“I left it right next to the sink,” Harris said, his voice rising in panic.

“Well, it’s not there now,” Julian said.

“Did you drop it?”

“No,” Harris muttered.

“I know exactly where I put it.”

I heard them both scrambling around the kitchen island, their footsteps fast and chaotic.

They were searching for the weapon that was sitting just inches from the pantry door, right where I had left it on the edge of the counter when the door had started to open.

“You idiot,” Julian hissed.

“If she got out of the pantry and took it…”

“She couldn’t have,” Harris said.

“The door is locked from the outside.”

“Then where is the gun, Harris?” Julian shouted.

I watched through the crack as Harris walked back toward the pantry, his face contorted in anger and fear.

His hand reached for the brass doorknob again.

He gripped it tightly.

He pulled.

The door swung open.

The bright, harsh light of the backyard security floodlight poured into the pantry, blinding me.

Harris stood in the doorway, his eyes widening as they met mine.