Nat steered the Volvo along the last stretch of country road on the way to the Saunders house. Raindrops pounded on the hood of the car and sliced the night in front of her headlights, which froze them like a camera flash, making vision difficult. She’d checked for pickups on the way, but none had a Delaware plate. Still, she was relieved to finally reach Barb Saunders’s house. She parked, grabbed her purse, and, putting it over her head, got out of the Volvo and ran up the driveway to the front door. She rang the bell. The door was opened quickly by Barb’s sister Jennifer.

“Come in! It’s pouring!” she said, hurrying Nat inside. “Can I take your coat?”

“Yes, thanks.” Nat slid out of her coat, trying not to get water everywhere, and while Jennifer left to hang it up, she scanned the living room. Duct tape crisscrossed the couch cushions where they had been slashed, and the computer workstation looked bizarre without the computer, like an eye socket without an eye. The children’s books and DVDs had been returned to the shelves, but one of the drawers in the credenza hung by a screw, broken.

It’s under the floor.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jennifer said, returning, and Nat looked over in alarm.

“You do?”

“You wonder what’s wrong with people. To burglarize a house during a funeral. It’s sick.”

“I know.” Nat could see that the family had tried to put the room back together. Soft yellow lights shone from a remaining lamp, the TV played on mute, and sharp red Legos and large Tonka trucks were strewn across the shag rug. From the kitchen came the shouts of little boys and the homey aroma of boiled hot dogs.

“How bad is the rain?” Jennifer asked.

“Bad.”

“Thank God it’s not snow. These kids have to go back to school next week. We couldn’t take a snow day.” Jennifer flared her eyes comically. “Between her three and my two, I’m going crazy.” She picked up a yellow rain slicker from the couch. “I’m taking my nephews out to the movies, so you and Barb can talk in peace.”

“Thanks.” Nat felt a familiar dread. She’d been waiting to do this for days but still felt unready. “How is she?”

“Hanging in, for the kids. She’s a great mom.” Jennifer leaned closer, zipping up her coat. “If she gets a migraine, call my house. I left my home number on the table. My mom is there, with my kids.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Come with me,” Jennifer said to Nat, heading for the kitchen and calling out, “Anybody in here wanna go to the movies and eat too much candy?”

“Yes!” “Yeah!” “Aunt Jen!” the three boys shouted together. “Let’s go! Can I get Milk Duds?”

The cacophony took Nat back to the Greco household, so long ago. Or maybe Monday night.

“Hello, Nat.” Barb rose from her knees, where she’d crouched to help her youngest son with his coat. Her eyes were a tired hazel and her blond hair had been brushed back into a loose clip. She wore a black cardigan and jeans and managed a shaky smile. “Thanks for coming back. I felt so bad about last time.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Nat waved her off. “Hi, guys,” she said to the kids, who were zipping their coats with complete absorption.

“Say hello to Professor Greco.” Barb tapped the boys on their puffy shoulders.

“Hello, Pefefe Greco,” the older one said.

“I want Milk Duds,” said the middle one.

“Okay, kids, see ya later.” Barb bent down and kissed her sons on their smooth cheeks, making a cute little grunt each time. “Be good for your aunt. One candy apiece and that’s it.”

“See ya, honey.” Jennifer gave Barb a quick kiss, waved to Nat, and packed off the kids, who toddled out the door in their thick coats, their SpongeBob mittens dangling from clips on their sleeves. The door closed behind them, and the house fell abruptly quiet.

“Whew.” Barb sighed, mock-collapsing at the knees. “They’re funny, aren’t they?”

“They’re adorable.” Nat marveled at the tag team of women taking care of five children between them. “I can’t imagine what this has been like for them, and you.”

“They did okay at the service. I was proud of them. They don’t understand much, really. Now, the burglary, they understood. Someone messed up their Bob the Builder.” Barb made a child’s frown. “That they cried over. It was like it all got to them, all at once.”

Nat felt for them. “Moms don’t get enough credit, do they?”

“That’s the truth.” Barb crossed to the coffeemaker. “Would you like a cup?”

“If it’s no trouble. Can I help?”

“Sit down. It’s all made. All I do is make coffee. Jen handles everything, between the cops and the TV people.” Barb picked up the glass pot and poured coffee into an ivory mug that read, West Chester University. “How do you take it?”

“Black is fine.”

