In the bottom of the box was a picture frame, empty. Holding it in my hand, I couldn’t quite remember what picture had been behind the glass. The one of Dad holding me as a newborn? I remembered a baby picture had been here, but which one? And why had I taken it out? It felt important for some reason.

I closed my eyes, pushed my memory into a jog. Flashes of moments flew by. I recalled the day I moved in with Cody, unpacking boxes. This specific box. Opening it and seeing this picture frame. Then I remembered. I knew what had been in the frame. A picture worth a thousand words, blackmail if ever I needed it, a life insurance policy. There was no way I would have removed the picture without knowing where I put it. Somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere Cody would never find it. Because if he ever saw it…I didn’t want to think what would happen then.

But if I hadn’t removed it, who had? And why?

Footsteps in the hallway yanked me out of the questions fizzing in my brain. Scooping up the pictures, I dropped them haphazardly in the box. Cody peeked around the doorframe just as I shoved the box into a cubby.

“What’cha doing awake, babe?” he asked.

I still hated babe just as much as yesterday. I rose to my feet a little too quickly. “Nothing. Just cleaning. I couldn’t sleep after everything that happened at family dinner.”

“It’s pretty awful, isn’t it? A body found. Honestly, I don’t know how Felicity is still standing.”

I met him at the doorframe and slipped under his arm. “I’m done in here. I made coffee, if you want some.”

“As long as it’s not that flavored crap.” He kissed my forehead.

I shut the door behind me and followed him downstairs to the kitchen. “You didn’t happen to go through my stuff in there, did you?” I asked.

“I’ve learned the hard way never to go near your things, Mare.”

It wasn’t exactly an answer.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He chuckled lightly. “You know how protective you are about your possessions. Remember that one time I used your face moisturizer? I got a two-hour lecture about it afterwards. Besides, God knows what you’re hiding in there.”

I knew exactly what I had been hiding. And it was now missing.

“So no one was in that room?”

“Why are you so worried about it?”

Another non-answer.

“Because I’m missing something that’s pretty important to me.”

“What—a pair of shoes?”

I closed my eyes and inhaled, summoning patience. A wheeze of air slipped through the window, chilly with night barely hanging on.

“Does it matter what I’m missing? I just need to know if someone was going through my stuff, Cody.”