“The yellow flour jar,” I said.

“I kept the spare set in the pantry, just like we planned.”

Sarah took my arm, pulled me into the warm front hall and shot the heavy deadbolt behind us with a loud metal click.

“Come on back here,” Sarah said.

She led me down the narrow hallway past her little kitchen to the wooden door at the very end.

The room had been her sewing room for four years straight.