Straining to see across the field, Jack and Ben could barely make out that the windows indeed looked boarded up. They also noticed a couple of bare spots on the roof where the shingles had blown away.
“Let’s go check it out,” said Ben.
“When did you grow a pair?” asked Stephen.
“We should skirt the field over to that ditch,” said Jack. “That way we won’t leave any footprints in the tall grass.”
Jack led the way. They circled the clearing until they came to a drainage ditch lined with big rocks. Only a small amount of water trickled down the rocks, and the boys made it to the corner of the building without getting more wet.
“How are we going to figure out where that beam is coming from?” asked Jack.
“I already know,” said Stephen.
“What? How?”
“Right after I tore down that leaf I turned around and saw this building. The light hit my eye a little bit,” said Stephen. “Anyway, it’s coming from right over that porch.” He pointed to the side of the building.
About ten feet up, a small back porch roof protruded from the building. They approached and saw the porch covered a cracked concrete pad.
“Looks sturdy enough to me,” said Ben. He climbed the rickety lattice-work that ran up the overhang’s support.
“Jeez, be careful,” said Jack.
Ben paused — “Thanks, that’s helpful.” He crested the top of the porch-roof and turned to look back over. “It’s sturdy — come up.”
Stephen and Jack deliberated and Ben disappeared. When the other two boys had gathered their nerve and made it up, Ben was studying a small hole in a clapboard.
“It comes out here,” said Ben. He waved his hand in front of the hole and angled it so Jack and Stephen could see the red dot on his hand.
“Man, that thing goes a long way, doesn’t it?” asked Stephen.
“Who’s got the smallest flashlight?” asked Ben. “I don’t want to ruin my night-vision.”
Jack produced a key-chain light and they clustered around the hole while Ben illuminated the wall. The red beam danced on Stephen’s chest as he breathed in and out.
“There’s a line,” said Ben.
A faint gray line descended from the laser hole an pointed straight down. They had to get their faces within a foot of the wall to trace its progress. The arrow ended five clapboards below the hole.
“Check it out — it’s only this wide,” said Jack. He pointed left and right, showing his friends that the arrow terminated on a clapboard that had end-seams only sixteen inches apart. “It’s a really small piece.”
Stephen felt the seams of the clapboard and then pressed on the center. It moved slightly. He tried the corners — the board seemed loose, but stayed put. Finally, he pressed hard on the bottom-center of the board and the three boys heard a loud click.
“It’s a latch!” exclaimed Stephen. As he removed his hand, the bottom of the clapboard came loose and then dropped off.
The boys had found a four-inch-tall, sixteen-inch-wide hole in the side of the building.
“Holy fuck,” breathed Ben. “What’s in there?”
Jack bent down to look in the hole. He had to get down on his belly — the hole was just above the surface of the porch roof on which they crouched.
“Give me the light back,” said Jack. Ben handed it down to his upturned hand.
Jack moved with the measured pace of someone defusing a bomb. He swept the light from side to side and focused it back to the middle of the hatch.
“Okay,” he began. “There’s a button and an envelope.”
Ben and Stephen knelt down to look over Jack’s shoulders.
“Let’s see what’s in the envelope,” said Stephen.
“What if it’s a trap or something?” asked Jack.
“Trap? It’s a letter in a hole,” said Stephen. “Don’t be so paranoid.”
“I don’t see anything attached to it,” said Ben. “Just move it a little.”
“Okay,” said Jack, and he put his hand near the hole. He took a deep breath and let it out.
Stephen whispered: “The suspense is killing me.”
“Shhhh!” ordered Jack.
The hatch in front of Jack was extremely simple. Framed in old wood, it was unadorned and dusty. The wood, dark with age, carried stains and drip-marks. Just beyond the envelope, a black button — bigger than a doorbell — was screwed into the back wall of the hatch. Two coiled wires led from the left side of the button to a small hole in the top of the hatch.
His fingers stiff, Jack nudged the envelope a half inch. It moved easily. He withdrew his hand about an inch and then moved his fingers forward. This time he brushed the envelop back towards himself.
“This is just weird — why would there be a letter in this hatch, up on a porch roof, under a laser?” asked Jack. “Doesn’t that just seem like a bad thing to be messing with?”
Neither Ben nor Stephen answered, they just waited. Jack reached in quickly and pulled out the envelope.
“Cool — now open it,” said Stephen.
“Let’s get out of here — we can open it back at the house,” said Ben.
“Yeah, I like that idea better,” agreed Jack.
“Okay, let me get this back on,” Stephen acquiesced. He fumbled the hatch’s cover — the clapboard — back into place. He tried several times before he got it to latch. Satisfied, they made their way back down to the ground. The boys retraced their steps through the drainage gully and walked fast. The trip out had taken them almost thirty minutes, but they made it back in fifteen.
Jack stashed their wet clothes in a plastic bag and the boys gathered in their pillow fort with a flashlight and the envelope. Ben examined it carefully: it was sealed and yellowed, and showed a history of faint wrinkles.
“Should we rip it?” asked Jack. “Maybe we should steam it open.”
“What, are going to put it back?” asked Stephen.
“Too much thinking,” said Ben. He slipped his finger under one corner of the flap and tore down the side. He squeezed it open and peered in. Satisfied it contained papers, Ben slid the contents of the envelope down onto the sleeping bag.
They boys saw several hundred-dollar bills and a folded sheet of paper drop out of the envelope.
“Wow,” said Jack. He picked up one of the bills. “Series 1978. That’s almost as old as my dad.”
Stephen counted the rest of the bills — “Five, six, seven-hundred. Wow, what are you going to do with your cut?”
Jack laughed — “Same thing you’re going to do with yours: nothing. We can’t just suddenly have extra money. My parents will be a little suspicious.”
“What if we buy something and hide it?” asked Stephen.
“What good is that?” asked Jack. “Besides, you don’t know my mom. She finds everything.”
“Actually,” replied Stephen, “I’m kinda aware of that.”
Ben began to unfold the paper and noticed two words in neat, cursive script on the outside fold: “Thank you.”
“Why are they thanking us?” asked Ben.
“It’s probably payment for something,” said Stephen. “Why else would someone leave money in a secret hiding place?”
Jack held the flashlight as the three boys read the letter together. It was written in the same elegant script as the “Thank you” on the outside.
July 19th, 1991
