Chapter 4: The Room Behind the Wall

Rita took me behind the pantry before anyone finished supper.

There was a row of shelves against the brick wall.

"Your mother used to fix the records back here," she said.

"You told me she worked at the pack office."

"She did. Then she quit."

Rita handed me a screwdriver.

"She said it was safer if I didn't ask why."

Valerio carried the shelves aside while I loosened a narrow panel.

A cold draft came through the first gap.

Beyond it was a room no wider than a train aisle.

A desk stood against one wall.

Its drawers had been pulled out and overturned.

Someone had searched it recently.

There was fresh dust on the floor and a shoeprint across it.

A torn repair register lay under the desk.

My mother had listed every page she mended, with the name of its owner.

Six entries described homes taken under Orson's seal.

Someone had ripped out the next six pages.

Rita put her hand over her mouth.

"I thought we'd sealed it after she died."

"You did," I said. "The screws had paint over them. Someone came through another way."

At the rear, a service hatch stood open to the yard.

Valerio leaned out, then shut it.

"The lock was cut."

"Your guards didn't see anyone?" Rita asked.

"They arrived an hour ago."

I crouched by the desk.

My mother had lined the drawers with old flour sacks.

Under one sack was a shallow groove made by a heavy book.

I ran a finger along it.

A blue thread caught under the wood.

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