I watched the red taillights turn slowly past the open iron gates, leaving the gravel driveway quiet again under the tall pine trees.

I walked away from the foyer window and straight down the wood-paneled corridor into the estate library.

Raymond was already sitting at the polished dark oak table, his back straight and his breathing steady.

Across from him sat Brandon Vance, his knuckles still smudged with dark grease from his morning shift in the diner kitchen.

Between them sat a small steel record box that Brandon had carried in from his truck.

I took the brass key ring out of my coat pocket, the small iron key hanging from the loop where Brandon had left it in my bag four months ago.