Suddenly, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Had it always been locked? Or had he done it recently? And why?
I searched Martin’s favorite jacket in the closet. Inside the pocket, I found the keys.
Back at the desk, Jane followed quietly. “You don’t have to open it right now.”
But I did. Something told me it mattered.
With trembling hands, I slid the key in. The lock clicked.
Inside was a neatly tied stack of letters. Dozens of them.
My heart pounded. Who writes letters anymore? And who had Martin been writing to?
I picked one up, turned it over, and froze.
