A Favor at Midnight

How it begins

Grace charged double after midnight.

For Owen Blake, she considered charging for the previous six years as well.

He stood outside her shop with a brass lock in one hand and blood on his sleeve.

"Not mine," he said.

"I hadn't asked."

"You were looking."

"I look at customers. It helps me decide whether to open the door."

He held the lock toward the window.

Grace forgot the sleeve.

She had repaired that mechanism in the first year they worked together. One tooth on the key had been filed by hand because the owner could not afford a replacement cylinder.

The owner had disappeared four days later.

Grace unlocked the shop.

Owen stepped inside but stayed beside the door.

"Before you say anything," she said, "if this requires breaking into someone's house, get a court order."

He placed a folded sheet on the counter.

She read it.

Then read the signature again.

"Judge Howell retired."

"Last month."

"Last year."

Owen looked down.

The shop's refrigerator hummed behind them. Grace kept milk in it for customers who arrived too upset to explain what they needed. Owen had bought it during a week when they still believed small kindnesses could make their work simple.

"Who gave you this?"

"A woman called Ellen."

"Where is she?"

"Behind the other half of that lock."

Grace picked up her phone.

"We call the police."

"I did."

"And?"

"They said the address doesn't exist."

She looked at the order. The address was familiar enough to hurt.

A row of riverside cottages had stood there before the flood barrier was built.

She had changed every lock after the first evacuation.

"Those buildings were demolished."

Owen shook his head.

"Not all of them."

Grace reached beneath the counter for her emergency kit.

Then she stopped.

"This time," she said, "we tell someone where we're going."

Owen took out his phone.

For once, he did exactly what she asked.