folders in the passenger seat and the cedar chest resting on top.
Late-afternoon sunlight came through my apartment window as I put the chest on my bed.
I removed the pencils, school reports, and the county-fair picture.
Grandpa and me, 2004, standing beside a blue-ribbon tomato that wasn’t even ours.
Then I ran my fingers across the cedar bottom.
Smooth.
Until I found a seam.
A thin crack near the left edge that ran against the grain.
I pressed it.
The panel shifted.
Beneath it was about a quarter inch