The Key

By Roxanne Hunter

The last thing Jason Roth expects when he arrives home at midnight is to find a beautiful young woman rummaging through his desk. She's sorry, claims she made a mistake and isn’t doing anything wrong. She thought she was in someone else's apartment.

Marielle Delaney claims to be searching for some missing papers, and since she has the key to the apartment, and it's probably from its lawful occupant, her only mistake was to enter the wrong apartment, surely a forgivable offense. It’s not her fault the key opened the wrong door, and she is very sorry.

Jason doesn't quite buy her story, but before he can get to the bottom of her strange break-in, the phone rings and she slips out while he is talking to his caller. A few hours later she is at his door again, visibly distraught and asking Jason to help her find the way down the stairs of the unlit building. When they reach the building entrance, they see a taxi idling at the front door. A closer look reveals a slumped body in the back seat. Then before he can say or do anything, Marielle disappears into the night and Jason is left to deal with the authorities on his own.

Although he has no reason to protect her identity, Jason does. Thinking that no one else knows about her late night visits, Jason decides not to tell the police about the woman who broke into his apartment and whom he escorted out of building hours later on the night Morris Barnes was murdered. It might have ended there except a shady lawyer, another witness, and the victim’s brother start asking questions about Barnes, his murder and the source of his income. Jason can’t get a good night’s sleep worrying about the implications of his silence, nor can he forget his encounter with the beautiful Marielle. He quite unexpectedly discovers who she is and a chance encounter leads him to her. While she is grateful he covered for her during the investigation of the murder, she's less than happy to run into him again. Emphatically she tells Jason she doesn’t want his help or his attention. Fortunately for Jason, Marielle is staying with a friend who is terribly bored and invites Jason to join them for a fun night on the town. Jason jumps at the opportunity and Marielle grudgingly goes along.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roxanne Hunter
• Release date: May 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311008152

Roxanne Hunter

Roxanne Hunter lives on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. After spending way too many, many years working at a job she didn’t really like, she realized she could do what so many other people her age have done – retire on Cape Cod. She now spends her days taking long walks on beaches, riding her bike, traveling to warmer climates during the winter and searching for enjoyable but forgotten old stories. Best of all, it’s not work!

Book preview

THE KEY

AN OLD FASHIONED STORY

BY

ROXANNE HUNTER


The Key

By Roxanne Hunter

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 Roxanne Hunter

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual event, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or electronic transference without written permission from the author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XXVI

AFTERWORD

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OTHER BOOKS BY ROXANNE HUNTER

CHAPTER I

The man and the woman stood facing one another, although in the uncertain light neither could see much except the outline of the other. The woman stood at the far end of the apartment by the side of the desk. His desk. The slim trembling fingers of one hand rested lightly on it, the other was hanging by her side, nervously crumpling up the glove she had taken off a few minutes earlier. The man stood with his back to the door he had just entered. He was in khakis and a shirt. He carried an overcoat over his arm and a hat sat on the back of his head. A cigarette was still burning between his lips, the key he had used to open the door was swinging from his little finger. So far no words had passed between them. Both were apparently surprised by the other's unexpected presence.

It was the man who recovered first. He threw his overcoat onto a chair and touched the brass switch behind the door. Instantly the room was flooded with the soft radiance of light. They could see one another distinctly. The woman leaned forward, amazement as well as fear flashing in her soft, dark eyes. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded unnatural to her. To him it came as a surprise, for the study of men and women was his occupation, and he recognized at once its quality.

Who are you? she demanded. What do you want?

He shrugged his shoulders.

It seems to me, he answered, that I might more correctly assume the role of questioner. However, I have no objection to introducing myself. My name is Jason Roth. May I ask, he continued with quiet sarcasm, to what I owe this unexpected visit?

She was silent for a moment and as he watched, his surprise grew. As obvious as her position was, he knew very well that this was no ordinary thief he had surprised in his apartment, intent on rifling his desk. The fact that she was a beautiful woman was something he barely considered. There were other things more surprising that he could not ignore. Her shirt of black silk was faultlessly made and clung to her curves, and he knew enough of such things to be well aware that she was in excellent physical condition. A fine chain of gold with a diamond pendant, her only ornament, hung from her neck, and her black leather jacket was soft and expertly cut to follow the contours of her body. This was a woman of distinction, one who belonged naturally, if not actually, to a social stratum several rungs above his own. What was she doing in his apartment? What was her interest in him and his few possessions?

