Every Sunday, the two children next door walked down our street carrying a single black trash bag. Everyone assumed they were collecting litter.
Then one afternoon, I saw nine-year-old Ben crouching beneath the bushes outside my window and burying something in the dirt.
After he walked away, I stepped outside.
Beneath the leaves, I found a plastic bag holding a silver flash drive and a folded note.
My name was written across the front. MRS. CARTER.
I opened it.
If our mom disappears, give this to the police.
Do not give it to Rick.
Do not tell him we left it here.
