The zipper on Daniel’s green canvas tackle bag was half open and stuck against a rusty brass lure.

Six years ago someone had shoved a heavy cardboard box of winter blankets right down on top of it.

The attic smelled of damp oak and old paper.

Sophie lifted a stack of county extension newsletters from 2012 and set them down on the floorboards.

She checked the clock on her cell phone twice in thirty seconds.

“We don’t have to get through this corner today, Mom,” she said.

“I want this space cleared out before November,” I said.

I reached into the front pocket of the tackle bag, expecting a plastic box of lead sinkers.

Instead my fingers found smooth silver plastic.

It was a silver Sony digital camcorder, the handheld model Daniel bought the summer before he disappeared.

A memory card was still in the side slot, and the battery pack was still clipped to the back.

“Did Dad have that with him at Blackwood Lake?” Sophie asked.

“He took it with him everywhere,” I said.

I turned the silver band on my right ring finger once, then again.

I flipped open the little viewing screen and pushed the tiny red power switch.

The black screen flickered twice and went dark.

“The battery’s dead,” Sophie said.

“There’s a charger cord down in the kitchen buffet drawer.”