Samuel Reed Kept an Old Wooden Bat Behind the Pantry Door for Twenty Years

“Monday I’m going to the courthouse with Arthur,” I said.

At half past five I found Claire in the kitchen with the bank copies squared on the oilcloth and the salt shaker holding them down.

“What else did you carry out of that house Thursday night?”

She looked at the pantry door.

“My purse.

And one other thing.”

“Go get it.”

The old ash bat leaned where I had kept it for twenty years, behind that pantry door.