“We need to return those boxes and we need to return them now,” Frank said. “If they’re found anywhere but safely back in that storage unit, you’ll be facing charges of trafficking stolen goods. Not just you. Your mother and Becca, all of you could face felony charges and get sent to prison. You’re the one who knows how to open the storage unit and where the boxes need to be put back. Come on. I can’t do this without you.”

He was right. Doing nothing could put all of them at risk. Emily got in the car.

“Which way?” Frank said.

Emily pointed, and Frank pulled out of the parking lot and accelerated onto the main street. “Keep on straight until you’re past the wharf,” she said. “Then right again over the bridge and come back on the other side.”

Frank drove through the center of town. She was relieved that no police cars were parked in front of the Java Connection. Frank put his hand on Emily’s leg. “You okay?” he asked. She turned to look at him. She was not okay, but neither was he. Tendons stood out on his wrist as he gripped the steering wheel.

Emily got out her phone and texted her mother.

Almost done. Home in 30.

Then she put her cell phone in the cupholder between the seats, leaned back, and closed her eyes. She thought about the trail of evidence. An abandoned car with a dented front fender. Yellow-tinted aviator glasses. An auction bidder card where it didn’t belong. An area rug, rolled up and lying in a puddle of water. Empty ice bags. Boxes of vintage hardware. A cover-up that would have taken two people to pull off—two people who had access to the Murphys’ storage unit, Emily’s car, and her house. Behind Emily’s eyelids danced her business logo: a high-heeled boot kicking a video reel. The unspooling tape morphed into disjoined body parts—her own head, torso, arms, and legs.

Emily opened her eyes as Frank turned and drove through the main gate of Inner Peace Storage, continuing directly to the Murphys’ unit. He parked just past it, beyond the CCTV camera. Fear prickled at the back of Emily’s neck. How did he know which unit it was?

Frank shut off the engine, popped the trunk, and got out. Emily stayed in the car, panicked. He must have been here before. She realized that no one but Frank knew where she was. She should at least text Lila and Becca.

She reached for her cell phone, but it wasn’t in the cup holder. She felt around on the floor. In her gear bag. No phone. The car jiggled as Frank rummaged in the trunk. Emily reached around under the steering wheel, feeling for the car keys, but they were gone, too.