Sophie reached for the glove box latch and pulled it open.

Inside were ninety-two dollars in cash tucked next to the owner’s manual, a roll of electrical tape and a heavy nickel-plated flashlight.

“Dean said on Sunday he searched the whole property three years ago,” Sophie said, taking the flashlight out of the glove box.

“Dean says a lot of things over his coffee,” I said.

I opened my door, and the cool night air rushed into the front seat.

We climbed out onto the wet gravel and shut the doors quietly, leaving a thermos of black coffee behind on the vinyl seat between us.