Someone had turned the photograph toward the bed, as though the person sleeping there might want to see it.
“Does your grandmother know you found this room?”
“I think so.”
“What makes you think that?”
“She moved the key.”
“Was it somewhere else before?”
“In the blue sugar bowl.”
He paused.
“After I opened the letter, the key disappeared. Then I found it behind the apron.”
Silas moved toward the window.
“I heard someone in here three nights ago.”
“What did you hear?”
“Talking.”
“Could it have been your grandmother?”
“One voice was Grandma.”
“And the other?”
He looked at the photograph.
“A lady.”
I stood and checked the window. It faced a narrow backyard crowded with overgrown lilac bushes. The latch was old, but secure. There was no obvious second entrance.
“Did you see the woman?”
“No. Grandma made me go upstairs.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she was listening to the radio.”
