The Cellar Keys

Apart from a faint glow coming from one of the back rooms, the town’s only charity shop was in darkness. Its front door remained firmly locked, a small but unsettling detail in a town where everyone knew everyone else’s routines.

The shop had opened every morning since 1985, and before that the old riverside building had served the town as a bank, a pharmacy and a tavern. Places where people had always come looking for what they needed.

The shop stood close to the river in Marpleton, a pleasant English market town which had once grown round a medieval priory. A market still existed in diminished form across the road, although these days the stalls sold more memories than goods. Now, regulars gathered, waiting outside the shop window, but the main lights stayed stubbornly off.

A few of the shop’s volunteers were huddled in the back room speaking in lowered voices. Patrick, the treasurer, had collected the spare keys from the greengrocer to let them in. There was only one subject anyone cared about: why their long-serving manager, Rhea, had failed to open up the shop the previous day.

“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 away. In all the years I’ve known Rhea, she’s never once been off sick.”

“Wasn’t she supposed to be going to New Zealand to visit her sister?” Patrick asked.

“She was, but not until the following week. It’s in the shop diary… Take a look.” Ivy tapped the relevant pages with a finger that trembled slightly.

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

“She wasn’t in the habit of making mistakes.” Ivy’s loyalty knew no bounds.

Patrick adopted a different approach.

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

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

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

“But you have to admit she has been a bit distracted lately,” someone said.

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

“I’ve tried her on her mobile, but nothing.” Sylvana was a refugee who had joined the shop two years earlier. Rhea had taken her under her wing and her English had improved markedly. She loved Rhea, but whether these feelings were returned and whether risking their friendship was worth it, remained unanswered. Now Rhea’s disappearance only deepened her anxiety.

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

“No. I went to her house for my lesson last Wednesday. She told me she’d be away all next week.” Sylvana frowned. “

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

“Except he’s currently on leave. The volunteers’ phone numbers are kept in the locked cabinet and Rhea is the only one with the key,” Ivy interjected.

Everyone knew Rhea carried her keys on a fob clipped to her waistband. Patrick joked she secretly had a cellar key for the shop’s “most trying customers” — to which he’d received an enigmatic smile. The actual cellar key must have vanished in the mists of time. Certainly, there was no call to use the cellar with ample storage space upstairs. In any case, the cellar door was permanently locked to prevent anyone getting trapped.

Patrick scrutinized the rota sheets.

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

Sylvana said nothing. Instead, her mind raced back to the locked cabinet. If Rhea was the only one with the key to the volunteer records, how would they even contact Judd?

A colder thought followed.

The shop was a vault of secrets, and Rhea’s meticulous nature meant she never left anything to chance. If she hadn't forgotten her dates, then someone had interrupted her plans. Someone who knew the shop’s routines, its hidden corners, perhaps even the things everyone else had forgotten.

Sylvana glanced at Patrick.

For the first time, she wondered just how much the amiable treasurer really knew about the missing keys.

***

Flashback

Three months earlier, dressed in black jeans and a hoodie and trailed by a mournful cocker spaniel, Judd had arrived to enquire about volunteering.

When Sylvana bent to stroke the spaniel, it shrank behind Judd’s legs, whimpering.

“She gets nervous round new people,” Judd told her.

Putting away the day’s takings, Patrick went to fetch Rhea. “A young man’s asking about volunteering,” he said. “Shall I send him through?”

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

“He seems pleasant enough. His dog’s rather nervous.”

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

Later Rhea admitted she’d struggled to get references for Judd. Eventually, he’d presented her with two neatly typed references, supposedly from a former employer. With typical thoroughness, Rhea had rung one of the numbers to learn more about her new helper. The voice that answered sounded suspiciously like Judd’s. Before she could investigate further, other matters intervened. Somehow the moment passed.

A few weeks later, Judd was proving to be an asset. Willing to turn his hand to anything, he spared the others from hauling heavy sacks and boxes from one end of the shop to the other. With little guidance, Judd had transformed one of the sorting rooms, leaving it immaculate.

One evening when Sylvana cycled past the back of the shop, she noticed a group of “undesirables” standing round with Judd, engrossed in conversation. She hurried past, hoping she hadn’t been seen. Rhea told her it was nothing to worry about, that she’d keep an “eye on things,” and bafflingly added, “I’d rather you kept this between us for now .”

