My Brother Hid a Recording Module Beneath His Daughter’s Dining Chair
The television was on with the sound off, and Elisa tucked her legs under her on the sofa while I took the ottoman.
“I want to say something, and then I’ll let it go,” I said.
“Let it go now,” Marcus said, not unkindly.
His phone buzzed on the arm of the chair.
He turned it over, read it, and put it back face down.
The name on the screen wasn’t one I knew.
“There are marks on Sophia’s spine in a line.
And there’s a box under her seat that’s warm to the touch.”
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