“You’re sure it’s in the basement?” he asked.

“That’s where I put all my old bank records when I moved out of the shoe factory neighborhood,” I lied, keeping my voice as flat as a board.

He nodded slowly, though his thumb began picking at the corner of his fingernail.

“Okay,” he said, standing up from the bed.

“Don’t go digging around down there tonight.

It’s too dark on those stairs.

I’ll help you look for it tomorrow.”