If Jonathan Finch had hidden a drive, it wasn’t in the obvious places. Jesse eyed the ceiling. An air vent had been cut above the desk when the heating system had been upgraded from radiators to forced air. Although access to such a hiding spot wasn’t convenient, the vent cover only had two screws. Jesse thought he saw faint scratches on their grooved heads. He slid the desk aside and pulled the chair underneath the vent. Cautiously, he stood up on its seat. He could just touch the screws. Finch had been about four inches taller and could easily have removed the cover, maybe not needing a screwdriver but just a thin coin like a dime. It was the kind of hiding place Jesse envisioned a spy would use. As his imagination led to thoughts of surprising Ethel with evidence proving the motive for the crime, a blast of air blew his theory away. The thermostat kicked on the heat pump, and the warm current flowed unimpeded onto his hands and face. Just to make sure, Jesse used his phone’s flashlight app to shine into the slats of the vent. The duct was completely clear.

Then he heard it. The metal duct work of the heating system was like tin cans connected by a string, transmitting faint sound vibrations. A distinct creak near a downstairs floor vent could have been a footstep. Or simply a pop as the warmth caused cool wood to expand. He heard it again, and this time he suspected it came from directly below him in the short hall from the kitchen to the back door. The hall that also led to the door of the basement stairs and the gym bag of money.

He pulled the Smith & Wesson from behind his back and tucked it in the front pocket of his jeans. He covered the pistol’s wooden grip with his sweatshirt and slipped off his shoes. He took the stairs one step at a time, placing his feet to the sides away from the center and near the wall where the joints were strongest and less likely to creak.

Jesse paused at the bottom and listened. Ironically, the stereo played Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven.” Now he wished he hadn’t set the volume so high. He noticed a vent on the baseboard of the back hall. Someone stepping beside or against it could have made the sound carried by the duct. As he turned toward the kitchen, he saw the door to the basement stairs was ajar. He knew he’d closed it after he returned the gym bag to its spot under the weight bench. He pushed it wider. The door at the foot of the stairs was wide open. Slowly he descended, tightly gripping the butt of the revolver. Halfway down, he could see the weight bench. The gym bag was still there. He breathed a sigh of relief.