I swept the thin beam under the main workbench, shoving aside three plastic tubs of lawn chemicals and four dried-out paint cans.

My fingers grazed heavy steel handles tucked far back against the rear block wall.

I hauled the long bolt cutters out of the dirt, their black rubber grips cool in my palms.

As I straightened up, the light caught a small plastic box mounted right above the inside door frame.

The tiny green power light on the security camera was glowing steadily, its lens aimed across the concrete floor toward the driveway entrance.

My husband had put that camera up six years ago to keep an eye on his tools, and it recorded nonstop onto a hard drive tucked in the cabinet.