Free Finding Sarah by Terry Odell

pop over. Maybe you can give a shout when you see some activity. Your
kitchen window looks right into their dining room.”
    “I’ll do that.” Her plate empty,
Sarah carried it to the sink. “Maggie, this was delicious. Sorry to dash, but I
have to get dressed before the locksmith comes. Thanks again.”
    “Think nothing of it. I enjoy the
company. I need to get ready myself. Thursday is my day at the hospital.” She
paused. “But I could come and work with you—I’ll worry about you being alone.”
    “Don’t, Maggie. Randy said this
woman doesn’t hit the same shop twice. I’ll be fine.” She leaned over and
kissed Maggie on the cheek. “I’ll stop by after work.”
    With only slight trepidation,
Sarah entered her apartment. Everything looked the same as always, but she
missed that warm feeling of welcome. Trying to ignore her uneasiness, she
hurried to shower and dress. She had to wait until her hands stopped trembling
before she could apply her makeup. The doorbell put a stop to her fussing and
she hurried to the living room.
    “Triple A Locks,” came the voice
from the other side of the door.
    “Be right there.” Sarah peeked
out at the distorted image of a man in green coveralls, three entwined As
embroidered over the pocket, before opening the door. The man handed her a
business card.
    Sarah read his name off the card
and pointed out the lock. “Thanks, Mr. Foster. I need something a little more
burglarproof here and on the back door. We’re pretty sure someone picked it the
other day.”
    “I’ve got the deadbolts you asked
for, and spare keys. Shouldn’t take long to switch them over.”
    Sarah left the man to his work
and went to her kitchen window to see if there were any clues to who the new
neighbors might be, but their blinds were closed.
    The locksmith finished his work
in efficient silence and handed Sarah four keys and an invoice. Her stomach
sank. She’d have to revisit her budget. No, she would take it to Mrs.
Pentecost. The building management should have to pay at least some of this
charge. “Let me get my checkbook.” She returned and recorded the amount in the
register, afraid to do the math beyond knowing she could cover the check.
    The locksmith latched his
toolbox. “Nice neighborhood here. We don’t get many calls in this area.”
    “Glad to know I’m the exception,”
Sarah said under her breath. She handed the man his payment. “Thanks.”
    “No problem. Call us any time.”
He whistled something that sounded like “Oh Susannah” as he packed his tools.
    “One more thing,” Sarah said. “Can
you verify the lock was picked?”
    “Not officially. But I’m sure the
cops could. You can bring the whole mechanism to them.”
    “Thanks. I think I’ll do that.”
Sarah loaded the old parts into a plastic bag.
    She watched the locksmith leave,
listening to the whistling fade down the hall. Feeling safe and secure as the
key moved like a knife through butter in the new lock, she went downstairs to
drop off a key and alert Mrs. Pentecost about someone coming to check the phone
lines. The manager answered the door wearing a floral robe, a cup of coffee in
her hand. Sounds of the morning news came from a television set somewhere in
the apartment.
    “It’s not my responsibility to
pay for the new lock,” Sarah said. “It was a building security issue.”
    “I’ll have to see what the
management company says. If you can’t prove there was someone in the apartment,
I don’t know if they’ll pay.”
    “I’ve got the old lock. I’ll talk
to the detective about getting a police report and see what he says. And I’ll
bring you a copy of the locksmith’s bill.” Sarah stepped back. “Say hi to
Lydia. Tell her she’s getting very good.”
    “I’ll do that.” She gave Sarah a
half-smile and closed the door.
    A black pickup drove by as she
walked toward the bus stop and Randy wormed into her thoughts. Her cheeks
flamed as she remembered how she’d felt when