Chapter 9: The Fox

"I don't want your building," I said to Clarence.

"Nobody does," he said. "That's what makes it a gift. Go give it back to him yourself."

So I did.

I took the deed in a manila envelope and rode the elevator up to the penthouse alone.

Maddie had a double shift, and she had told me not to go anyway.

The doorman had not stopped me.

He had looked at my face and pressed the button.

The door was unlocked.

The apartment was dark.

There were no lights on in the kitchen, no laptop on the island, no glass of anything on the counter.

On the sofa where we had been together a few weeks ago lay a pile of my things in a neat stack.

A sweater.

A toothbrush.

The book I had left on his nightstand with my reading glasses folded on top.

He had packed them.

He had not been able to send them.

"Harvey," I said.

Nothing.

The bedroom door stood open.

The bed was made.

It had not been slept in.

The bookcase beside it had been swung back on its hinge.

Behind it a narrow door stood open a hand's width, and a thin line of yellow light came through.

I knew I should leave.

I knew whatever was in that room was none of my business.

I crossed the carpet and pushed the door open.

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