Twenty-Eight
TEN MINUTES LATER, Helen and I are upstairs in her room. Helen is on the floor, looking under Sonya’s bed with a flashlight.
“I tell you, Tom, there’s nothing here except a number of dust bunnies.” She gets back to her feet and sits down on the bed. “The blanket is woven or I’d insist we cut it apart and look inside. This bed is solid wood, with nowhere to hide anything.”
“OK,” I say, “let’s think. Sonya’s message said to look under the Nutcracker. If she meant this blanket, it was on her bed at the time she wrote that so maybe something to do with the mattress?”
“I guess it's worth a try,” Helen agrees, beginning to strip the sheets off the bed.
All we find underneath is a fresh white mattress.
“Well, that’s a bust,” Helen says.
I nod while staring at the flat surfac
