I Let My Stepdaughter Think She’d Taken Over My House

sound.

The officer, a woman maybe in her forties with tired eyes and a clean pressed uniform, looked over. “What’ve you got?”

Pete pointed with a stubby screwdriver.

“See these scratches? Not from one bad key. Too deep. Different angles.” He glanced up at me. “You said the deadbolt’s been sticking for a couple weeks?”

“Yes.”

Because it had.

Twice I had to continue reading …