What Marcus Found

I shoved the folder down into the trunk, then dropped flat against the icy pavement and wriggled under the sedan. The porch lamp snapped on, washing the driveway in yellow.

Gravel ground beneath approaching shoes.

Tyler was coming straight toward the car.

I flattened my cheek to the frozen ground and held myself still. My lungs begged for air, but even a breath felt dangerous. Oil and damp earth stung my nostrils.

His boots halted close enough that I could make out the ridged rubber beneath them.

He hadn’t realized the trunk lid was already raised. He lifted it higher.

The sedan rocked on its springs as he tossed in a weighty metal object. It struck the shovels and cement with a harsh clatter.

Tyler exhaled, shifting his stance on the gravel.

A phone began to dial. He switched the call to speaker.

Brenda’s voice crackled from its tiny speaker, edged with impatience.

“Are the chains in the car?” she asked sharply.

“They’re in the trunk,” Tyler answered. The strain in his voice was unmistakable. “But there’s a serious problem. The drugs aren’t keeping him under anymore.”

My blood seemed to turn to ice.

The drugs.

Brenda’s reply came low and furious. “How can that be? You put the crushed pills in his coffee three days ago. You told me he got another dose this morning.”

“He did,” Tyler murmured, moving back and forth beside the bumper. “I checked the locks downstairs. I heard him groaning through the door. He’s starting to pound on it.”

My father was alive.

For three days, they had kept him drugged and shut away somewhere on this property.

“Lower your voice,” Brenda warned. “If Marcus hears, our whole plan is finished. The mechanic already knows too much.”

“We should get him out now,” Tyler urged. “If he wakes all the way and starts yelling, the neighbors will hear. We’ve got cement and chains. Put him in the trunk, take him to the quarry, and be done with it.”

“We cannot move him yet!” Brenda shouted, her control breaking apart. “I still haven’t found the key. He must have taken it off his ring before coming into the house Tuesday. If the police find it when they search him, they’ll open the bank box. The original will is inside, Tyler—the one that leaves everything to Maya. We’d lose the house and every account.”

The safe-deposit key. Check her coat.

Dad’s message came back to me. He had stashed the key in Brenda’s own coat pocket, a place she’d never search for something she believed missing.

“Then what?” Tyler demanded.

“We go down and make him tell us where he put it,” Brenda replied, her voice suddenly flat and chilling. “Take the crowbar from the shed. Get into the cellar. Do whatever it takes to make him speak. Hurt his hands if you have to. But he stays alive until we have that key.”

“All right,” Tyler said. “I’m going down there.”

The call ended.

Tyler brought the trunk lid down hard. Its impact shuddered through the metal above me. His footsteps hurried away toward the side of the house.

I stayed beneath the sedan, locked in place for several heartbeats while terror spun through my thoughts.

Dad was in the storm cellar, the old brick root cellar under the kitchen. It had been abandoned for years, hidden beneath a heavy wooden hatch under the rug.

Tyler was headed there with a crowbar, ready to hurt him.

I dragged myself out from beneath the car, scraping my elbows against the frozen ground. The sting barely registered. Neither did the cold or the noise I made.

I ran for the garage and slammed my shoulder into its heavy side entrance.

Marcus stood just inside, one hand on the deadbolt. He’d seen me racing over through the window. He pulled me in and secured the lock behind me.

“What happened?” he demanded, taking in my face. “What did you find out?”

“He’s alive!” I choked out. My chest heaved, and the cold air burned in my throat. “They’ve been drugging him for three days. He’s in the storm cellar beneath the kitchen!”

Maya gasped from the armchair and let the flannel shirt slip from her hands. “Is Daddy in the dark?”

“They’re going to kill him tonight,” I said, gripping Marcus’s canvas overalls. “Tyler’s getting a crowbar. They need Dad to tell them where the key is—the key to the safe-deposit box. Once they have it, they’ll put him in the trunk and take him to the quarry.”

Marcus’s eyes opened wide as the truth landed.

“We need the police right now,” Marcus said, reaching for his phone. “We know exactly where he is. They have to come.”

“Wait.” I caught his arm. “If Brenda hears sirens, she’ll know we’re onto them. She could kill him before the police even reach the house.”

Marcus’s fingers hovered over the screen. Behind the walls, the house was silent, but I could picture Tyler going down beneath the kitchen with that crowbar.

Dad was trapped below us. A call might bring help—or warn Brenda before it arrived.

Marcus looked at me, his phone still in his hand. There was no safe choice left. With Dad in immediate danger and the police response liable to alert Brenda, Marcus and I would have to move on our own.