I went out to the side porch, where Arthur was kneeling by the heavy wooden door frame of the garage.

He was sinking long zinc screws into a new brass strike plate with a cordless driver.

“Did you fix the hinge?” I asked, keeping my voice short and exact.

“Rekeyed the whole cylinder,” Arthur said, not looking up from what he was doing.

“Changed the outside lock so it opens on Julian’s master set now.

It’s safer that way, Eleanor.

In your condition you’d only lose track of extra brass keys.”