I’d always used the space between my mattress and box springs as my hiding place when I was a kid. Not the most ingenious hiding place, but I never had much to hide to begin with. But Cal had always been cleverer. Like me, he hadn’t had much worth squirreling away, but when he did, he went to great lengths to make sure it wouldn’t be found. I checked all the obvious spots, but I didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything there.

Eventually I ended up in his closet, reaching my hands into the corners of his high shelf and then on the floor, running my fingers along the baseboards. I’d about given up when I felt the edge of the carpet pulled away from the floor. I tugged and it came up easily, exposing a square of subfloor that had been cut out at some point and then replaced. I sat back on my heels, heart galloping, sweat slicking my palms. Did I want to lift up that piece of flooring? How badly did I want answers?

“Stop being a chickenshit,” I said, my voice too loud in the stillness. I tried using my bare hands to get the square of plywood up, but had to dig out my keys and use one to pry up an edge enough to slip my finger into the gap. The square came out easily after that, and I peered carefully into the dark space below. I didn’t see anything and I hoped maybe I was wrong. Maybe this was a remnant from the builder. Maybe this hidey-hole had nothing to do with my brother at all.

I reached a hand down, wincing a little in anticipation of bugs or rats, but my fingers butted up against something smooth and cool. I pulled it out. A freezer-sized ziplock bag filled with cash. A sound came out of me, a moaning kind of cry, and I dropped onto my stomach, reached my whole arm into the space. By the time I was done, there were seven bags of cash on the floor next to me. Thousands of dollars. More money than I’d ever seen in my life.

Follow the money. Well, here it was, spread out next to me on Cal’s closet floor, but I couldn’t quite put it together with Junie’s death. Partly because I didn’t see how it fit and partly because I couldn’t stand to click the final pieces together. I was making a low, animal humming sound in the back of my throat, and I forced myself to take deep, even breaths until I stopped. I clicked through possibilities in my mind, trying to find one that slotted into place. Cal and Matt stealing money from Jimmy Ray, maybe? Junie killed as a kind of punishment? But then why would Jimmy Ray point me toward the money, and his own guilt? Maybe Cal was stealing directly from Matt and he went after Junie. Sent someone to deliver the message while he worked at the strip joint hiding behind his alibi.