Free A City Tossed and Broken by Judy Blundell

shuddering from time to time, and each time I feel it my whole body responds with panic. Until the shuddering goes away.
    When I climbed Nob Hill and got to the house it was still early, I believe before eight o’clock, though it’s hard to tell since the clock on the mantel is smashed.
    I had to screw tight every nerve to get myself to go inside. I walked through the house with my hands clasped into fists to stop them from shaking. I didn’t know if I could climb those stairs again. But I knew what I had to do.
    If I could read that ledger, I could read what Mr. Sump’s business transactions truly were, and no doubt there would be listed payments to a Mr. Andrew Jewell, and listed next to those payments perhaps what the service was that he rendered. I wasn’t sure, but I felt sure enough to think that if I confronted Mr. Crandall with this evidence he might hold back the sale. It might not be too late.
    I hesitated on the landing. Mr. Sump still lay at the top. The blanket had slipped off and I could see his face.
    I didn’t say a prayer. I suppose I should have. I’ll say one tonight. But right then, I just tried to understand how someone could be so alive, so full of force , and then in an instant or two . . . just something that looked like ash.
    My mouth was dry and my hands were icy cold. I bent down and lifted one corner of the blanket, then lifted it a bit more.
    I saw his hand, grayish white, on the carpet. Almost as though he were, even in death, still straining to reach for his watch.
    For a moment I stood, looking at that hand. I was struck with horror at myself, at what I was about to do.
    I did it.
    I slid the watch out, clutched it to my chest, and ran, down the stairs and straight to the study. I collapsed on the floor, my back against the desk. My fingers gripped the watch, waiting for my heart to slow down.
    When I was calm I turned the watch over in my fingers. At first I was disappointed. There was no key I could discern on the chain. But I examined the ornament — a small lily, with diamond chips — and saw a faint line on the gold backing. I wriggled the backing and it slid forward and fell off into my hand. It was in the shape of a key.
    I went to the fireplace where the gilt carvings surrounded the mantel. I tried to remember exactly where Mr. Sump had been standing. I pressed this and that in the wood and nothing happened. The woodwork was intricate here, carved into the shapes of cupids holding up wreaths and laurel leaves and bowls of fruit — it was all so ornate it seemed hideously sinister to me. I pressed one thing and then another and I almost gave up, and then I closed my eyes and thought back to Mr. Sump and tried to remember everything — how he stood, how he moved, what he said.
    He said, “my precious flower.”
    And that’s when I saw the fleur-de-lis.
    The words in French mean “lily flower,” and it is the symbol of the monarchy in France. My father told me about it. He grew up in Lille, in France, and it was on that city’s coat of arms.
    Mr. Sump’s daughter was his precious flower.
    There was only one fleur-de-lis in the tangle of gilt leaves. I pressed it and the hidden panel slid open.
    I reached inside for the strongbox. I shut the panel, then walked to the desk and put the metal box down. I placed the flat key in the odd-shaped lock and turned it, and it opened.
    Laid on top of the neatly stacked bundles of cash was a ledger. I took out the ledger and shook out the cash. It was impossible to tell how much it was — there were five stacks of hundred- dollar bills.
    I was more interested in the ledger. Holding it in my hands, I took a seat at the desk.
    That’s when the aftershock hit. I heard the rumble and now I knew what it was. This wasn’t like the small shakes and bumps of the morning. This had enough power to terrify. The house shook. The lamp in the corner crashed to the floor. I managed to get the ledger and strongbox and crawled underneath the desk,