We drove around the block and approached Dad’s property from the rear alley. The kitchen curtains were open. A moving truck sat in the driveway. Two men carried boxes through the front door.
Vanessa’s silver car was parked beside the porch.
“She’s already moving things,” I whispered.
Dad watched the men with a blank expression.
“Look in the glove box.”
I opened it.
Inside was a brown envelope sealed with red wax.
“What is this?”
“Open it when we get inside.”
“You said the house was being watched.”
“It is.”
“Then how are we getting in?”
Dad pointed toward the woods behind the garage.
“When I was a boy, my father built a storm shelter under the tool shed. The entrance is hidden beneath the third floorboard.”
I stared at him.
“You have a hidden entrance?”
“My father did.”
“And you never thought to mention that?”
“I was waiting for a less complicated morning.”
A movement caught my eye.
Harold stepped out of the house.
He was a broad man in a gray overcoat, with one hand pressed to his phone. He looked toward the road, then directly at the truck.
Dad slid lower in his seat.
“Drive.”
I turned the truck into the alley and kept going.
We circled behind the property and parked beside the old tool shed. The woods were bare and gray, the branches scratching against one another in the wind.
Dad pushed open the shed door.
Inside, rusted tools hung from the walls. A workbench leaned at an angle. He walked to the back corner and lifted a loose plank with the toe of his shoe.
A metal ring appeared beneath it.
I pulled.
