Renee stood beside the console table opening a bottle of wine.
Sophie looked up at Andrew.
“Dad... the man behind the locked door knows Mom.”
Andrew smiled automatically.
Then the meaning reached him.
“What man?”
The wine bottle stopped in Renee’s hand.
Sophie pointed toward the far end of the hallway.
The door.
Renee’s expression changed so subtly Andrew might have missed it if he had not been looking directly at her. The softness disappeared from her eyes. Her mouth tightened.
She turned to Sophie.
“There’s nobody in there.”
Sophie frowned.
“But he knows Mom’s real name.”
Andrew stopped taking off his coat.
Renee went pale.
He looked from his wife to their daughter.
“Her real name?”
Sophie nodded with the earnest confidence children reserved for facts adults inexplicably refused to understand.
“He said Mom wasn’t always called Renee.”
Silence spread through the hallway.
Andrew looked at Renee.
Renee stared at Sophie.
Then both adults looked toward the locked door.
Nothing moved.
No sound came from behind it.
Andrew finally laughed, but it came out wrong.
“Sophie, sweetheart, when did you hear someone?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Renee stepped forward.
“That’s enough.”
Andrew turned.
“Enough?”
“She’s five. She probably heard the television.”
“The television was downstairs.”
Renee’s fingers tightened around the wine bottle.
“Andrew.”
He recognized the tone. It was the one she used when Sophie was near and she wanted a conversation postponed.
But something in Renee’s face made postponement impossible.
He crouched before Sophie.
“Did you see the man?”
“No.”
“Did he talk through the door?”
Sophie nodded.
“What did he call Mommy?”
Renee inhaled sharply.
“Sophie, go upstairs.”
Andrew stood.
“No.”
Renee’s eyes flashed.
“Andrew.”
“What name?”
Sophie looked frightened now, not by the mysterious man but by her parents.
Andrew softened his voice.
“It’s okay, Soph.”
The child hugged her rabbit.
“He told me not to say.”
Renee closed her eyes.
That frightened Andrew more than anything else.
“You know what she’s talking about,” he said.
“No.”
“You just reacted like you did.”
“She is five years old.”
“And you’re lying.”
Renee set the wine down too quickly. The bottle struck the table hard enough to splash red wine across the marble.
Sophie flinched.
Renee immediately bent toward her.
“Honey, go play in your room.”
This time Andrew let her go.
They waited until Sophie disappeared upstairs.
Then he said, “Who is behind that door?”
“No one.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“It’s exactly what you asked.”
“Then why are you scared?”
“I’m not.”
He stared at her.
Twelve years together.
Seven years married.
He knew the tiny wrinkle beside her nose when she was amused, the way her left shoulder lifted when she was annoyed, the quiet hum she made while reading recipes.
He also knew she touched the inside of her wrist when she lied.
Her thumb was pressed there now.
“Renee.”
She looked toward the door.
“Call the locksmith tomorrow.”
“I already did. He’s coming Monday.”
“Cancel him.”
Andrew felt something cold settle inside his chest.
“Why?”
She met his eyes.
And for one second, the woman he knew disappeared.
Behind her expression was something older.
Terrified.
“Because some doors stay locked for a reason.”
That night, after Renee fell asleep, Andrew searched her name online.
Then he opened the drawer where she kept her passport.
He stared at the photograph.
At the name.
RENEE BENNETT.
Everything looked ordinary.
Until he noticed the passport had been issued only six years earlier.
Three months before their wedding.
And in the box beneath it, Andrew found something he had never seen.
A yellowed newspaper clipping.
The headline read:
LOCAL CFO ACCUSED IN $18 MILLION FRAUD
Below the headline was a photograph of a man being escorted from a courthouse.
Someone had circled his face in blue ink.
Andrew turned the clipping over.
On the back, written in Renee’s handwriting, were four words:
He did not steal it.
May you like
And beneath them was another name.
Peter Keene.
