The Butcher Read Online Free Page B

ear. “Just wanted to check in. We made good progress today. Tomorrow we’ll start pouring the cement for the deck, so long as it isn’t raining too hard.”
    â€œLooking good so far, man.” A speck of rain landed on Matt’s brow and he wiped it away, moving back under the bright yellow awning covering his back door. “Can’t wait to see the finished product.”
    â€œIf all goes well you’ll be having a party to celebrate in two weeks. Anyway, the reason for my call.” The contractor cleared his throat. “We dug something up in the backyard, almost ripped right through it.”
    â€œYou dug something up? What was it, a dead body?”
    Hastings chuckled. “The crate wasn’t big enough. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I moved it to the side of the house. Beside your raspberry bushes.”
    â€œI have raspberry bushes?”
    Another laugh. “Anyway, hope we didn’t cause any damage. It was buried pretty deep. Seems like it’s been there awhile, as the soil was pretty settled around it. I’m guessing it was the Chief’s?”
    Everybody knew who Matt’s grandfather was, and everybody knew that Edward Shank had been the chief of police of Seattle. Like everyone else, the contractor was referring to the old man by his nickname, as a matter of respect.
    Matt started walking toward the side of the house. “I see it.” A large plastic crate, measuring four feet by two feet by three feet, sat innocuously beside a bare bush. He knelt down to examine it. The crate was sealed with two locks, one on each side, and there was a long crack down the side of one wall. Matt ran a finger over it. The crack was probably where Hastings had hit it with his equipment. “Wonder what it is.”
    â€œIt’s buried treasure, of course. Loot from a high-end robbery caseyour grandfather worked. Illegal guns. A million dollars in cash.” Hastings paused. “No, make that two million. It was a big crate.”
    â€œIf only.” Matt laughed. “Thanks for calling.”
    â€œSend the Chief my apologies if we damaged anything. We weren’t expecting to find anything buried that deep.”
    â€œWill do.” Matt disconnected and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Reaching forward, he attempted to lift the crate. It didn’t seem that heavy, but it was more awkward than he expected, especially with one side of the plastic cracked. Taking a moment to position himself, he knelt down and hoisted the crate up, hauling it carefully toward the back door that brought him into the kitchen. He sat it down on the rectangular wood table with a harder thud than he intended.
    Elmo appeared out of nowhere, nudging and winding around Matt’s legs, his long tail vibrating as it always did when Matt first came home. Then he jumped up onto the kitchen table and proceeded to sniff every inch of the crate.
    â€œAny idea what’s in here, buddy?” Matt said, stroking the cat’s fur thoughtfully. With his other hand, he fingered the locks. “Should I call the Chief? It’s obviously his crate, so he probably has the keys.”
    Elmo didn’t have an answer, but he did continue to smell the crate, bumping up against it, his little pink tongue eventually darting out to lick a bit of moisture off the sides. As Matt headed to the fridge to grab a cold beer, the cat bumped the crate again with his head. This time, the bump was a little too hard, and the crate slid off the edge of the table before Matt could stop it. The crate hit the floor with a loud shatter.
    â€œShit!” He put his beer down on the counter. “Elmo, goddammit!”
    The cat scampered away.
    â€œOh, hell,” Matt said again, kneeling down. The crate had landed on its side and the locks were still intact, but now the lid was cracked at thejoints. He wouldn’t need his grandfather’s key to see what was inside now, because