The Padlock on the Mastiff

Greg’s message filled my screen: Bring Barnaby to my place immediately. No police. Keep Laura out of this. If you want the real story about David, bring the dog.

Ice seemed to spread beneath my skin. Whatever answer existed about my brother had not vanished beneath lake water or disappeared into the Georgia woods. It was fastened to the collar of the massive mastiff sitting in my kitchen.

Greg was afraid of Barnaby. More than that, he was afraid of what Barnaby could lead me to.

I read the message again, then once more, hoping the words would rearrange themselves into something less horrifying. They did not. Greg knew far too much about David’s disappearance.

For three years, he had performed grief and loyalty with frightening skill. He had stood beside Laura after David’s truck turned up near Lake Oconee. He had helped save David’s contracting company when foreclosure threatened. He had become Clara’s dependable stepfather.

That performance was over now. One desperate text had exposed the truth beneath it. Greg had known what happened to David from the beginning.

“Aunt Sarah?” Clara asked quietly. Her arms remained looped around Barnaby’s thick neck, while the dog rested his enormous head against her shoulder. “Is Greg coming here?”

“No, sweetheart.” I made my voice gentle, though fear was battering against my ribs. I locked my phone and shoved it into my pocket. “Greg is not getting near us.”

I dropped to the tile floor beside Barnaby. The battered brass lock still hung from his collar, its scratched numbers catching the kitchen light: 44 - 12 - 89. The marks no longer looked like coordinates to me.

They resembled the sequence for an old dial lock. My pulse skipped as that possibility settled into place.

“Clara,” I said, carefully keeping alarm out of my tone, “when Daddy hid Barnaby at the lumber yard, where did he stay? That property was enormous.”

She stroked the dog’s ear before answering. “At the back, where the brick office used to be. Daddy had a special room there. Greg wasn’t supposed to go inside it.”

Her voice grew even softer. “Daddy said Barnaby stayed there so nobody could take his important stuff.”

The old brick office. My breath caught so sharply it hurt.

After David vanished, Greg had claimed the building was ruined by leaks, mold, and structural damage. Before the month was out, he had hired a bulldozer and flattened it. Soon afterward, he sold the entire lumber yard to a developer.

If David’s hidden room had contained proof, Greg had buried it under what was probably a shopping-center parking lot. Or he had destroyed exactly what David had been trying to preserve.

My phone vibrated before I could question Clara again. Laura’s name appeared across the screen.

I paused only long enough to feel dread twist through me, then answered. “Laura?”

“Sarah, where are you?” Her voice came thin and ragged, nearly swallowed by crashing sounds behind her. Something shattered. Furniture scraped across wood.

“I’m home with Clara,” I said, already moving into the living room. “What’s happening? Is Greg there?”

“He burst in like he’d lost his mind,” Laura sobbed. “He went straight to David’s old office. He has a crowbar, Sarah. He’s ripping apart the walls behind the bookshelves.”

Adrenaline drove through me like a blade. “Leave the house, Laura. Now.”

“He keeps yelling about a dog,” she said, as if she had not heard me. “He wants David’s journals. The ones the police checked. I said they were in the attic, but he says David fooled him.” Her breath hitched. “He looks like he could kill somebody.”

“Listen to me exactly,” I said, lowering my voice. “Walk out the front door. Don’t grab clothes. Don’t announce anything. Get in your car and come to my house. Clara is here, but you have to get away from him without warning him.”

Silence pressed against the call. Then Greg’s voice came through, hard and close enough to make me flinch.

“Who are you talking to?” he demanded.

“Nobody,” Laura said shakily. “My mother.”

“End the call.” Greg’s order cracked through the phone, and the connection cut off at once.

I stood frozen with the dead phone in my hand. Greg was armed, furious, and tearing through David’s office for evidence. Then Barnaby rose beside me, ears forward, a deep growl vibrating from his chest toward the driveway.

I pulled Clara away from the windows and tucked her into the interior hallway, out of sight. Then I crept back, separated the blinds with two trembling fingers, and saw an unfamiliar dark blue sedan idling at the end of my driveway.