Frank came up the walk with his keys out.

I crouched by the pot of dead geraniums, lifted it, and worked the spare key out of the grit.

I wiped it on my sleeve and put it in his palm.

“He let himself in with this Tuesday night,” I said.

“Tell him the new locks go on Saturday morning.”

Frank closed his fingers over it and walked his wife down to the car.

Julian came down the stairs at a quarter past nine with the gray suitcase and set it by the front door.