“Leave it anywhere you like,” I said.

“It’s your house.”

She put the silver locket next to the salt shaker on the dining table and didn’t touch it again.

Sarah poured a fresh mug of black coffee from the pot on the sideboard and set it in front of me.

“The front door lock’s fine,” Sarah said.

“The deadbolt slid right into the jamb.”

“It was built right to begin with,” I said.

By six the next morning, the kitchen smelled of dark coffee grounds and crisp toast.