The Box in the Woods (Truly Devious #4)(73)

“Right there,” she said, pointing at the large turtle figure on one of the shelves. “What does that look like to you?”

“A turtle,” he said. “Possibly a turtle cookie jar.”

“Give me the bike key.”

“I’m coming with you,” he said.

“You hate coming with me on stuff like this.”

“I know,” he said. “And I know you. This is what you do. It’s your move.”

“I have to do it. It’s part of the job.”

“You love that shit, though.”





Stevie did not reply to this because she did, in fact, love that shit.


“You know I love you too, right?” she said.

“Tell it to my grieving family when you get me killed,” he replied, reaching for his wallet. “Let’s pay and go before I change my mind.”





24



THE DAY WAS FADING FAST. BY THE TIME THEY DRIFTED INTO ALLISON’S driveway, there was little light left, and she and Nate were sweating and heaving.

“When . . . we . . . get in . . . there,” Nate said between breaths, “I . . . am drinking . . . whatever . . . is in . . . the fridge. Don’t care. Maybe it’s . . . stealing. Don’t care.”

Stevie nodded heavily.

“We should probably hide the bikes,” she said.

“Why? There’s no one around.”

“In case anyone comes by. Because it’s still . . .”

She decided to omit the words breaking and entering. Nate regarded his friend with a look that walked the line between weariness and terror. They rolled the bikes into the trees and set them on their sides, then walked the rest of the way up the dark lane and into Allison’s driveway.

“She could have a doorcam or something,” Nate said in a low voice.

“Well, she’s not monitoring it now,” Stevie replied.

Even though there was no one around, it seemed like a





bad idea to go through the front door. There was a side one, which was a bit more private. Stevie guided Nate in that direction as she dug around in her bag and pulled out the nitrile gloves.

“Snap ’em on,” she said, handing a pair to Nate. “Feels good.”

She got out her wallet. She had a debit card, which she needed. She had a credit card, which was largely a joke; still—better to preserve it. Her Ellingham ID was sturdy, and she would be getting a new one anyway in the fall. She pulled this one out and wiggled it into the crack in the doorway.

“It’s really that easy to open a door, huh?” Nate said.

“You’ve seen me do it before.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to think that’s because the Ellingham locks are old and shit. I wanted to believe houses are more secure.”

“The theater of security,” Stevie said. “Believe what you want.”

The lock popped open gently, and Stevie opened the door, and then the two of them stepped into the darkened house. Stevie had crept through private spaces before, even ones recently vacated by people who had met unfortunate ends. She hadn’t done this a lot, but that she had done it at all was notable. Ellingham Academy had afforded her many bespoke experiences.

The last time Stevie had entered this house, she had come in through the kitchen. This doorway led into a lower level of the house, a furnished basement that Allison had turned into





a home gym. From here, they headed up the steps, emerging in the hallway with the many framed photographs. Outside, the first pops of fireworks sounded in the distance.

“Happy Independence Day,” Nate said.

The Sabrina room, as Stevie was now calling it in her head, was behind the closed door at the end of the hall. She considered turning on the overhead light but opted instead to use her flashlight out of an abundance of caution. She shone it around, trying to find the large turtle. It wasn’t where it had been. Nate, meanwhile, was looking along the shelves.

“What is this?” he said. “Hairbrushes? Old pencils? This is—”

“The work of a grieving sister,” Stevie cut in.

“. . . from a horror novel.”

Stevie did a full three-sixty, scanning every surface.

“The turtle is gone,” she said. She considered for a moment, then it hit her. Allison’s reaction had been profound when Stevie had shown her the list of art supplies—she’d been so touched that she immediately took Stevie over to Paul Penhale’s veterinary office.

“She figured it out,” Stevie said. “She moved the turtle. We have to find it.”

They began upstairs, since they were already there. The bathroom was easily eliminated. Allison’s bedroom was perhaps the most awkward place to go, but Stevie pushed down any discomfort. Surfaces first—the turtle wasn’t on any of the bedside stands or bureaus. She had a quick look in the closet, where everything was tidily hung or shelved. No turtle. Nate





looked under the bed and otherwise peered unhappily around the room. They gave the linen closet a cursory go-through. Nothing.

They headed back downstairs as the fireworks were starting in earnest outside. They could see trails of light past the tree line outside. Nate was sent to check the living room, while Stevie headed back into the kitchen. She found what she had come for soon enough—the turtle was pushed back into the corner of the countertop space, where a cookie jar should go.