Before the estate lawyer even opened the leather folder in the Hollow Creek town hall, my twenty-seven-year-old sister Brenda leaned over and grabbed my wrist so hard her fingernails dug into my skin.
The scent of simmering chili and frying onions pulled me towards the back alley of the Albright Family Diner. It was early afternoon, past the lunch rush, and a few faded plastic tables sat empty on the narrow patch of cracked asphalt. My stomach rumbled, but it wasn’t hunger that drew me there. It was desperation. I needed answers, and the diner, where Grandma Evelyn had baked pies for decades, felt like the last place I could possibly connect with her memory, or find a friendly face.
I slipped past overflowing trash bins, their lids rattling as I brushed by, and peered through the streaked window into the kitchen. Gwen Carpenter, twenty-two, tall with her blonde ponytail pulled high, was wiping down the stainless-steel counters, her movements brisk and practiced. She was the assistant manager, and had worked for Brenda for years.
Her head snapped up. Our eyes met.
Gwen’s expression shifted, a flicker of alarm crossing her face before she quickly nodded towards a swinging door at the back. It led to the dry storage. I pushed through, my heart pounding, hoping Brenda wasn’t around.
A second later, Gwen followed me in. She grabbed my arm, her fingers surprisingly strong, and tugged me towards a heavy metal door. It was the walk-in freezer.
“Get in,” she whispered urgently, her eyes darting nervously towards the main kitchen. “Now. She’ll be back any minute.”
The freezer air hit me like a physical blow, cold and metallic, making my breath fog. Stacks of frozen burger patties and bags of french fries lined the shelves, their white packaging illuminated by a single dim bulb. Gwen closed the door most of the way, leaving just a narrow crack, blocking the view from the kitchen.
“Toby, what are you doing here?” she whispered, her voice low and tight with fear. “Brenda’s threatened everyone. She said if anyone talks to you…”
“I need to know what’s going on,” I cut her off, my teeth starting to chatter in the cold. “Brenda just served me with an eviction. She’s trying to send me to foster care.”
Gwen’s eyes widened, a raw pain etched on her face. She wrung her hands. “I knew it. I knew she’d do something like this.”
She leaned closer, her voice barely audible. “She’s been acting…different for months. Hiding things. Certified mail, stacks of it. Always locking her back office when she steps out.”
“What kind of certified mail?” I asked, my breath pluming.
Gwen hesitated, her gaze fixing on a frost-covered box of chicken tenders. “Letters. From lawyers, mostly. And other people. People who don’t look like lawyers.”
She reached into the pocket of her diner apron, her hand fumbling for a moment before she pulled something small and metallic free. It was a single, old-fashioned brass key. It gleamed faintly in the freezer’s dim light.
“This is to her back office desk,” she whispered, pressing it into my palm. The metal felt cold against my skin, but also heavy with significance. “I found it under a loose floorboard when I was sweeping the other day. Brenda keeps everything in that bottom drawer, always locked.”
“Why are you telling me this, Gwen?” I asked, my voice barely a tremor.
A sigh escaped her, a gust of white air in the frigid space. “I watched her for two years, Toby. I watched her lie about your grandma, make up excuses about why she didn’t want to see you. It wasn’t right. I can’t stand by anymore.”
“There’s something else,” she added, her voice dropping even lower. “I heard her on the phone a few weeks ago, shouting about interest payments. She borrowed eighty-five thousand dollars, Toby. From Huck Foley.”
My eyes snapped to hers. Marcus “Huck” Foley. Everyone in Hollow Creek knew that name. He wasn’t a banker. He ran the local underground loan syndicate, a shadow figure who dealt in quick cash and brutal consequences.
“Eighty-five thousand dollars?” I repeated, the number feeling impossible, huge.
“For her…lifestyle, she called it,” Gwen explained, her breath hitching. “And to pay all those lawyers. She said it was for ‘legal expenses’ to secure the estate. But she’s always spending, always buying things, acting like she’s rich. She’s not.”
A sharp clang echoed from the kitchen, a pan hitting the floor. Gwen flinched, her eyes wide.
“You need to go,” she urged, her voice trembling. “Before she gets back. Find out what’s in that drawer. Be careful, Toby.”
She pushed me gently towards the door, then slipped out, leaving me alone for a moment in the freezing dark. The key felt heavy in my hand, a tiny, cold promise of answers, and a terrifying link to Hollow Creek’s shadowy underworld.
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