The bottle inside shattered instantly. “Damn it!” she shouted, backing away as red wine bled across the floor like a slow-moving wound. Then she heard it. A soft metallic clink as something rolled. She snapped the flashlight toward it.
A small brass key had landed near the base of the broken recliner. Claire crouched and picked it up. It was tarnished but unmistakable—an old skeleton key, with a tag tied to it in faded ribbon. She turned it over. Etched into the brass were the initials C.M. Her breath caught.