Chapter 9 - Somebody Knew Where to Look
The drive back felt twice as long.
I kept replaying one thing.
The front door.
I had locked it.
I knew I had.
Cole said, “Maybe the lock froze.”
I looked at him.
He stopped talking.
When we reached Juniper Ridge, Deputy Cass Monroe was standing on the porch.
The doorframe was intact.
No kicked wood.
No broken glass.
Someone had used a key.
Inside, nothing looked disturbed.
That was worse.
My laptop sat on the kitchen table.
Television untouched.
Cash in a drawer untouched.
The old silver belt buckle my grandfather gave me still hung by the mudroom.
Sheriff Talley walked room to room with me.
“What’s missing?”
“I don’t know.”
My bedroom looked normal.
The office looked normal.
Then I saw the wall.
The framed mountain sketch was crooked.
I took it down.
The backing had been cut open.
Empty.
Cole stared.
“What was in there?”
I turned to him.
“I don’t know.”
That was true.
Mostly.
Years ago, after Mom died, I had found the sketch in a box of her things. The cardboard backing had always seemed too thick. I assumed it was warped.
I had never opened it.
Dad knew the sketch existed.
He had watched me take it from the house after the funeral.
I suddenly remembered him saying, “Take that old thing if you want.”
Old thing.
He had almost thrown it away.
Someone had known there might be something behind it.
Deputy Monroe found wet boot prints by the back hall.
One set.
Men’s size eleven, maybe twelve.
Cole looked down at his own boots.
Size twelve.
The deputy noticed.
So did the sheriff.
Cole raised both hands.
“Seriously?”
Talley crouched.
“The tread doesn’t match yours.”
Cole lowered his hands.
“Great. Merry Christmas to me.”
I checked the security system.
The camera hub had been unplugged.
Not smashed.
Unplugged.
Whoever came inside knew where it was.
The front door lock showed no damage.
I had given only one spare key to anyone.
The previous ranch owner had turned over two at closing.
I kept one.
The other had been in my wallet for a week, until—
I stopped.
Cole saw my face.
“What?”
“I gave the spare to Dad.”
He stared.
“When?”
“Before I changed the locks.”
“Why?”
Because three months after I moved in, Dad called and said he was “passing through Montana” and wanted to see the place.
I was in Texas for reserve training.
I mailed him a spare.
He said he never came because weather turned bad.
When I got home, the house looked untouched.
A month later, after Christmas, I changed every exterior lock.
Except the mudroom.
I had forgotten the mudroom.
Sheriff Talley followed my eyes.
“Which door?”
I pointed.
He walked down the hall.
The mudroom deadbolt clicked under his hand.
Locked now.
But the keyway had tiny fresh scratches around it.
Cole whispered, “Dad kept the key.”
I didn’t answer.
Then my phone rang.
Denise.
I put it on speaker.
Her voice was barely audible.
“Nora, Wade’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know. He took the black case from the safe.”
“What black case?”
“I’ve never seen inside it.”
Behind her, glass shattered.
Denise gasped.
The line went silent.
“Denise?”
Nothing.
Then a man breathed near the phone.
And hung up.
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