What had caused the tear in the beautiful lining? Maybe I could repair it. Although I wasn’t much of a seamstress, surely I could mend that.
I ran my hand around the lining, noting its smoothness. What was this? Something hard was lodged between the lining and the leather. Turning the purse upside down and shaking it moved the hidden object toward the tear in the lining. A small, gray something protruded from the tear. Grasping it between my thumb and forefinger, I wiggled it out. A tiny, metal key lay in my hand.
Why would Aunt Kezzie have put a key inside her purse, hidden from sight? Or, did she even know it was there? Maybe the key had been in the inside pocket and fell out of it into the hole in the lining? Was the key the reason the purse was so precious to her or was the purse just a reminder of a happier time, a time before she moved to the nursing home?
I shook my head and stuck the key in my pocket. I’d find a good place for it, perhaps begin a collage of old keys to hang on the wall. It was an unusual shape, not more than an inch and a half or two inches long. Or, maybe before including it in a collage, I’d try to find a locksmith who knew what the key was meant to unlock. But now, I was in no mood for anything except a hot drink to chase away the day’s chill. Rain still sluiced down the windows and dripped off the eaves. No day was a good day for a funeral or a reading of a will, but dark autumn days seemed to me to be the loneliest of all.
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