“Great.” Barb brought the coffee to the table, which was covered with a white tablecloth of wipe-clean plastic. A line of Chips Ahoy and Fig Newtons sat on a plate like fallen dominoes. Barb stood, hovering. “You want something to eat? If you don’t like cookies, I have grown-up food.”

“No, thanks.”

“You’re sure? The roast beef was a big hit.”

“No, that’s fine.” Nat waited for Barb to sit down, then realized that she was stalling. She wanted to know and didn’t want to know, just like Nat wanted to tell and didn’t want to tell. “Sit down, Barb,” Nat said softly.

“Okay.” Barb sank slowly into a chair across the small table, folding her hands at the edge of the table. There was a glass of water at her right, which Nat knew she would need.

Don’t pretty it up. “Would you like me to tell you what happened, or do you want to ask me questions?”

Barb swallowed, visibly. “I want you to tell me everything, and then I want to ask you questions. I do have some, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” The kitchen was quiet except for the pounding rain outside. A warm golden light emanated from an overhead lamp. Nat lay her hand down on the table. “Gimme your hand, and we’ll get through this together.”

Barb put her hand in Nat’s.

“Good girl.” Nat began the story from when she saw Graf coming out of the staff office, then noticed that Ron Saunders was still alive on the floor.

“Did he…suffer?” Barb interjected, her voice wavering.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Thank God.” Barb blinked tears away. “Thank you, Jesus.”

Nat waited for her to recover her composure.

“You tried to save him, I know,” Barb said, after a moment.

“I did.” Nat felt a stab of guilt. She described what she did, then brought the story to her point. “He did give me a message for you.”

Barb gasped. “He did?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say he loved me?”

Tell the truth. You’re just the messenger. Nat answered, “Honestly, he could only get a few words out, and he had another important message for you.”

“He didn’t say he loved me?” Barb’s lower lip puckered, and tears welled in her eyes. She grabbed a napkin and dabbed at them, smudging her mascara. “Not anything? Not even my name? The boys?” She held the napkin at the corner of her eye.

Nat squeezed her other hand. “Barb, do you have any doubt in this world that your husband loved you and the boys?”

“No. We were happy.”

“Then feel it. Know it. Because he told me a message you don’t know. I promised him I would tell you.”

Barb lowered the napkin, her eyes reddish. “Okay, what?”

“He said, ‘Tell my wife, it’s under the floor.’”

“What?” Barb frowned, her forehead a network of premature wrinkles. “What’s under the floor?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

“I don’t know what that means. What floor? What’s under it?” Barb ran a trembling finger-rake through her hair. “What kind of message is that?”

Nat didn’t know if she should go further. “Can you handle it if I tell you something that’s worrying me?”

Barb kept frowning. “Sure.”

“I’m worried that the burglary here wasn’t coincidental. Since the cushions were slashed, it looks like it wasn’t a real burglary. It looks like—”

“Somebody was looking for something? That’s what my mom said, too.”

“Do you know what it could be?”

“No idea.” Barb blinked, mystified, but Nat didn’t have the heart to tell her Angus’s suspicions.

“Barb, was Ron friends with Joe Graf?”

“Sure, Joe was his best friend. We went out with them all the time.” Suddenly, Barb’s blue eyes rounded. “My God! I know what Ron means! I remember now!”

“What?” Nat asked, then caught herself. “Wait. It’s not my business.” Still, she was dying to know what was under the damn floor.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Barb said excitedly. “Ron has a workshop in the garage. He used to keep things under the floor there. It was like his hiding place. We put our wills in there, which we got after Timothy was born, and also life insurance papers, because it’s fireproof.”

“Do you think that’s what he meant? Was he talking about your wills?”

“No. We both knew where our wills were. My sister knows, too. He must have put something else there for me. Something I don’t know about.” Barb leapt to her feet, full of new purpose. “Come on!”

Nat rose, and Barb was already in motion, leaving the kitchen.

“I have to warn you,” she said, over her shoulder. “There’s a video we made there, too. Nothing hardcore, just dumb stuff, for us. We put it there so the kids wouldn’t find it.” She giggled, then her smile faded. They hustled through the living room to a door. “That can’t be what he meant, can it? Why would anybody want to find that?”

Nat lingered at the threshold while Barb opened the door, flicked on a panel of fluorescent lights, and hurried to a corner of the garage and rolled aside a green Rubbermaid trash can on wheels. She bent over and moved a box of old rags aside to reveal a large door in the floor, which had apparently been installed when the concrete had been poured.

Nat held her breath as Barb moved the heavy lid aside.