Chapter 5: The Brass Key

I didn't tell Stefan about the text.

I told myself it was because of rule one, which only said he couldn't lie to me.

It didn't say anything about me.

On Thursday he left for the office at six, and I heard the elevator close.

I waited ten minutes, then took two twenties from the envelope Jessamine had stuffed in my bag and let myself out.

The cab ride to Larkin Street took twenty minutes.

I spent them going through my phone for anything that would tell me who I had been.

My texts were mostly deleted.

My photos stopped five months ago, and the last one was a close-up of a green hotel door.

The diner had a cracked red sign, and the smell of it was familiar.

I had been here before, and I couldn't remember when.

A heavyset man in a rumpled tan raincoat sat in the back booth with his hands around a mug.

I recognized him from the television, and from the grey stubble and tired eyes of the man on the park bench.

"Ms. Garrick," he said, and half stood. "You look better than the last time."

"I don't remember the last time."

"No. I heard." He sat. "I'm sorry about that. Roscoe Dunne. Sit, order the pie, they put real butter in it."

I sat across from him and ordered the pie.

"I'd like to know what you do for me," I said. "I'd also like to know why my face was in the paper next to yours."

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