Sophie switched off the ignition, and the engine’s hum faded into complete silence.

“Are you sure the key from the garage stone fits that padlock?” Sophie asked, looking toward the tree line.

I reached down and twisted the silver band on my right ring finger twice.

“Your father bought that matching lock set when he put up the dock frame twenty years ago.”

Sophie checked the time on her phone screen.

“It’s eight eighteen.”

“He told me only three brass keys were ever made for that shed,” I said.