Chapter 7 - Unraveling the Mind
I grabbed a heavy tactical flashlight and a iron crowbar from my sister's garage, slipped into my dark raincoat, and drove out toward Blackwood Lake under the cover of a midnight downpour.
The roads were completely deserted. Rain sheets slammed against my windshield as I turned down the narrow dirt path leading to the water's edge. The boathouse stood black and looming against the gray expanse of the churning lake, its wooden timbers groaning in the gale-force wind.
I parked the car behind a thicket of pine trees, turned off the lights, and crept toward the structure.
The heavy iron padlock on the main double doors was locked tight. Instead of trying to pick it, I walked around to the side window, smashed the rotten wooden frame with the head of the crowbar, and squeezed myself inside.
The smell of mold, gasoline, and wet earth filled my lungs. I clicked on the flashlight, sweeping the narrow beam across the interior. Old fishing nets, rusted outboard motors, and stacked lumber lined the walls.
I walked toward the back workbench. Scott was an expert carpenter, and like the bathroom vanity, everything he built had purpose. I ran my fingers along the bottom edge of the massive workbench, feeling for seam lines, latches, or hidden hinges.
Near the base, my fingers brushed against a small, magnetic push-latch.
With a soft click, a long wooden panel along the floor slid open. Inside lay a waterproof, heavy-duty Pelican case sealed with a digital combination lock.
Suddenly, the floorboards behind me creaked.
"You always were smarter than you let on, Clara."
I spun around, blinding the figure standing in the doorway with my flashlight.
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It wasn't Scott. It was Officer Thomas—Detective Miller’s partner, the quiet officer who had stood in my living room the night of Scott’s arrest, taking notes with an expressionless face.
He was holding a gun pointed directly at my chest.
