Everything looked clean and ordinary.
That somehow made it worse.
Mr. Bell watched her from the doorway. “What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That sounds difficult.”
“It usually is.”
He led her to the garage, where old items left by previous owners had been stacked on metal shelves. Most were useless—paint cans, curtain rods, a cracked lampshade, a box of mismatched tiles.
Then Amelia saw a carton labeled KITCHEN JUNK.
Her heart began to pound.
Inside were drawer handles, a rusted bottle opener, faded appliance manuals, and a small plastic tray that looked as though it had once fit inside a drawer.
No recorder.
She tried not to show her disappointment.
Then Mr. Bell said, “There’s also the attic.”
The attic was narrow and hot, filled with insulation dust and forgotten objects. Amelia used the flashlight on her phone, sweeping it across beams and boxes until something reflected faintly near a vent.
