Next, Thomas tucks the backpack behind a stack of neatly folded sheets and towels on the top shelf of the linen closet. He knows this won’t work, either. He’s seen enough crime shows to know that the police will look there, too. He wanders the house trying to come up with the safest spot. He knows in his bones that it is just a matter of time before the police chief will knock on the door, warrant in hand, and begin to ransack each and every one of the closets in the house, look beneath the beds and behind the furniture.

His eyes land on the old fireplace that they light a few times per year. Using the stone mantel for balance, he lowers himself to the floor and cranes his neck to look upward into the flue. The fireplace is swept and cool to the touch. If anyone walks in at this moment, he can say that a starling or a swallow has flown down the chimney and he is searching for any sign of a nest.

Lying on one shoulder he shoves the backpack as far up the chimney as it can go. He stays there for a moment, trying to catch his breath and waits to see if the pack filled with Jordyn’s clothing, textbook and tennis shoes will tumble to the ground. It doesn’t move and Thomas breathes a sigh of relief, sending a small windstorm of ash into the air.

He knows the flue is just a temporary solution. When he has the chance he will have to get the backpack out of the house for good. There are plenty of dumping places around Pitch. Locust Creek with its fast-moving current, strong enough to sweep the contents far away, or he can bury them in a cornfield to eventually be chewed up by a combine.

“Grandpa,” comes Jordyn’s tremulous voice from above him.

“Down here,” Thomas calls back, struggling to get to his feet. By the time Jordyn comes down the steps he is washing his sooty hands in the sink. “Did you have a good rest?” Thomas asks as Jordyn slumps into the kitchen and rubs her eyes.

“Uh-huh,” Jordyn answers, stifling a yawn, and takes a seat at the table.

Thomas pulls a clean dish towel from a drawer and wipes his hands dry before pulling out a chair and sitting next to his granddaughter. He has planned what he is going to say, has murmured it over and over to himself the past two hours.