The day the shop reopened, without Rhea at the helm, was Sylvana’s birthday. Patrick invited her to join him later for one of his “wife’s specials” — homemade pizza and pear wine. The food tasted delicious, but she pushed her plate to one side.

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

“Her mobile’s dead. It’s strange. I knocked on her door last night, but still no answer.”

Patrick got up. “I happen to know Rhea’s neighbour, Angela, from the book club. She may well have a spare key. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, but it wouldn’t do any harm to check if everything is alright.”

Sylvana was relieved. “That’s a great idea Patrick.”

“I have been known to have a few in my time. Come on, get your coat. Someone has to play detective.”

Half an hour later, they were standing inside Rhea’s house. The hallway led into an open-plan kitchen diner with gleaming countertops. The smell of coffee lingered invitingly. When Rhea’s partner Lyndsey had died five years earlier, she’d left Rhea a generous insurance pay-out. Sylvana sighed, remembering how she and Rhea had recently 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.”

“I’ll check down here if you search upstairs,” Patrick said, jolting Sylvana back to the present.

The passport was lying on the bedside table. The face on the photograph lacked the more drawn look Rhea had been carrying in recent months.

Sylvana’s years working for a private detective agency when she was younger had taught her to trust instinct over caution. She began searching for clues. Rhea’s shop keys were lying on the bedside drawer. More surprising was another set of keys attached to a ring with a tag labelled “Cellar.”

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

“I’m ok.” Sylvana slipped the cellar keys into her bag. Then she remembered Rhea’s present and opened it. She was surprised to find a pay-as-you-go phone, already charged.

“Well?” Patrick looked up expectantly. “Did you find anything?”

“Just this.” She gave him the passport.

“That’s odd. It appears she never made it to New Zealand, after all. Maybe it’s time to involve the police.”

“What? Right now?”

“It is rather late! I doubt they’ll want to be called out tonight.” Patrick thought of the half-opened bottle of wine waiting back home. “I'll do it first thing tomorrow. Shall I walk you back?”

“No need. I can take care of myself,” Sylvana said firmly.

At the back of the shop she paused, checking the alley was empty before placing her shoes in her bag and producing a pair of gloves. With only the moon watching, she slowly descended the cellar steps. At the bottom, she pulled the gloves tighter and listened. She didn’t want anyone to know she’d been here.

After three attempts the door creaked open. She was met by cloying damp, overlaid with something else. Death. Tensing, she flicked on her phone torch and spotted a narrow corridor with another door at the end. Heart hammering, she slowly turned the handle.

She smelt the body before she saw it. Wearing his trademark hoodie, Judd lay slumped against an upturned table, his eyes staring and opaque. The bloated, discoloured thing before her could hardly be called human. Sylvana covered her face to stop herself retching. She noted the bloodied head and the smashed vase lying next to it. The blood had pooled and dried, staining the clothes and floor.

Her detective training kicked in as she forced herself to analyze the scene. Judd was a heavy, strong young man, yet there were no signs of a prolonged struggle. A knife lay close to his right hand. A smashed ceramic vase had fallen from the shelving to the left. It looked less like an execution than a desperate struggle in which someone had lashed out with the nearest thing to hand.

She was no expert, but the undertones of rotting fruit suggested death had occurred a few days earlier.

Even then, horror was blunted by relief. So long as it wasn’t Rhea, she had the strength for anything.

But where was Rhea?

Adjusting to the dimness, Sylvana tried to make sense of her surroundings. Crudely constructed shelves lined one wall, stacked with storage tubs and packets. The place was obviously some kind of drug den. Could Judd’s death have been the result of a disagreement with other gang members? Sylvana’s stomach lurched. What if they turned up and found her?

She’d only just locked the cellar door when she heard voices on the driveway. Somehow, she managed to scramble behind one of the bins underneath the fire escape. Hardly daring to breathe, she waited until she heard a scuffling of feet and the gang members disappearing down the cellar steps. Then, she bolted into the night as fast as her trembling legs would carry her.

She would decide what to do when she got home.

Halfway across the town’s park, her bag began to ring.

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

“Rhea! Is it really you? Thank God…Are you alright? Where are you? Talk to me.”

“If I tell you, you must keep it to yourself,” Rhea said urgently.

“Of course. By the way, I have your keys.”

“The shop keys?”

“The cellar keys. Long story. I have just been down there. I found him! Judd. Dead. It was horrible.” Sylvana began to laugh hysterically as the shock kicked in.

