“Bottom right,” he whispered, his raspy voice dropping even lower.

“Behind the old tax books.”

He blinked twice to tell me he was done talking, then let his head sink back into the white pillow.

I waited until six o’clock, while the hallway outside was still dark and silent.

Christopher never left his bedroom suite before eight in the morning, and the kitchen staff hadn’t started the stove downstairs yet.

I walked down the grand staircase, hugging the carved railing to avoid the three squeaky steps near the landing.