“Oh, man.” It seemed half the books had leaped off the shelves and tables. A few stoneware mugs had shattered in the coffee area.

“I’ll go check the breaker box.”

She followed him to the basement. He opened the box and flipped the main switch. “I wonder why it tripped,” he murmured, pulling the string of the overhead light. “Oh, shit,” he said, surveying a crack that went from the floor to the back wall. “Looks like some damage here.”

Natalie’s heart sank as she assessed the crumbled brick and earth. “Great. Just when the buyer was about to make an offer.” She stepped closer and spotted a large gap behind the broken wall.

Peach shone his light at it. “There’s something down here.”

“Fortunato,” she whispered.

“Who?”

“You know, from the Poe story—‘The Cask of Amontillado.’ Guy bricks his friend up in the basement wall.”

“Some friend. Never read it, though.”

“Finally, I schooled you in something.”

He grabbed her and gave her a long, deep kiss. “You schooled me in everything, Natalie Jean Harper.”

“Inga,” she said.

“What?”

“My middle name is Inga, same as my mom’s. We’re named after her grandmother Inga.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Is the building safe?” she asked, looking down at the cracked floor.

He thumped his fist on the wall. “You’ll need an inspection.” He removed a few loose bricks and peered into the gap. “There’s some kind of locker or tool chest.”

“More war medals?” asked Natalie.

“Too big for that.” He grabbed a shovel from the rack of tools.

Working together, they moved the fallen bricks and debris and eased the box out through the gap. The thing was the size of a table, and it weighed a ton. They slid it along the broken floor and brought it to the workbench under the window, where the light streamed in from the just-risen sun. The locker was covered in dust and scratches, and the latches and hinges were corroded. And it was locked.

“Should I force it?” asked Peach.

Natalie remembered the old key they’d found lodged in the sump pump. “I have an idea,” she said. “Wait here.”

She dashed upstairs and grabbed the key from the jar on her desk. “This is the one you found when the basement flooded.”

Peach gave it a try. After some jimmying, the key went in and he was able to turn it. “I’ll be damned,” he murmured. He gave the hinges a spray of lubricant and pried the big box open. Inside lay four large, flat parcels wrapped in what appeared to be waxed canvas. Each parcel contained a leather case like a portfolio.

“Maybe these are more drawings,” Peach said.

Natalie could barely hear him through the pounding in her ears. She didn’t dare speak as she unbuckled the first cover.