I took out my flashlight and got down on my hands and knees, peering into the space under the house. I allowed the beam of my flashlight to illuminate the area, which stretched its length and width. The “floor” was rubble and exposed dirt with cinder block footers at irregular intervals. Metal brackets secured plumbing to the floor joists, and a large furnace duct, wrapped in shiny insulation, shot across at an angle and disappeared into a large hole cut into a concrete wall.

Electrical wires sagged into view, and between the joists pink and gray insulating material hung in tatters. The far corners were in deep shadow, but my flashlight caught the two bright eyes of a creature that scuttled out of sight. There were no vents, and the underside of the subflooring was dusted with a white substance that could only be mold. I saw no evidence of trapdoors connecting the crawl space to the rooms above, so there was no way an intruder could enter the house from below. Absent were scuff marks to suggest that someone had belly-crawled across the surface, which resembled nothing so much as the bleak landscape on a distant planet man had once visited and found wanting.

I got up and dusted myself off, then continued circling the house. At the back of my mind, I was still testing my belief that Pete was up to something. Why put together six names and then convert the list to code unless he was worried it would fall into the wrong hands? Why would a list like that mean anything to anyone except Ned Lowe? Ruth could protest all she liked, but it didn’t add up any other way; at least as far as I could see.

When I arrived at the side door again, I noted what looked like a thin line of a lighter color along the mullion nearest the door. I leaned close, picking up the scent of oil-based paint. I drew back a step. The original dark blue trim had been covered with a shade that wasn’t quite a match. I ran a finger across the surface and found it faintly tacky to the touch. I went inside and checked the same panes of glass. Adjacent mullions and trim were the original dark blue. Only the pane nearest the door handle had been touched up. Outside again, I dug a fingernail into the paint and found the window putty as soft as cheese.

I peered through the glass at an angle. The key in the dead bolt sat within easy reach. I pictured the intruder using a knife blade to chip away the ancient putty that secured the glass. Once the pane was lifted out, it would be easy to reach through the opening and extract the key from the lock. Any hardware store could duplicate that key. Many of the same hardware stores sold dark blue exterior paint. All the intruder would have to do is return the original key to the lock, replace the pane, and putty it into place. After that, he’d apply a line of fresh paint, and for all intents and purposes, the glass would appear as it had been.