By the bottom step of the back doorway, a thick square flagstone sat a little higher than the gravel floor around it.

I knelt on the cold ground and dug my fingertips into the mud under the edge of the stone.

It moved with a heavy scrape, uncovering a small square of dark dirt.

Daniel’s old copper key box was tucked into the earth, its hinge coated with a thin film of green rust.

I touched the cold lid to make sure it was still sitting firm, but I left it buried exactly where Daniel had put it.

If I moved the box now, Dean would spot the freshly turned mud the next time he came by on a weekend.