Mr. Killer

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She would have waited until Jamie came home except that the lock looked just like the one that had been on the secret box she had owned when she was a child. And after she lost the key to that secret box playing baseball, the lock had yielded to a paper clip bent just so.

So she took a paper clip from Jamie’s desk and took the tin box and sat on the floor, because it was always easier to do hard things while sitting on the floor. It was all because somehow the darn bill for the insurance premium had disappeared; it was truly disheartening the way bits of necessary paper could scoot out of sight in such a small house.

Jamie was very much of a child, she thought, with his locked tin box, but of course the policy would be in there and the number would be on the policy. The company had mentioned that they liked the policy number written on the premium checks, and with the bill for the premium gone, it was a logical place to look. Having started to make out the checks, it was a nuisance to have to stop and wait for Jamie to come home and unlock his stupid little box.

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