We pushed our way through the thick briars outside to get to the separate carriage house. The double doors were padlocked from the outside. That didn’t make sense. If they left in the car, the garage would be open, or locked from the inside.
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I used my bolt cutters on the rusted iron lock. It snapped with a loud crack that echoed through the empty estate. We hauled the heavy doors open, the hinges screaming in protest.
Dust motes danced in our flashlight beams as we illuminated the space. There, under a tarp, was the distinct shape of a large vehicle. But it wasn’t the car that caught my eye—it was what was sitting on the hood.
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