Or maybe it was when Myron whistled that song.

Or maybe it was when I realized that I could hear him faintly through the pipes.

Or maybe it was because I realized how quiet our refrigerator was and if it’d been noisy—if it’d been like Bat Lady’s—I’d never hear that faint noise.

Especially if I was old. Especially if I played music a lot.

I felt a cold pinprick at the base on my neck.

Bat Lady had turned off the music too. That was what she said. She turned off the music so she could hear the doorbell when the repairman came. Her kitchen had been silent for the first time in years.

Silent. Like this one.

No refrigerator noise. No music.

And that was when she heard the faint sound of my father’s voice.

Like I was hearing the faint sound of Myron’s.

The cold pinprick grew and spread.

“Oh my God,” I said to myself. Then in a panic, I started shouting, “Myron! Myron!”

At the sound of my voice, he ran up the stairs as fast as he could. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Do you have an axe?”

“A what?”

“An axe? An axe!”

“In the garage. Why?”

“Get in the car.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just . . . just get in the car.”

CHAPTER 49

It was still daylight when we got to Bat Lady’s house.

I was out of the car before Myron pulled to a complete stop. I had the axe in my hand. I ran through the crime-scene tape. The tape made sense now. The police hadn’t put it up.

Luther had.

He wanted to keep people away.

That was why he set the house on fire too. He wasn’t trying to kill Bat Lady or me.

He wanted us gone.

“Mickey? Where are you going?”

Someone had locked the garage door. I took the axe, aimed at the knob, and smashed it open. I found the trapdoor and threw it back.

“Mickey?” Myron said again.

The secret room that had been sealed off all those years—it was soundproof. That was what Dylan Shaykes had told me. But he also said it had huge food supplies and a shower and a toilet. It had plumbing.

And if you had plumbing, there were pipes.

You couldn’t make those soundproof. Sound could always find its way through pipes, no matter how distant and faint.

The dead never speak to me, Bat Lady had said.

Could she be right? Oh please, please, let her be right . . .

I found the hidden door to the sealed secret room. There was no way I was going to bust it open, even with the axe. The door was thick steel. Instead I took the axe and started pounding the dirt just outside the door frame.

I thought about Luther and little Ricky trapped in this room all those years ago.