The storm doors were at the back, but the gravel path outside offered no cover if they looked out the kitchen window.

I heard the kitchen door open above me.

“I’ll check the study first,” Graham said.

His footsteps moved toward the front of the house, but Celeste’s steps remained in the kitchen, right above the cellar stairs.

The wooden door at the top of the basement stairs clicked.

A line of yellow light appeared under the basement door at the far end of the room.

“Graham,” Celeste called out. “Did you lock the cellar bulkhead?”

“Of course I did,” he shouted back.

“Then why is there wet mud on the steps?” she asked.

I heard her high heels click on the first wooden step leading down into the dark.

Celeste’s heels clicked on the second wooden step.

I pressed my back against the cold brick wall near the old coal chute.

The basement air smelled of damp earth and rotting wood.

“Who is down there?” Celeste called out.

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the dark.

I held my breath, my lungs burning as I tried not to make a sound.