“Come downstairs.”
I followed Harold into the kitchen.
The moment we were out of earshot, I pulled my hand free.
“If you’re about to tell me she’s only here for five more days, I’m going to need you to reconsider your strategy.”
“I’m not,” he said.
“Good.”
“I’m going to need you to reconsider your strategy.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“You handled it twice.”
He leaned against the counter.
“I know.”
“And now our bedroom doesn’t have a door.”
“I noticed.”
“You handled it twice.”
“I’m considerably past panic, Harold.”
That almost made him smile.
Then he lowered his voice.
“I’ll teach her a lesson.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing yet.”
“I’ll teach her a lesson.”
That strange little smile finally appeared.
“Wait until she goes to bed.”
I hated that answer.
I also wanted to know what it meant.
Dinner was awkward.
Grace wasn’t.
“Wait until she goes to bed.”
She ate roast chicken and discussed her apartment repairs as though she hadn’t spent the afternoon dismantling part of our house.
Harold didn’t mention the door.
Neither did I.
That made her cheerful.
Harold didn’t mention the door.
She apparently interpreted silence as surrender.
Around nine-thirty, she stood and yawned.
“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.
