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clients, a soldier and his wife, to take
their application, since it was his only time off. The outside lights weren’t
on, so we better call that new maintenance man Jeff hired to help out. I think
his name is Evan.” He dusted crumbs off his neatly pressed white shirt. “Oh,
and something else. I found a key on the floor by the mail slot and put it in
your top drawer.”
     
     
Chapter 8
Monday morning, December 10
    Rhetta’s heart slammed against her ribs. “What did you just say?”
    “I came in here yesterday to
take an application, and the outside lights weren’t working,” Woody repeated.
“You probably need to call Jeff to get them fixed. I don’t know how to reach
that helper he hired. I think his first name is Evan. I don’t know his last
name.”
    Rhetta jerked the drawer
open. It wasn’t the application, or the prospect of calling Evan, a homeless
guy with a long, ratty grey beard, that made her heart lurch. There, nestled on
top of a sheaf of papers lay a small brass key attached to a rectangular
plastic fob bearing a number: 127.
    She clasped her hand around
it, removed it, and then eased her drawer shut. She took a deep breath and
closed her eyes. When she opened them, she scrutinized the little key, front
and back. There was nothing to identify where it came from. Should she believe
the phone call? Was this really a key to a locker at the airport? And, if it
was, should she go and find out? Randolph had told her to call him if she found
a key, in case she was dealing with a stalker. She returned the key to the
drawer and reached for the phone.
    “What’s the key for?” Lost in
her thoughts, she hadn’t heard Woody edge up to her desk. She jumped at the
sound of his voice.
    “A locker at the airport.”
She peered up at him.
    “Why?”
    “What do you mean, why ?”
    “Why did someone leave you a
key to a locker at the airport?”
    “It wasn’t just someone,
Woody. I got a phone message yesterday from the man claiming to be my father.
He says he left it for me, and I was supposed to go to the airport right away
and find this locker. He actually wanted me to go last night.” As she told him
about the phone call, Woody rubbed his shaved head with both hands. Did the
significance of this key upset him? Maybe, but not as much as it was upsetting
her. With Woody’s PTSD, sometimes it was hard to tell what might get to him. He
didn’t like talking about it, so she was reluctant to ask.
    Just then, LuEllen flew
through the door, out of breath and apologetic. “Sorry I’m late,” she said,
unwrapping a scarf from around her neck and slipping out of her wool jacket.
“There’s a bad accident on Mount Auburn near Independence. Both sides of the
road are blocked and the traffic is getting majorly snarled.” She gazed at
Rhetta, who took a minute to answer.
    “Oh, no problem, LuEllen.
Just glad you’re all right.” Rhetta waved her hand dismissively.
    LuEllen picked up her lunch
tote and asked as she headed to the kitchen. “Anyone need coffee?”
    Woody didn’t answer, but
Rhetta said, “No, thanks,” as LuEllen disappeared around the corner. Rhetta
picked up her conversation with Woody. “I’m not convinced. I think it’s
probably just someone’s idea of a not-so-practical joke.” She opened her top
drawer and tossed the key into it, then slid the drawer shut.
    “Aren’t you going to go and
check it out? I’ll go with you,” he added, and veered toward the coat rack. He
shrugged into his coat, walked to the front door and waited.
    Rhetta stared at Woody. He
had just volunteered to go with her. This key business apparently piqued his
interest, but she didn’t question him just then. She’d use the drive time to
the airport to quiz him.
    She mobilized her senses.
“First, I have to call Randolph. I promised I’d call him if a key showed up
here.” Rhetta couldn’t quickly locate her cellphone. It had probably fallen to
the bottom of her purse again. She lunged for the