Page 25 of Lock Every Door

To my relief, he shoos away the offer like it’s a pesky fly. “No need to worry about that, Miss Larsen. It makes up for that unfortunate incident in the lobby.”

“Are you referring to the collision or to Greta Manville?”

“Both,” Charlie says.

“Accidents happen. As for Greta Manville, I’ve already shrugged it off.” I unwrap the edge of the chocolate bar, snap off a square, andoffer it to Charlie. “Besides, everyone else here has been so nice that it was bound to end at some point.”

“You’re suspicious of nice?” Charlie says as he pops the chocolate into his mouth.

I do the same, talking and chewing at the same time. “I’m suspicious of richandnice.”

“You shouldn’t be. Most people here are both.” Charlie runs his thumb and forefinger over his mustache, smoothing the bristly hairs. “I can only claim to be one of those things, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, the nicest. And I feel like I should repay you somehow.”

“Just perform a good deed for someone else,” he says. “That’ll be payment enough.”

“I’ll do two good deeds,” I say, biting my lower lip. “Because it seems I need yet another favor. My keys, um, sort of fell into the heating vent.”

Charlie shakes his head, trying to stifle a chuckle. “Which one?”

“Foyer,” I say. “By the door.”

A minute later we’re back in the foyer, me watching as Charlie presses his formidable stomach against the floor. In his hand is a pen-shaped magnet stick, the end of which he lowers through the grate.

“I’m so sorry about this,” I say.

Charlie wiggles the stick. “Happens all the time. These grates are notorious. I think of them as monsters. They’ll eat up anything that comes their way.”

The comparison is apt. The longer I look at the heating vent, the more it resembles a dark maw just waiting to be fed.

“Like keys,” I say.

“And rings. And pill bottles. Even cell phones, if one falls at the right angle.”

“You guys must get calls about lost toys all the time.”

“Not so much,” Charlie says. “There aren’t any kids living at the Bartholomew.”

“None at all?”

“Nope. This place isn’t exactly child friendly. We prefer our tenants to be older—and quiet.”

Carefully, he removes the stick from the grate. Dangling from the end is my key ring. Charlie plucks it off and gently places it into the bowl on the foyer table. The magnet stick goes back into his jacket’s interior pocket.

“If it ever happens again, just grab a screwdriver,” he says. “The grate comes off real easy, and you can reach right in.”

“Thank you,” I say with a sigh of relief. “For everything.”

Charlie tips his cap. “It was my pleasure, Jules.”

After he leaves, I return to the kitchen and unpack the groceries, overwhelmed not just by his generosity but by the care he took in replacing them. Other than the chocolate, everything in the bags is exactly what I had purchased.

I’ve just put away the last of the groceries when I hear a telltale creak rise from the cupboard.

The dumbwaiter on the move.

I lift the cupboard door as it rises into view. Inside is another poem.

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