Now every shadow seemed occupied.
Daniel locked the door behind us.
“What exactly did Rosie hide?”
“A drive.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
He studied me.
“You brought me here without knowing where the evidence is?”
“She left a letter.”
I gave him the four pages.
He read them standing in my living room. His expression changed at the first line but remained controlled through the rest.
On the final page, Rosie had written:
The key is where Claire keeps the promise she broke.
Daniel looked up.
“What promise?”
“I don’t know.”
“You and Rosie have any childhood hiding places?”
“Dozens.”
“Think.”
I walked through the house while rain began tapping against the windows.
Where did I keep a broken promise?
My bedroom?
The attic?
The cedar box containing our mother’s jewelry?
Then I saw the framed photograph above the fireplace.
Rosie and me beside a lake, ages twelve and eleven. We wore matching red life jackets. I had one arm around her shoulders.
