The Jewel and the Key Read Online Free Page A

through the skinny Penguin editions of plays, eventually tackling the big, bound collections: Shakespeare, Shaw, Ibsen, Williams, Wilson. She loved them all. The words jumped off the pages. She could hear how the dialogue should sound, imagine how a scene should look onstage. She devoured actors’ biographies and pillaged the DVDs and audio recordings. But her favorite book of all was definitely
A History of the Theater.
    She had shoved it into its place on the shelf spine-first to prevent anyone from buying it, and, as always, as she pulled it out she felt a twinge of guilt. It was a collector’s edition, and Dad could have sold it for a lot of money. She
would
turn it back around someday. Just not yet.
    But as she tipped it out of its place, a squeal of car tires outside startled her. She spun around to see headlights flaring crazily in the window, and the volume slipped from her hand, pages fluttering.
    â€œOh, no!” She dove and made a lucky catch. The book slammed shut as she caught it, but a stiff piece of paper about the size of her palm flitted out. Addie snatched at it, but it wafted over the row of books and stuck behind the shelf.
    Ooh, Dad would kill her if she’d torn out a page! Carefully, she reached over the tops of the books to get at the paper. But it just slipped farther down and stuck in a jagged crack in the wall.
    Darn it! Now the whole bookcase would have to be moved.
    She put the book down on a stool. Then she leaned her shoulder against the end of the shelf and rocked it gently back and forth. It groaned and scraped as she angled it away from the wall. When there was enough space, she slipped behind it and sneezed violently, trapped in a column of dust. Then she saw that the paper wasn’t stuck in a jagged bit of plaster after all.
    It was caught in a door.
    Addie felt a tremor of excitement. She’d pulled books off this shelf a thousand times but had never imagined there’d be a hidden door behind it. It was as if it had just materialized. She had the most ridiculous feeling that if she came back later, she’d find nothing here at all.
    Bending closer, she saw that the paper was an old black-and-white photograph, faded to a syrupy orange. Only the bottom of it was visible: the hems of long skirts, pleated trousers, feet in fancy shoes and boots. Intrigued, she took hold of the corner and gently tried to pull it out.
    It tore.
    She winced, let go, and tried instead to open the door to release it. But no matter how hard she twisted the knob, the door only gasped slightly, like a fat man trying to catch his breath.
    Now she
had
to open it. Something good had to come out of this day. She dashed into the back hallway to the closet where Whaley stashed his tools and grabbed a crowbar. She slipped behind the bookshelf again and inserted its edge into the doorjamb. It was hard work. Dried paint had melded with the moisture in the walls and created a sort of seal. She had to pry the door loose from its frame bit by bit.
    When she had maneuvered the crowbar halfway down the crack, she tried the handle again.
    This time, the door breathed out a bit more. Addie dug in her heels, braced herself, and pulled with all her might.
    It flew open, and the photo fluttered to the floor.
    For a moment, she could have sworn she heard a trill of laughter feather through the air behind her. Startled, she jerked around to see if anyone was there.
    Of course not.
It was just her overactive imagination. But her heart was beating fast, and it was a relief to hear faint laughter from upstairs, and footsteps creaking across the ceiling.
    â€œFood’s on the table!” Dad shouted down the back steps.
    Quickly, she snatched the photo from the floor and held it to the light.
    It was a scene from a play. Three women in long gowns, their hair piled on their heads, stood stage left, and three men in tails were stage right. They all wore hideous masks with enormous jutting noses, bristling