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“My key ring. I kept my car keys separate from the rest of my keys so their weight didn’t damage the ignition. Kind of ironic that the only key I have is for a car that’s missing.”
“Were any of the sanctuary keys on it?” Jessa asked.
He waved the idea off. “Yeah, but there are tons of keys on there. There’s no way anyone would know which key goes to what.”
Jessa frowned. “Are you sure? The building keys have that plastic red rim around the top of them. It’s hard to miss.”
He winced. “True.”
Seyla had also seen his key ring. He wasn’t kidding. It would take a while for the thief to determine which keys went where, even among the red-rimmed ones. Not impossible, but unlikely. “Did you report it as missing?”
“Yeah. I’ll have to get new ones for the sanctuary, but I’m not in any rush. People are usually here by the time I arrive. I rarely use my key.”
Seyla checked her watch and groaned. If she didn’t go to lunch in the next fifteen minutes, there wouldn’t be enough time to eat, restock the cat colony the sanctuary maintained, and make it back for that meeting with the director at three o’clock. Being late wasn’t an option. Not after the way this week had gone.
Then again, asking about Laurel Anderson might be the key to protecting the sanctuary and preserving her own life as well. “Hey, I’ve got to go, but do you guys remember anything odd pertaining to Laurel Anderson’s death or anything preceding it?”
“Never met her. That happened way before I got here,” Jessa said.
“I was pretty young at the time. I do remember there being some tension amongst the founders at one point, but as far as I know, it got resolved. I don’t know what it pertained to, though. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say bylaws.” Chase shrugged. “As for her death, my parents said it didn’t exactly surprise them. Laurel often went hiking alone according to them, despite the risks. At the funeral, pictures she took while standing near theedge of cliffs covered an entire wall. That’s what I remember about her. That wall. I think she sold the photos online, because some of them were attached to magazine articles.”
“Did the police check the photos from that day?” Maybe a detail or clue would stand out if they did.
“As far as I know, they did. I don’t recall them finding anything odd. Of course, I was a kid so I didn’t get to hear all the details. I’m sure it would have been front-page news if they discovered anything suspicious, though.”
“Sounds pretty straightforward. Thanks for the information.”
Chase tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just wondering.” Seyla checked her watch again. “Oh no. I have to go. See you guys later!”
Jessa put a hand on Seyla’s arm. “Can I talk to you tonight?”
Her friend’s hushed voice and secretive air set off alarms, but Seyla had to leave. Five minutes ago.
“Sure. Can you call me?”
Jessa flashed a tight smile. “Okay.”
Chase winked at the two of them. “See you later.”
They split apart, and Seyla hurried to the printer. The empty tray stared back at her, pulling a growl of frustration from her. No paper. She checked the drawer below. Only one sheet left in the paper packaging. The report required three pages. Stuffing down the rising pity party in her gut, she raced through the hallway and into the supply closet. The heavy door clicked shut behind her. Seyla rummaged around, then jolted at a sudden noise near her feet. She scanned the floor. Her muscles relaxed once she discovered the source—a folder that had fallen to the floor.
Why was she so on edge?
And what happened to the paper? She searched a few higher shelves. When she finally spotted a package hiding behind amound of marketing materials, she shoved them aside and snatched it up, holding it to her like she’d discovered gold.
She checked her watch, rushed to the door and pushed into it, wrenching the handle. Her shoulder banged into immovable metal. Aching pain pulsed through her arm, promising a bruise would follow. She backed up and pushed against the door again, rattling the handle. Panic shot through her. It was locked.
She patted her pockets, wincing when she brushed the bruise on her thigh. No cell phone. Banging on the door, she yelled, “Hey! Somebody! I’m stuck in here!” When she heard footsteps in the hallway, she hammered on the door twenty more times before stopping. Seconds passed while Seyla leaned on the door, fists throbbing, her ear against the cold metal, listening. Without warning, the door’s weight gave way, spilling her out onto the floor in the hallway.
Two pairs of shoes filled her vision.
After scrambling to her feet, she wished she could fall back onto the floor. Director Davis eyed her with dismay while Janet Parkin skewered her with a disgusted glare.
Humiliation washed over her. “I must have accidentally locked the door on my way in,” she mumbled, retreating to her desk.
Could this day get any worse?
