They didn’t suspect me for long. My weekend at my mom’s was easy to confirm, and Kurt had already told them he tricked me with the party story so he could dig without anyone asking questions. Ruiz apologized for the way they had come in. Kurt had found a map among his father’s prison letters. The letters said the money was buried in two steel boxes, under the backyard, beside the old roses.

Kurt had dug in the wrong spot for most of the weekend before he finally found the first box Saturday night. He panicked when a car pulled up next door, grabbed what he had, and ran before finding the second. The car that scared him was my sister checking on my house. The next morning, a forensic team arrived with a ground radar machine. Three feet beneath my rose bushes, they found the second steel box, still sealed.

Inside was the rest of the money, wrapped in plastic and remarkably dry after thirty years. The armored car company’s insurer had offered a ten percent reward for recovering it back in 1996, and the offer had never been withdrawn. Detective Ruiz made sure my name went on the paperwork. A few months later, a check arrived for more than forty-eight thousand dollars. My mom laughed when I told her it was the most expensive birthday party never thrown.

Kurt pleaded guilty to theft and possession of stolen property. I used part of the reward to restore my backyard, with new sod, a stone patio, and fresh flower beds. The rest went into my retirement savings. I replanted the rose bushes exactly where they had stood for thirty years. And whenever a new neighbor asks to borrow anything now, I smile, say no, and offer them a cup of coffee instead.