I carefully slid the note out of the sleeve and smoothed it flat on the wooden table.

There, pressed faintly into the paper in tiny pencil marks, were several more lines of writing that had been completely invisible in the dark bedroom.

I gently traced the faint lines with a trembling fingertip.

“The brass key is not for the cabin or the truck.”

My breath caught in my throat as I read the last line written right below it.

It was a local street address on the industrial edge of Cedar Falls, followed by a clear unit number: C-17.