Chapter Seventy-Three. Sarah Lynn
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
SARAH LYNN
The kitchen is cold. There are no space heaters in here.
Just a long orange extension cord slithering beneath the door to power the coffee maker.
A battery-powered lantern casts a weak halo of light and some moonlight comes in from the high rectangular windows near the ceiling, gleaming silver off the stainless steel counters.
There’s some kind of commotion going on in the main room, but I don’t care. I’m staring down at the sink drain, the sharp plastic corners of the SD card biting into my palm.
Hannah wants to come clean, but I’m scared.
I hold my fist out over the drain, open my hand, and the card falls straight in with a neat clink. I don’t give myself time to second-guess. I reach for the disposal switch and flip.
Nothing.
I flip it back and forth a few times before realizing I’m an idiot.
There’s no power. Cursing, I yank open the cabinet, and my lantern’s light spills across pipes and bottles of cleaner.
The disposal is plugged into an outlet inside.
So I unplug the coffee maker, drag the extension cord over, and drop down, reaching deep past metal and plastic.
That’s how he finds me, on my hands and knees, half buried in the cupboard.
“Sarah Lynn.”
The sound of my name in his mouth sends goose bumps across my skin. I sit back on my heels and turn to him. Mr. Magnuson’s face is mostly a shadow, but in the moon’s pearly glow, I can see the wink of his smile.
“I thought I saw you come in here,” he says, and he closes the door behind him.