Dead Box

“It’s a bet, then,” Rhiana said, “Tell me how the killer did it or wash dishes for a month.” Tanner and Jenny, age 13, nodded.

“Right,” Rhiana said. “It happened inside a walk-in safe with locked doors, unbroken, concrete walls, ceiling and floor, no windows or other openings. The victim was alone, killed with a big knife driven into her chest and left there. She couldn’t have done it herself. She didn’t carry the knife inside with her. Four cops surrounded the house. Two cameras with overlapping fields of view stood behind each cop. They’ll testify that no one got past them. The tapes back them up.” “Someone hid inside the house,” Jenny said. “No, the police searched the house before the crime and afterward.” “Mom, it’s impossible.” Tanner’s voice was strong. “‘Impossible’ is a word we don’t use in this house.” “Give up?” Rhiana asked. “It’s a tough one.” “I never give up.” Rhiana swung her legs outside the table pointing at her husband. She pulled her skirt above mid-thigh and leaned her legs to one side. Her legs filled Tanner’s mind, pulling him away from small bare rooms with blood on the floor. Jenny stalked around the table. “Mom. No fair. You’re distracting Daddy with your legs.” “Hush, Jenny,” Tanner said. Tanner reached for her legs with his right hand.