“There are no blueprints,” I said, keeping my tone flat and dry. “James and I bought the house from an estate thirty-two years ago. We paid forty-two dollars for a locksmith to change the deadbolts the day we moved in, and we never changed anything else.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Melissa said, her smile widening without reaching her pale eyes. “Usually people keep those things in the basement or tucked behind the pantry shelves. Old houses always have little hiding spots, don’t they?”
“Not this one,” I said.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice dropping into a cheerful, coaxing lilt. “Sometimes people hide things in the floorboards or behind the molding. Dad says old houses in Ohio are full of surprises.”
Your father has never been inside this house, Melissa,” I said, putting my teacup on the counter.
“No,” she said quickly, her fingers returning to her watch, adjusting the leather band so tightly it pinched her skin. “But he knows a lot about properties from this era. He says the craftsmanship was different back then. People built things to last, and they built them with secrets.”
“This was a simple family home,” I said. “There are no secrets in these walls.”
