Chapter 10 - THE TIN BOX
I stared at the glowing screen of my phone.
Check the bottom of the safe.
The adrenaline that had just begun to fade came rushing back. I looked at Melissa, Mom, and Leo, who were already making their way up the stairs into the kitchen. They were laughing through their tears, relieved to be alive.
I turned back to the iron safe.
I pulled out the remaining manila folders, tossing them onto the dirt floor. When the safe was empty, I ran my hands along the cold steel bottom.
Near the back left corner, my fingers caught on a slight groove.
I pressed down hard. With a soft click, a false bottom popped up.
My breath hitched. I lifted the steel plate.
Beneath it was a small, rusted tin box.
I pulled it out. It was shockingly light. There was no lock, just a simple latch. I popped it open.
Inside was a single, folded piece of paper and a faded, torn photograph.
I unfolded the paper. It was a handwritten note, but not from my father. The handwriting was sharp and slanted.
Diane, I did what you asked. The money is gone, and Thorne will blame David. Now you owe me.— Arthur
My stomach dropped.
Arthur.
Arthur Pendelton was our next-door neighbor. He had lived next to us my entire life. He was the one who mowed our lawn when Dad died, the one who brought over casseroles.
I picked up the torn photograph. It was a picture of my mother, thirty years younger, standing next to Arthur in front of our house. They were holding hands.
“Claire?”
I jumped. Mom was standing at the top of the stairs, looking down into the cellar.
“Are you coming, sweetheart?” she asked gently.
I quickly shoved the note and the photograph into my pocket and closed the tin box.
“Coming, Mom,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
I climbed the stairs, clutching the tin box under my arm. The kitchen was a mess—the trapdoor splintered, chairs overturned—but the house was quiet.
David was gone. There was no sign of him in the living room, only a few drops of blood on the floorboards where he had stood. He had slipped away in the chaos.
Melissa was at the sink, pouring a glass of water for Leo. She looked at the rusty box under my arm.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Just some old keepsakes of Dad’s,” I lied smoothly. I wasn’t ready to blow up our family again, not five minutes after saving it.
The next morning, the sun rose over a house that finally belonged to us. I spent the early hours boarding up the front door and cleaning the kitchen. Melissa made pancakes, and for the first time in years, we ate breakfast together without arguing.
Around ten o’clock, I walked out to the front porch to get the mail.
I was looking at the yellowed grass where Mom wanted to plant her roses, thinking about how we could finally afford them.
“Morning, Claire.”
I froze.
Arthur Pendelton was standing at the edge of his driveway, leaning on a rake. He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Looks like you had some excitement last night,” Arthur said, walking slowly toward our property line.
“Just a misunderstanding,” I said, clutching the porch railing.
May you like
Arthur stopped at the edge of our lawn. His eyes locked onto mine.
“Did your mother ever find that old tin box?” he asked quietly. “Your dad borrowed it years ago. I’d sure like it back.”
