“This ring and the one behind the desk.

That’s the whole inventory.”

He looked down the walkway, then back at me, and his jaw worked like he was deciding how much of his own sentence to keep.

“Your brother came by around four,” he said.

“Said he was picking up your laundry.”

I rubbed my right wrist until the skin went warm.

The yellow envelope was still in my jacket, against my ribs, with the key flat inside it.

The check wasn’t in the sock drawer.