Jason Roth, she repeated, leaning towards him. If your name is Jason Roth, then what are you doing in this apartment?

It happens to be mine, he answered calmly.

Yours?

She picked up a small key from the desk.

This is number 11, isn't it? she asked quickly.

No. Number 11 is the apartment immediately overhead, he told her.

She appeared unconvinced.

But I opened the door with this key, she declared.

My neighbor and I have similar locks; perhaps we have similar keys, he said. The fact remains that this is number 9, and number 11 is one floor above.

She drew a long breath, presumably of relief, and stepped forward.

I’m very sorry, she declared. I made a mistake. You must please accept my apologies.

He stood motionless in front of the door. He was clean-shaven, tall, and his clothes revealed the hard muscles and physical agility earned by countless hours of weight training. Dressed in his casual clothes he seemed a somewhat ordinary well-bred young man, but his eyes were gray, and his mouth straight and firm.

She came to a standstill. Her eyes seemed to question him. She did not seem to understand his attitude.

Kindly allow me to leave, she said coldly.

When I’m ready, he answered.

The flash in her eyes would surely have made a weaker man quail. But Jason Roth never flinched.

What do you mean by that? she demanded. I have explained my presence in your apartment. It was an accident, which I regret. Let me leave at once.

You have explained your presence here, he answered. But you have not explained why you are trying to use that key to enter Mr. Barnes' home. Are you proposing to subject his belongings to the same inspection that you have made of mine? he asked, pointing to his disordered desk.

My business with Mr. Barnes is not your concern, she said haughtily.

Under ordinary circumstances, I would agree, he admitted. But these are not ordinary circumstances. Forgive me if I speak plainly. I found you engaged in searching my desk. It’s not a stretch to assume that you wish to do the same thing to Mr. Barnes.

And if I do, she demanded, What concern is it of yours? How do you know that I don’t have permission to visit his apartment, that he did not give me this key?

She held it out before him. He glanced at it and back into her face.

That supposition, he said, seems entirely unlikely.

Why not?

He looked at the clock.

Well, he declared, it’s almost midnight, and to be blunt, you don’t seem like the sort of woman who is likely to visit Mr. Barnes, in his apartment, at this hour, without some serious objective.

She was silent for several moments. Her breasts were rising and falling quickly under her tight shirt and a brilliant spot of color was burning in her cheeks. She regarded him with an intensity he found disconcerting. He had an uncomfortable sense that he was in the presence of a woman who, were it in her power, would have killed him where he stood. He was also realizing that the woman he had thought at first glance to be beautiful was in fact absolutely the first of her sex to completely satisfy the demands of his somewhat critical and highly refined taste. The silence between them extended over a time crowded with rich sensations. He found time to marvel at the delicate whiteness of her breasts, gleaming like polished ivory under the filmy network of her black shirt, to appreciate with a quick throb of delight the slim roundness of her perfect figure and long legs detailed in black jeans, her wonderful poise, the soft richness of her hair. Every detail of her seemed to satisfy to the highest degree his sensual preferences. He felt a little shiver of apprehension when he recalled the cold brutality of the words that had just left his lips. Yet how could he deal with her any differently?

Is this man, Morris Barnes, your friend? she asked, breaking the silence that had done more than anything else to unnerve him.

No, he answered. I hardly know the man. I have never seen him except in the elevator or on the stairs.

Then you have no excuse for keeping me here, she declared. I may be his friend, or I may be his enemy, but I possess the key to his apartment, presumably with his permission. I have explained my presence here. I can assure you that it is entirely accidental. You have no right to detain me a second longer.

The clock struck midnight. A sudden passion surged through his veins, a passion that, although he could not have named it, was jealousy. He knew the man named Barnes and he did not like him.

You shouldn’t go to his apartment at this hour, he exclaimed. You don't know the man. If you were seen …

She mocked him with her laughter.

Let me leave, she insisted.

He hesitated and she saw very clearly that she was winning. A moment before she had almost respected this man. But in the end, unfortunately, he was like all the others.

I will go with you and wait outside, he said doggedly. Barnes, at this hour, is not always sober.

Her lips curled.

