I kept my hand over the phone’s screen to block the light.

The ledger sat open on my lap.

I looked at the names of the descendants again.

I knew where Arthur Turner lived.

His house was less than two miles down the county road.

If I could get the proof to him tonight, he could file an emergency injunction.

He could stop the zoning board before the nine o’clock meeting.

I looked at Caroline’s swollen ankle.

“We have to get out of here,” I whispered in her ear.

“I can’t run, Clara,” she breathed back.

“You have to try,” I said. “Just a little further.”

Suddenly, the doorknob rattled.

The rusted padlock we had bypassed was gone, but the latch was old.

Marcus threw his weight against the wood.

The door groaned, dust falling from the doorframe.

“Clara, open this door!” he yelled.

I looked around the dark room for another exit.

At the back of the boathouse, a narrow slip opened directly to the river.

An old aluminum rowboat was tied to the iron rings in the wall.

The water beneath it was dark and sluggish.