A thick steel bolt slid into the strike plate on the doorframe.

“No one is getting through that door without a key or a battering ram,” he said.

“Thank you, Frank,” I said.

He moved to the basement door, which led out to the old coal chute in the side yard.

While he worked on that last lock, I went upstairs to the master bedroom.

I needed to clear out the rest of their belongings before the day was over.

The bedroom was cold, the radiator clanking softly in the corner.

Solene had insisted on keeping the thermostat turned down to sixty degrees to “save on utilities.”

I walked over to the hallway thermostat and turned it up to seventy-two.

The oil furnace in the basement roared to life with a comforting, distant hum.

I went back to the bedroom and opened the large cedar wardrobe.

My grandmother’s hand-embroidered quilts had been pushed into the back corners.

Rylan’s expensive wool suits hung in the center, smelling of dry cleaning and tobacco.

I took a large black garbage bag from the kitchen box I had brought up.