Three Baby Cribs and a Missing Set of Car Keys
Shaun did not answer. He popped the metal latches of the toolbox, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen. He reached inside, pulled out a long flat-head screwdriver and a brass hinge, and began aligning the metal plate with the worn screw holes on the back door frame.
“I asked you a question, Shaun,” Ryan said, his voice louder now, though he stayed three feet back from the doorway. “This is private property. You need to get out of here before I call the sheriff.”
“The frame is pulling away from the drywall,” Shaun said, his voice completely calm as he tapped the side of the door frame with the wooden handle of his hammer. “The wood is soft. If I don’t put three-inch screws in here right now, the whole lock is going to fail.”
He began driving the first long screw into the pine, the rhythmic, scraping sound of the metal threads cutting into the wood filling the space between us.
Ryan turned back to me, his jaw tight. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on right now, Chloe. I swear to God, if you’ve done something stupid with our money…”