Page 111 of You Know Why

Wishful thinking. There’s no chance the police haven’t done a pass through here, looking for him.

Four leads me to the very back of the shelter. There’s a set of bookshelves full of favorites—the kids’ and ours. You never know when you’re going to be stuck for a few hours and want something to read.

“The police came here while I was in the hospital?”

“They looked through the house, but not the shelter.”

“They didn’t know it was here?”

“We didn’t mention it to them.”

That changes things. I give him a genuine smile. “Clever boy. Well done. What did Dad show you?”

Four approaches the shelves and runs his fingers along the books. They are all worn, well loved, picked up at flea markets and library sales—my favorite kind of bookcase. I like a good independent bookstore, but there’s something special about a book that’s been read a hundred times. You get two adventures—the one you’re reading, and the one your imagination supplies about who’s been here before.

On the third shelf is a set of old fairy tales, tan with red-and-black spines. They were Margot’s contribution—she thought they looked studious. I’ve never been one for fairy tales, especially the originals, but she loves them, primarily because so many of the ballets are based on them. Neve followed her aunt’s footsteps, literally, and also loves them. Sleeping Beauty is a favorite.

And it’s Sleeping Beauty that Four pulls down from the shelf now.

“Here.” He hands me the book. I examine the cover and must look confused. “Open it.”

When I do, I realize someone has cut a hole in the center of the book. In it are six more crypto wallets just like the one I found in the camera.

“Oh, wow. That’s . . . Why did Daddy show you where he hid these, honey?”

“In case we needed them. There’s a phone, too.”

He rummages around in a banana-shaped bag that’s supposed to be full of lettered tiles for a board game and pulls out a small cell phone. “It’s a burner,” he says so calmly that I almost explode.

“I am going to kill your father when I find him,” I say.

Four gives me the same goofy smile that Trey does when he knows I’m making empty threats. I hug my son to my chest, kiss the top of his head. “I love you. Thank you.”

I power it on, heart pounding.

There is a single number in the phone’s contacts. “Should I call it?”

“Text,” he says. “Dad said to text.”

I click on the bubble, and a text window pops up.

I type in Hello? It’s us.

Wait for a minute. Sure enough, three dots appear.

Now my heart is on overdrive. The messages come up on the screen, one after another.

I will fix this. Don’t trust anyone.

I’ll meet you in Venice. Go straight there when you land. Don’t stay in Milan, don’t check into the hotel.

But we’re in Atlanta. We got off the plane. Where. Are. You?

You’re not on the plane?

No. When you didn’t show up, we got off. All our money is gone, Trey. The cards are turned off. Can’t you just call me? Explain what the hell is going on?

This is ridiculous. And unacceptable. We’re at Eden Barrow’s house. Please, Trey. Tell me what’s happening.