After Nine-Year-Old Sadie Called Munich, Walter Hensley Drove Through the Snow
“Put the very same cylinder on the garage entry door,” my father said.
“And change the code on the overhead garage door keypad right now.”
The locksmith nodded and slid a new silver key into the keyway to test the brass tumblers inside.
I tapped my index finger against my thumb in sets of three while I watched the tiny metal shavings drop onto the dark hardwood floor.
“Where’s Sadie right now?” my father asked.
“Across the street,” I said.
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