Ezoic
He held up the key.
“I keep this locked in the safe,” he said. “In our apartment. Behind the office. I’ve kept it locked up for three years. Ever since she started going in there at night. I lock it up and I hide the safe key in my sock drawer and I check it every single night before bed.”
He turned the wooden tag over in his fingers.
“She must have found it,” he said. “Tonight. While I was asleep in my chair. And she must have hung it up on the hook for Room 17. Where I keep the spare.”
He shook his head slowly.
“And I reached under the counter,” he said, “and grabbed the key off the hook for 17 without looking. Because my eyes are bad. Because I’ve been doing it for fifty years. And I gave it to you.”
Ezoic
He looked at me.