“You went into the cellar?” Rhea repeated. “Why?”

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

“I didn’t get the chance.”

“What happened?”

“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’s teeth were chattering from shock. “I was wearing gloves. But Rhea... I think know what happened down there. I looked at the knife, and the way the vase fell. Judd went after someone with a weapon, didn't he? Someone struck him in pure self-defence.”

There was a long, heavy silence on the line.

“Why were you wearing gloves?” Rhea asked, her voice quaking.

“I had a bad feeling. I didn’t want to be implicated in anything. 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 contacted you or gave you the phone? We’ll meet soon. That is, if you want to. I’ll understand if you don’t want anything more to do with me.”

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

The train journey seemed to drag on forever, but eventually Sylvana reached the seaside town and walked to the pier.

Her heart flipped when she saw the figure standing below. The matinee performance at the Pavilion theatre was in full swing and the pier was almost deserted.

She came up behind Rhea, and tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey.”

Rhea turned, instantly relaxing when she saw her friend.

“Hey.” Sylvana sank into Rhea’s arms. They embraced for a long moment. “It’s so good to see you,” Sylvana said.

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“No. And I’m so hungry.”

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

“You mean the famous English fish and chips?”

“I’ve discovered a great place on the front.” Rhea held onto Sylvana’s arm. “Come on, let’s eat. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

“Judd was dangerous,” Rhea admitted quietly. “He was running a drug racket and I threatened to report him to the police.”

“It doesn’t surprise me. But how did you find out?”

“Not long after I joined the shop, I was clearing up one of the back rooms and came across a discarded cabinet. There were two sets of cellar keys in it. I never told anyone about them partly because I didn’t want the fuss. Unfortunately, Judd caught me coming up the stairs one evening and demanded to store his things there. I didn’t like the way he spoke to me. When I refused, he threatened to torture his dog in front of me. He implied if I didn’t comply, I’d be next. Those eyes were so cold.”

Sylvana clasped Rhea’s hand.

“I’m afraid there’s more,” Rhea said dully. “You were never supposed to find out. You probably won’t want anything to do with me when you hear the rest.”

Sylvana clutched Rhea’s hand more tightly. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” She spoke firmly. “It's alright. I know what you did. At least, I think I do.” She’d come too far to be brushed aside. “Whatever it is, we’ll bear it together. I love you, Rhea. I can’t go on without you knowing that.”

“You do?” For a moment, Rhea’s face lit up. “That’s a relief,” she said, laughing. “I thought it was just me.”

“Did you?” Sylvana laughed too.

“I may have had my suspicions, but I didn’t want to say anything.”

“I’m so happy,” Sylvana said.

“Hold your horses before we get carried away,” Rhea warned.

“Hold my horses?”

“An English expression. It means don’t count your chickens…”

“Count my chickens?”

“Sylvana, my love, let me finish my story before you say anything.”

“Sorry.” Sylvana nibbled a stray chip.

Rhea was smiling in spite of everything. “You already deduced most of it from the cellar room, didn't you? In the end, I couldn’t stand being held to ransom by a bully like Judd. A few days ago, I decided to confront him in the cellar. He grabbed a knife from the table. There was an old jar on one of the shelves and, as he turned, I smashed it over his head.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t tell you all this but I made sure you had the phone before I left. I hoped you’d stay in touch. The following day, I headed here. I didn’t want to be traced so I paid for everything with cash.”

“But surely the police will realise you only acted in self-defence,” Sylvana insisted.

“Perhaps I should have gone to them straightaway, but I couldn’t face it.” Rhea’s hesitation was palpable. “Especially considering…”

“Considering what?” In spite of the warmth between them, Sylvana felt a sudden chill in the air. “What aren’t you telling me?”

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

“I can’t believe it.” Sylvana knew Rhea was speaking the truth. She tried to disguise her anguish. “How long have you known?” She whispered.

“I only found out for certain the day before Judd threatened me in the cellar. I wasn’t thinking straight. By then I was in too deep.”

“I’m going to stay with you.” Sylvana had never been more certain about anything.

Rhea shook her head. “Only for tonight. 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 an envelope. Inside was a copy of her will. “I want to make your life better when I’m gone,” she said.

Words failed Sylvana. She reached for Rhea’s hand. Whatever lay ahead — police questions, hospitals, grief — she knew one thing with certainty.

This time neither of them would face it alone.