Keys To Silence

Other than a faint glow coming from the back, the town’s only charity shop was in darkness, its front door locked. Though it had opened in 1985, the building had been used as a pharmacy, a bank, and even a tavern. Close to the river in Marpleton, an English market town with priory ruins nearby, it carried its past heavily. Across the road, stone monks still watched over the diminished market square.

Now, regulars peered through the shop window searching for signs of movement. The main lights stayed off, but a handful of helpers were huddled in the back. Patrick, the treasurer, had collected the spare keys from the greengrocer to let them in. Their talk circled around one absence: namely, why their long-serving manager, Rhea, who had never missed a day, had failed to open the shop.

“I just can’t understand it,” Ivy, one of the shop’s founding members, said. “I’ve never known her not to turn up – unless she’s on holiday. She’s never had a day’s sickness.”

“Wasn’t she bound for New Zealand to visit her sister?” Patrick asked.

“She was, but not until the following week. It’s in the shop diary. Here. Take a look.” Ivy tapped the pages meaningfully.”

“I’m not doubting you, Ivy, but she may have got the dates wrong.”

“She wasn’t in the habit of making mistakes.” Ivy said loyally.

Patrick adopted a different approach.

“You’ve tried Rhea’s landline, I take it?”

“Several times. Every time it went straight to answer phone.”

“Right. Still, I expect we’re worrying over nothing.”

“But you have to admit she has been a bit distracted lately. Not her usual self,” someone piped up.

Patrick turned to Sylvana hopefully, but she shook her head.

Sylvana, a refugee who had grown close to Rhea, had joined the shop two years earlier. She’d also tried Rhea’s mobile and landline, and found both dead. “I knocked on her door, but no answer.” Her words carried more weight than she intended. She had been on the verge of telling Rhea how she felt. Now she was terrified the chance had gone.

Patrick attempted a cheerier note. “Still, we’re probably worrying for nothing.”

But his eyes strayed to the locked cabinet where Rhea kept the volunteers’ phone numbers. Hit by a sudden pang, he pictured her with her shop keys jangling from her waist. The cellar key, long lost, had become a running joke between them with him teasing her that she kept troublesome customers down there. To which she’d responded with an enigmatic smile.

“Did Rhea say anything about changing her holiday plans, Sylvana?” Patrick asked finally.

“No. I went to her house for my English lesson last Wednesday. She told me she’d be away all next week. Definitely not this one. Yes, that is so.”

“Hmm,” Patrick said. “I guess I’ll have to contact the Area Manager about reopening the shop.”

“You will need to do that,” Ivy agreed.

Patrick scrutinised the rota sheets.

“Maybe Judd would be willing to help if we reopen the shop,” he suggested.

Sylvana shuddered but said nothing.

*****

Three months earlier, Judd Digdeep had turned up in a hoodie, cocker spaniel in tow, asking about volunteering. His dog cowered when Sylvan bent to pat it.

Patrick knocked on Rhea’s office door. “A young man’s enquiring about volunteering,” he told her. “Shall I send him through?”

“What’s he like?” Rhea was tapping information into the computer at her desk.

“Seems pleasant enough. His dog’s rather nervous.”

Rhea rubbed her neck. “Send him through,” she said.

A week later, Rhea confided unease over Judd’s references to Sylvana. When she’d rung one of the phone numbers on his application form, the voice sounded suspiciously like Judd’s. Normally thorough, she intended to dig deeper – but something held her back.

Soon, Judd proved useful hauling sacks and transforming a sorting room. Yet one evening, Sylvana glimpsed him with unsavoury company at the back of the shop. She told Rhea who only said, “I’ll keep an eye on things. Best not mention it.”

*****

On Sylvana’s birthday, with the shop reopened under Patrick’s watch, she pushed aside one of his wife’s special homemade pizzas at his house.

“It’s so tasty. Just not hungry,” she apologised.

“You’ve still worried about Rhea, aren’t you?” Patrick said.

“Not only is her cell phone dead but when I knocked on her door last night, still no answer.”

Patrick brightened. “I happen to know Rhea’s neighbour, Angela, from the book club. Let's check – just in case. Come on, get your coat. Let’s see if can solve this mystery.”

*****

Inside Rhea’s spotless home, Sylvana’s heart twisted. The last time she’d visited they’d drawn close over a bottle of wine. Rhea had even given her a present.

“Only to be opened on your birthday,” Rhea instructed. But beneath the gaiety, she’d been out of sorts. When Sylvana had asked if she could help, Rhea had brushed it off with a brisk “I’m fine.”

*****

It took a while but the discovery of Rhea’s passport in a drawer jolted Sylvana back to the present. The photograph bore little resemblance to the woman she loved. In another drawer she found her shop keys – plus another ring tagged Cellar Keys.

“Are you alright?” Patrick called up from the bottom of the staircase.

“I’m ok.” Sylvana tucked the cellar keys into her bag. Then she opened Rhea’s present. It was a pay as you go phone, already charged up.

“Well? Did you find anything?” Patrick quizzed.

“Just this.” She gave him the passport.

“Strange… looks like she never made it to New Zealand, after all. We’d better go to the police tomorrow.”

Sylvana said nothing.

