What the Shed Was Hiding

“Tell me who he is, Brenda,” Dad said.

Brenda shut her eyes tight and shook her head. “I have no idea what you mean. I’ve never seen that wrapper before!”

“Enough lying.” Dad moved closer. “You authorized three cash withdrawals of two thousand dollars each from my account. Six thousand in all. You claimed you needed a contractor for the shed. No repairs were made. Someone cut a tunnel beneath it.”

“I was being blackmailed!” Brenda cried, eyes flying open as tears streaked her cheeks. “I had no choice, David. He said he’d kill me if I refused. He threatened the boys, too!”

I held Leo more tightly. Anger settled over me, cold and heavy.

“Who was it?” Dad demanded.

“A man, that’s all!” Brenda yanked at her handcuffs. “He came in one night with a gun. He made me let him use the basement. I swear I didn’t know what he was doing out there. I only gave him money so he’d leave us alone!”

It was convincing enough to pass for the truth. A frightened wife, left alone while her husband served overseas, trapped in her own home by a dangerous criminal.

But there was nothing true about it.

I lowered Leo carefully and told him to wait behind the SUV’s tire. Then I stepped into the driveway, facing Brenda.

“If he forced his way inside and held you here, why did you shut Leo in a footlocker?” My words carried over the crackle of the radios.

She jerked as if I’d slapped her. “I had to hide him! I was trying to keep him safe!”

“That wasn’t hiding him.” I came a little closer. The scattered pieces of the story were beginning to fit together. “You were punishing him. He’d discovered the tunnel and the man inside it, and he was going to tell me.”

“Shut your mouth!” Brenda screamed. The frightened-woman act fell away, leaving fury in its place. “You haven’t got a clue!”

“I know you can’t eat peanuts,” I said, gesturing at the wrapper in Dad’s hand. “You’re allergic. You won’t even allow peanut products in the house. Last Thanksgiving, you panicked when my aunt brought pecan pie because you thought it might have touched something with peanuts.”

Dad studied the wrapper, then looked at Brenda. His expression changed as the meaning sank in, dark and unmistakable.

“Say some armed stranger broke in to dig a tunnel for a cartel,” I went on, pulse beating hard in my throat. “Why would you buy the candy he likes best?”

No one answered. The driveway seemed to go still. The local officers glanced at one another, unsettled, while Major Evans watched Brenda with a clenched jaw.

She parted her lips, but nothing came. Her eyes stayed on me, filled with such naked hatred that I could almost feel it pressing against my skin.

“Those peanut butter cups weren’t accidental,” I said to Dad, my voice shaking despite my effort to steady it. “I saw them among the groceries. I figured she had bought them for Halloween. When I asked, she snatched the bag away and locked it in her bedroom.”

Dad moved right up to Brenda. He bent toward her until their faces were only inches apart.

“You weren’t handing over six thousand dollars to make a blackmailer go away,” he said in a low voice. “You paid for something. You hired him. Who is he?”

Brenda turned her face aside and compressed her lips into a narrow line. She wasn’t going to tell us. She might have been afraid, but not of Dad. Whoever waited in that tunnel was the one she feared.

“Take her to the precinct,” Evans ordered the local officers. “We’ll question her there. Get forensic teams to the basement and the shed.”

The officers began escorting Brenda toward a patrol car. Dad faced me, and the hard edge of the commander eased enough for me to see my father again.

“You did well,” he said, resting his hand on my shoulder. “Bring Leo over. I want both of you out of here. We’ll stay at a hotel tonight. This place is a crime scene.”

“We still need our things,” I said, looking toward the entrance. “Toothbrushes, pajamas, Leo’s medicine.”

Dad glanced back at the house, his brow furrowing. “Be quick. Stay out of the basement and away from Brenda’s room. Grab your bags and come straight back out.”

“Got it.”

I hurried to the SUV, took Leo by the hand, and led him up the drive. A policewoman offered us a gentle, sympathetic smile as we reached the porch.

“I can go inside with you,” she said.

“No, thanks. We’ll be fast,” I replied. “We’re just going to his room.”

I didn’t want an officer at my side. I needed a little space to breathe and take in what was happening to us.

We crossed the threshold. The house no longer felt like ours. It seemed hollow, violated, and cold.

The front door stayed open behind us, afternoon light stretching over the hardwood. Even so, it could not push the shadows from the corners.