While dusting the grand hallway, Maya heard it—a faint, tinny melody. It was a piano, playing a waltz she didn't recognize. It was coming from the attic. She froze, the feather duster trembling in her hand. Rule three, she reminded herself. Ignore it.
A floorboard creaked behind her. "You're early, Maya," Mr. Henderson whispered from the shadows of the doorway. "We usually wait until the second week to finish the collection."
Maya didn't look back. She dropped her keys and bolted for the service entrance, her heart hammering against her ribs. she didn't stop running until she reached the main road, the gray Berkshire mist swallowing Blackwood Manor behind her.
