crouched and lifted the lid.
Then I screamed.
Inside sat a tight bundle wrapped in blue fabric.
For one terrible second, it looked foreign and frightening.
Then I spotted the wooden handle, the silver button, and Eli’s name written in my husband’s handwriting.
Eli dropped down beside me. “That’s Dad’s,” he whispered.
“It is.”
“How did it get here?”
He glanced at the boxes, then toward the neighbors. His face lost its color.
“Mom, we need to call someone. Maybe the police. This is scary.”
“I know. We’re not touching
