Charlotte hated the feeling of walking around in the dead man’s room, only days after she had seen him die. All the little things – the bedsheets, the razor and mug, the stack of worn books by his bedside, the reading glasses – seemed shabby and inadequate to the man she knew. The room seemed as impersonal as the cell of a monk, but at the same time she could feel George’s presence in everything.
“Well?” Harp called.
Turner looked under the bed, between the mattresses. Nothing. He checked the wardrobe for a false bottom. He worked his way around the walls, looking for flaps in the wallpaper or hollow spots behind furniture.
“Not yet,” he called back.
They looked for loose floorboards, flaps in the chairs, hidden shelves in the ceiling. Finally they emerged, unsuccessful, into the front room.
“No luck, huh?” Harp said. “Don’t surprise me. The old man was a crafty sort. Didn’t give you a hint or nothing?”
Neither of them answered. They were looking around the room. “I’d be surprised if he hid it anywhere else in the house,” Harp said. “Too much chance for any old somebody to find it.”
Turner took the poker from the mantel and stirred the fireplace ashes. “Here,” he said. “There’s a loose stone.”
Charlotte and Harp watched as Turner pushed the coals to the back with the fireplace shovel. Sure enough, the stone directly beneath the andirons wiggled in its bed; there was no mortar around it. Turner pried it up with the poker.
Under the stone was a heavy metal plate.
“Son of a bitch,” Harp said. “I’ve spit tobacco on that rock many a time.”
Turner flipped up the plate with the poker, revealing a square hole, its sides trimmed, and a bound metal box at the bottom.
“I take it that’s not yours?” he said to Harp.
“Hell, no,” Harp said. “I keep my money up in my cave.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to have our third director present when we open it,” Turner said. “So we all agree on what we see.”
“Suit yourself,” said Harp.
Turner stepped onto the front porch and waved to Cabot, who was sitting on the Turners’ doorstep holding the account book. He walked over.
The box had a clasp but no lock. Turner balanced it on the porch railing, made sure all four of them could see, and opened it.