*****

That night, Sylvana descended the cellar steps at the back of the shop. Having worked for a detective agency in her home country, she knew the protocol. Gloves on, shoes off, she opened the door.

Damp air hit her throat, undercut by a stench she instantly recognised. At the end of the room lay Judd, slumped, with bloodied head, eyes clouded. She covered her face with a handkerchief to prevent retching and inspected the scene. The smashed vase lying next to the head told its own story. The blood had pooled and dried, but if the undertones of rotting fruit were anything to go by, death had probably occurred a few days earlier.

Horror was mixed with relief; at least it wasn’t Rhea.

Eyes growing more accustomed to the dim light, shelves stacked with packets and tubs told another tale. The place was being used as a drug’s den. Might Judd’s death have come about due to a disagreement with other gang members? Sylvana’s stomach lurched. What if they discovered her here?

Quietly locking the door, she bolted into the night.

She would decide what to do when she got home.

*****

Halfway across the town’s park, her bag vibrated.

“Sylvana?” The voice was clear at the other end of the line.

“Rhea! Thank God you’re alive! Where are you? Talk to me.”

“I’ll explain but you must keep this to yourself. Did you find the keys?”

“You mean the cellar keys? Yes. I went down there. I found him.” Sylvana’s words tumbled out, delayed shock kicking in.

“Why?”

“I needed to know if you were alright. I was so afraid I was going to find you there, not him. Seeing your passport, I knew you couldn’t have gone to New Zealand; that something must have happened.”

“I didn’t get the chance.”

“What did happen?”

“I will tell you, but not now, not on the phone.”

“Patrick is planning to go to the police tomorrow about your passport.”

Rhea asked, “Did you touch anything when you went into the cellar? Did you touch… him?”

“No.” Sylvana heard her teeth chattering. “It’s cold outside…I have… I was wearing gloves. But what do you know about Judd?”

“You were wearing gloves?”

“Back home I once worked at a detective agency. I learnt about not touching crime scenes.”

“You may want to call the police,” Rhea said, “but please can I ask you not to tell them I got in contact or about me giving you the phone? We’ll meet soon. That is, if you want to.”

“Of course I want to meet you.” Pointless pretending now. “It’s all I think about.”

*****

Sylvana’s heart flipped when she saw the figure making her way up from the pier below, music drifting up from a theatre matinee.

“Hey.” Sylvana sank into Rhea’s arms. Time stopped as the pair embraced.

Rhea looked round. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“No. And I’m so hungry.”

Rhea grinned. “How about some fish and chips to celebrate? I’ll treat you.”

“You mean the famous English fish and chips?”

“I’ve discovered a great place on the front. Let’s get something to eat. Then, I’ll tell you everything.”

*****

Over the chips, Rhea filled Sylvana in with the rest of the story.

“Judd was running a drug racket. He caught me with the cellar keys – I was searching for something down there. He demanded he use it for storage, or he’d torture his dog in front of me. He implied I’d be next if I didn’t comply. Luckily, I’d left the other cellar keys at home – I always keep a second set of keys – just in case. His eyes were so cold. For the second time in my life, I felt fear.”

Sylvana clasped Rhea’s hand.

“I’m afraid there’s more,” Rhea said dully. “Not sure you’ll want to hear the rest.”

Sylvana clutched the precious hand more tightly. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

Rhea’s face became grave. “In the end, I couldn’t stand being held to ransom by a bully like Judd. A few days ago, I confronted him in the cellar. He went to grab a knife from the table. There was an old vase on one of the shelves and as he turned I smashed it over his head. It was a split second decision. I made sure you had the phone before I left because I hoped we’d stay in touch.”

Rhea’s words landed like a physical blow. For a moment Sylvana couldn’t think, then she deliberately steadied herself. “You acted in self defence,” she insisted. “The police will see that.”

“Perhaps. But I couldn’t face them – not now.”

“Why not?” Sylvana felt a sudden chill. “What aren’t you telling me, Rhea?”

Rhea’s voice broke. “I’m terminally ill, Sylvana. At best, I only have months to live. I have all the medication I need. I just want to spend my last days in a place with happy memories.”

Tears stung Sylvana’s eyes. “How long have you known?” she whispered.

“I only found out for certain the day before Judd threatened me in the cellar. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight. I should have told the police everything long before, but by then I was in too deep.”

“If only you’d told me all this before. Whatever happens I’m going to stay with you.”

Rhea shook her head. “Stay tonight and go back tomorrow. It won’t be long before the police search that awful cellar. It will look odd if you’re not there. I have every faith in your survival skills. Look how far you’ve come! In the meantime, there’s something I want you to have.”

“What is it?”

Rhea handed Sylvana two envelopes. “I’ve been running the show longer than you think. My father was a historian but also a man with secrets. He left me this plan of the cellar. He always said that what the monks left behind was more than just history. He believed a sealed entrance behind the cellar wall existed and there was a tunnel leading to the old priory.” She paused, breathing deeply. “The other envelope contains a copy of my will. My final wish is to make your life better.”

Sylvana clutched the envelopes to her chest. “I don’t care about that. I only care about you.”

Rhea smiled faintly. “Then you’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

Sylvana looked out of the window. The wind was picking up. Below, the tide carried its endless secrets away to a distant shore.