Wise up, she said, and let me go. I do not need your protection or …

She broke off suddenly, interrupted by the shrill ring of a telephone. Jason mechanically stepped backward and grabbed the phone.

Who is it? he asked.

The voice was faint but clear. It seemed to come from a long way off.

Is this Jason Roth? it asked.

Yes, Jason answered. Who are you?

A friend of Morris Barnes, the caller answered. May I apologize for calling so late, but the matter is urgent. Can you tell me if Mr. Barnes is home? I tried his phone but there was no answer or voice mail.

I’m not sure, but generally he’s never home before one or two, Jason answered.

Would you be so kind as to write down a message and leave it on his door? the man asked anxiously. It is very important or I would not trouble you.

Very well, Jason answered. What is it?

Tell him when he returns to immediately go to the Hotel Francis. A friend is waiting there for him, the friend he has been expecting.

A lady? Jason remarked a little sarcastically.

No, he answered. A friend. Can you do this? Will you promise to do it?

Very well, Jason said. Who are you, and where are you calling from?

It’s very important, don’t forget you promised, he replied.

All right, I promised. Now tell me your name, Jason demanded.

Jason heard only the dial tone.

Jason placed the phone back on his desk and turned with a sudden sense of apprehension. There was an emptiness in the room. He had not heard a sound but he knew what had happened. The door was slightly open and the hall was empty. She had taken advantage of his momentary distraction to slip away.

He stepped outside and stood by the elevator, listening. The landing was deserted, and there was no sound of anyone moving anywhere in the building. The elevator itself was on the ground floor. It had not ascended recently or he would have heard it. He returned to his apartment and softly closed the door. The sense of emptiness oppressed him. The faint scent of her perfume came at him like a whiff of some delicious memory. Sitting down at his desk, he wrote a few lines to his neighbor, the message he had been asked to deliver. With the note in his hand, he climbed the stairs to the next floor.

There was no light showing in number 11, but he rang the bell and listened. There was no answer, no sound of anyone moving within. For nearly ten minutes he waited, listening. He was strongly tempted to open the door with his own key and see for himself if she was in there. Then he remembered that Barnes was a man he barely knew and cordially disliked and if he were to return unexpectedly, the situation would be difficult to explain. Reluctantly he returned to his own apartment, and mixing himself a nightcap, he sat down, determined to wait until he heard Barnes return. In less than five minutes he was sound asleep.

Suddenly Jason sat up. His drink stood on the table, the ice gone. The lights were still burning, but the heat was set too low and the room was chilly. As soon as he was somewhat alert, he was aware of two things. One was that he was shivering with cold, and the other that he was afraid.

Jason Roth was not a coward. He had once or twice been in close contact with danger and had conducted himself with average bravery. He never attempted to conceal from himself, however, that those few minutes had been filled with breathless and unreasoning fear. Now his heart was pounding and the muscles in his neck were taut as he slowly looked around the room. His eyes paused at the door. It was slightly open and to his unleashed imagination it seemed to be shaking. His teeth chattered. He felt his forehead and it was damp.

He rose to his feet and listened. There was no sound anywhere, from above or below. He tried to remember what had awakened him so suddenly. He could remember nothing except that awful jerk. Something must have disturbed him. He listened again. Still, there was no sound. He sucked in a deep breath, and with his eyes glued on the half-closed door, he remembered that he had left it open so that he would hear Barnes go upstairs. With a little laugh, still not totally awake, he moved to the bottle and drank two fingers of neat whiskey.

Nerves, he said softly to himself. This won't do. What an idiot I was to fall asleep.

He glanced at the clock. It was five minutes before three in the morning. Then he moved towards the door and stood for several moments with the knob in his hand. Gradually his confidence returned. He listened closely. There was not a sound to be heard in the entire building. He turned back into the room with a little sigh of relief.

Time I turned in, he muttered. I wonder if that's rain I hear. I suppose I should check it out so it isn’t the next thing to spook me.

He lifted the blind and looked out. A few stars were still shining in a misty sky but a bank of clouds was rolling in and rain was beginning to fall. The pavement was already wet and the street light posts were obscured in fog. He was turning away when a familiar but unexpected sound from the street below attracted his attention. The window was open at the top and he heard the rumbling purr of a taxicab motor.

