“I’m exhausted.”
“I’m sure,” I muttered. “Removing hardware took effort.”
Harold kicked my ankle gently beneath the table.
“I’m exhausted.”
Grace headed upstairs.
A minute later, I heard her guest-room door close.
Then came a small, unmistakable sound.
Click.
I looked at Harold.
He kept eating.
“Did she just lock her door?”
“Yep.”
Grace headed upstairs.
I waited.
He took another bite of potatoes.
“Are we not going to discuss the obvious?”
“Not yet.”
At ten-thirty, Harold rinsed his plate.
At eleven, he went upstairs.
“Are we not going to discuss the obvious?”
Then came back down wearing his bathrobe.
I stared at him.
“Why are you dressed like you’re checking into a spa?”
“I don’t want to wrinkle another shirt.”
“That explains absolutely nothing, Harold.”
“Stay here.”
“I don’t want to wrinkle another shirt.”
He disappeared upstairs.
I heard very little.
A faint metallic sound.
A door moving.
Then footsteps.
Several minutes passed.
I considered following him.
He disappeared upstairs.
Before I could, Grace screamed.
“HAROLD!”
I ran.
Grace stood in the hallway in a floral robe and slippers, scarlet from her neck to her hairline.
Harold stood opposite her.
Perfectly calm.
Harold stood opposite her.
