“The worst part wasn’t falling,” Mrs. Palmer told me. “It was hearing my phone ring in the next room and knowing nobody could get through the door.”
Liam looked away.
Mrs. Palmer continued.
Her daughter lived forty minutes away. A neighbor checked on her occasionally, but nobody nearby had reliable access.
So Liam helped her create an emergency plan.
Her daughter already had a key. The retired nurse six houses down was supposed to get another, but her copy hadn’t worked.
“And that one?” I asked, pointing at the blue key.
“The replacement,” Liam said. “I had it cut this morning. I was bringing it to her today.”
Mrs. Palmer touched his arm.
“He thinks of everything.”
No affair.
No second apartment.
Just Liam being the man everyone called when something went wrong.
Relief should have ended the mystery.
It didn’t.
Because there were still three keys in my hand.