He threw open the bottom sash and leaned out. A cab was waiting at the entrance to the building. Jason glanced once again at the clock. Which of his neighbors would be keeping a cab waiting outside at that hour in the morning? With the exception of Barnes and himself, they were mostly an early to bed crowd. Once more he looked out of the window. The cabbie was leaning forward in his seat with his head resting upon his folded arms. He was either tired or asleep. Jason was just about to close the window when he became aware that the cab had an occupant. He could see a man leaning back in one corner, he could even distinguish a hand resting on the door. The man was not unlike Barnes, and Barnes, he remembered, always took a cab when he came home after an evening of drinking. Barnes it probably was, but what was he waiting for? Jason closed the window a little impatiently and turned back into the room.

Barnes and his friends can go to hell, he muttered. I’m going to bed.

He took a couple of steps across the room and stopped short. The fear was upon him again. He felt his heart almost stop beating and a cold shiver shook him. He was facing his half-opened door and outside in the hall he heard the soft, even footfall of high-heeled boots and the gentle rustling of a woman's leather jacket.

He was not conscious of any movement, but when she reached the landing he was standing in the door’s threshold with a soft halo of light shining on his questioning face. She came towards him without a word. Her head was lowered so that he could barely see her face, but she walked with trembling footsteps, and with one hand always gripping the banister. When she reached the corner she stopped and seemed about to collapse. She spoke to him and her voice had lost all its cultured civility. She sounded harsh and unreal.

What are you doing? Spying on me? she asked.

I’m not spying, he answered. I was asleep and I woke up suddenly.

I need a drink, she said.

She stood on the door’s threshold and drank from the glass he had filled from the bottle of whiskey. When she gave it back to him and he noticed that her fingers were steady.

Will you come downstairs and let me out? she asked. I looked down and it’s completely dark on the ground floor. I’m not sure I know the way out.

He hesitated, but only for a moment. Then together they walked down four flights of stairs in unbroken silence. He asked no questions and she made no explanation. When he opened the front door and she saw the waiting cab she nearly collapsed. For a moment she clung to him with a physical intensity that thrilled him.

He’s there, in the cab, she whispered. Where can I hide?

Whoever it is, Jason answered, his eyes on the taxi, he is either drunk or asleep.

Or dead, she whispered in his ear. Go and see.

Then, before Jason could recover from the shock of her words, she was gone, flitting down the unlit side of the street with swift silent footsteps. His eyes followed her mechanically. Then, when she turned the corner, he crossed the pavement towards the cab. Even then he could see little of the figure in the corner, for the man’s hat was pulled down over his eyes.

Is that you, Barnes? he asked.

There was no response. Then for the first time, the hideous meaning of those farewell words reached his brain. Had she meant it? Had she known or guessed? He leaned forward and touched the hand. He raised it and let it go. It fell like a dead, inert thing. He stepped back and confronted the cab driver, who was rubbing his eyes.

There's something wrong with your fare, cabby, he said.

The cabby rolled down his window and then slowly exited his cab to the pavement.

Well, I'll be damned, he said. Hey there, wake up, sir.

There was no response. The cabby threw open the door of the cab and gently shook the recumbent figure.

I can't wait here all night for my fare, he exclaimed. Wake up, God help me, he broke off.

He stepped back on the sidewalk and began tugging at one of his pockets for a flashlight.

Push his hat back, he said. Let's have a look at him.

Jason stood on the side of the cab and lifted the hat from the head of the body. Then he jumped back quickly in horror. The cab driver’s flashlight was shining on the man's face, livid and blotted, on his staring but sightless eyes, and on something around his neck, a fragment of silken cord, drawn so tightly that the flesh seemed to hang over and almost conceal it.

Throttled, by God, the cabbie exclaimed. I'm off to the police station.

He clambered back to the driver’s seat and without another word drove off and disappeared. Jason turned around and after closing the front door of the building, climbed with leaden feet to the fourth floor.

He entered his own apartment and walked to the window, which was still open. The fresh air was almost a necessity as he felt himself becoming nauseous. His knees were shaking and a cold icy horror was numbing his senses. The feeling of nightmare was upon him, as though he had risen unexpectedly from a bed of delirium. In front of him, a little to the left, was the broad empty street into whose shadows she had disappeared. On one side was the park and on the other a long row of tall buildings, a rain-soaked pavement, and a curving line of streetlights. Beyond was the river outlined with a glittering