Chapter 4 - THE KEY DOES NOT GO HOME WITH ME
I wanted the key.
My attorney said no.
“Why?”
“Because police photographed it at the scene, and Constance's reaction makes it relevant to the incident.”
“It belongs to my family.”
“Maybe.”
“It's my father’s.”
“Maybe.”
I stared.
Leah Monroe had represented me for nine years and had learned not to be impressed by my face.
She continued:
“Do you want the key tonight or do you want nobody later saying you altered whatever it opens?”
I sat back.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
Police released it into documented custody with independent counsel after photographing and weighing it.
A locksmith examined it without attempting random locks.
Maker:
Fabbri & Sons, Boston.
Manufactured approximately fifty years earlier.
Custom bit pattern.
Family crest added later by an engraver.
The north archive cabinet in Anton's library had matching hardware.
Could the key fit?
Probably.
Would we open it immediately?
No.
Constance’s attorney had already sent a preservation demand.
Good.
Everyone would be represented.
The cabinet would be opened with:
Independent lawyer.
Locksmith.
Court reporter.
Video documentation.
Family archive conservator.
No theatrical midnight raid.
Waiting made me furious.
Milo did not care about cabinets.
He wanted Bruno.
The bear had been released after police documentation because the key and fire incident were fully photographed.
A textile conservator named Avery Chen came to the house.
Not because Bruno was financially valuable.
Because he was fragile.
The left side had burned.
One arm badly scorched.
Stuffing exposed.
Avery examined him on a white cloth.
Milo stood beside me.
“Fix?”
“She can try.”
“Same bear?”
Avery answered, not me.
“Yes. If we repair him, he remains the same bear. Some burned cloth may need support underneath.”
“No new face.”
“No new face.”
“Button?”
“Original button if it is safe.”
Milo nodded.
Then:
“Fire smell?”
Avery paused.
“Some might stay.”
Milo looked at me.
“Grandpa smell?”
My throat closed.
“No. Fire smell.”
He thought.
“Okay.”
The bear left in a padded archival box.
Milo cried for nine minutes.
May you like
I sat on the floor with him.
No one told him Caradonnas do not cry.
