PART 12: THEY WERE TOO LATE
The deputy’s words seemed to steal the air from the room.
“They pried up exactly one floorboard…”
“…and left the rest untouched.”
I gripped the edge of the table.
“The loose plank.”
Colleen nodded.
“They found it.”
Linda was already on her feet.
“When did this happen?”
“About an hour ago,” the deputy answered.
“A neighbor saw a pickup truck behind the old workshop and called us after it drove away.”
“Did anyone see the driver?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“What about fingerprints?”
“Our crime scene team is working on that now.”
Dale finally spoke.
“Was anything taken?”
The deputy looked down at his notebook.
“We don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t know what was hidden there.”
Janice closed her eyes.
“They found Harold’s hiding place.”
“No,” I said.
My own voice surprised me.
Everyone turned toward me.
“No?”
I slowly shook my head.
“No.”
Harold was many things.
Careful.
Patient.
Stubborn.
But above all…
He was predictable only when he wanted people to think he was.
I suddenly remembered one rainy afternoon nearly thirty years ago.
He had been replacing a broken cabinet hinge.
I had asked why he always built secret compartments into furniture.
He laughed.
“If a thief finds your first hiding place…”
“…you’ve already made your biggest mistake.”
Linda stared at me.
“You think the workshop was a decoy.”
“I think Harold wanted someone to find it.”
The room fell silent.
Colleen’s eyes widened.
“Oh…”
“You remember, don’t you?”
I looked at her.
“The chessboard.”
She smiled through her tears.
“Yes.”
Every Sunday afternoon, Harold and Colleen played chess in our den.
Whenever he believed someone was watching, Harold would deliberately sacrifice his queen.
People thought he had blundered.
Three moves later…
He won.
“He always said the same thing,” Colleen whispered.
“‘Never protect what matters most.’”
“‘Protect what points to it.’”
Linda slowly nodded.
“So the loose floorboard wasn’t the treasure.”
“It was the clue.”
Before anyone could answer, the deputy cleared his throat.
“There was something else.”
“What?”
“We found this.”
He reached into an evidence bag.
Inside was a small brass key.
Old.
Scratched.
With faded blue paint near the top.
The moment I saw it…
A memory hit me so hard I had to sit down.
Christmas.
Harold smiling as he wrapped a tiny box.
Inside…
That very key.
I had laughed.
“A key to what?”
He kissed my forehead.
“If you ever need it…”
“…you’ll already know where it belongs.”
I had teased him for weeks.
He never answered.
Eventually I forgot about it.
Or at least…
I thought I had.
Linda held the evidence bag toward me.
“Have you ever seen this before?”
“I owned it.”
Everyone stared.
“What did it open?” Paula asked.
I closed my eyes.
For several long seconds, I searched my memories.
The workshop.
The garage.
The attic.
Nothing.
Then…
I remembered one place I hadn’t thought about in decades.
“Oh, Harold…”
I whispered.
“He actually did it.”
Linda leaned closer.
“What?”
I looked at every person in the room.
“It doesn’t belong to the workshop.”
“It belongs to the grandfather clock.”
“The one in our old church.”
Colleen’s hand flew to her mouth.
“The church donated it after Harold restored it.”
I nodded.
“He insisted on repairing the hollow base himself.”
The deputy frowned.
“The clock is still there.”
Linda was already reaching for her car keys.
“Then we leave now.”
But before any of us could move…
Janice quietly said,
“If Richard’s men searched the workshop this morning…”
“…they’re already on their way to the church.”
No one argued.
Because deep down…
We all knew she was right.
