I took my car keys out of my flannel shirt pocket and set them down quietly on the Formica kitchen counter.

At six o’clock the next morning I went down the concrete basement stairs, stepping lightly so the floorboards wouldn’t creak over Emily’s room.

The heavy olive drab metal gear box sat under the back corner of my workbench, shoved behind two spare tires and a roll of plastic sheeting.

I dragged the box out onto the concrete floor and turned the brass key in its lock.

The lid swung up with a low metal scrape.