I didn’t answer.

I reached across the laminate, picked up the red-tagged brass key, and memorized the three cut numbers stamped into the shank before putting it back in exactly the spot where he’d left it.

How had Julian gotten hold of a key to the secure basement door?

Over our heads, heavy work boots tramped back and forth across the floorboards of the master bedroom.

I slipped quietly up the back stairs to my room, took the certified notice of interest out of my bag, and slid the stamped county document flat beneath my mattress.