Chapter 3

Kyle locked me in the pantry again at six forty-five.

I’d made it back to the kitchen, but he caught me by the stove. He’d burned the last page of the original ledger and was banking the fire when he turned and saw me. For a second, he just stared. Then he crossed the room in three steps and grabbed my wrist.

“Where is it?” he said.

“Where’s what?”

He squeezed. I felt the bones grind. I didn’t cry out. I’d learned not to give him that.

“The carbon copy,” he said. “I know you took it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He dragged me down the hall, through the pantry door, and shoved me inside. I stumbled against the shelves. Cans rattled. A jar of pickles fell and shattered.

Kyle stood in the doorway. His collar was crooked. His face was red. The pastor mask was gone.

“You think you’re clever,” he said. “You think you can hide behind that belly and play the victim.”

“You’re starving your brother.”

He laughed. “Eli’s fine. He’s always been fine. He’s just lazy.”

“He has cerebral palsy. He can’t walk. He can’t feed himself.”

“He can do more than he lets on. He’s a burden. He’s always been a burden. My father knew it. That’s why he left the land in trust. He knew I’d have to take care of Eli for the rest of my life, and he wanted to make sure I couldn’t sell it out from under us.”

“So you’re selling it to Vern Cutler.”

Kyle’s face went still. “Who told you that?”

“The ledger.”

He slammed the door. I heard the deadbolt turn.

“You’re going to stay in there until the social worker gets here,” he said through the wood. “Then we’ll see who they believe.”

I heard him walk away. The furnace rumbled. The storm howled against the small frosted window. I was alone.

But I wasn’t helpless.

I felt along the shelf until my fingers found the tablet. Eli’s eye-gaze tablet, in its rugged case, sitting on the shelf where he must have left it when Kyle moved him to the bed. The red emergency icon pulsed in the dark.

I tapped the screen. The device woke. It was still connected to the cellular backup. One bar. Enough.

I knew Eli’s passcode. He’d shown me once, months ago, when Kyle wasn’t looking. He trusted me.

I opened his communication app. There was a pre-recorded message folder. I tapped it.

The first file was labeled “Kyle threat.” The second was labeled “Vern order.”

I played the first one.

Kyle’s voice filled the pantry. “You’re going to eat what I give you, and you’re going to be grateful. If you tell anyone, I’ll let you starve until the state takes you. You hear me? You’re nothing but a burden.”

My hands were shaking. I played the second one.

Vern Cutler’s voice. Low. Gravelly. “The pantry money’s not enough. I need the land. You get your brother to sign the trust over, or I go to the sheriff about that little loan application your wife signed. Forgery’s a felony, Kyle. Even for a pastor.”

Kyle’s voice: “She doesn’t know about it.”

Vern: “She will if you don’t get me that land.”

I sat back against the shelves. The carbon copy was in Eli’s wheelchair. The recording was in my hand. I had proof of everything.

But I was locked in a basement during a blizzard, and the social worker was due in two hours.

I opened the message app. Miss Doreen’s number was saved. I typed fast.

“Kyle locked me in pantry. Eli starving. Proof in wheelchair battery. Call selectboard. Help.”

I hit send.

One bar flickered. The message spun. Then: Delivered.

I let out a breath. Then I pulled the bell rope again.

The bell sang out over the storm. I heard Kyle shout from upstairs. Footsteps pounded toward the pantry.

I shoved the tablet behind a case of creamed corn and prayed Miss Doreen would come.