With a faint, weary rasp the key turned in the lock. The sound was immediately muffled by the apartment’s silence.
After entering, Annabel let the door close with a click. The time on the wall above the kitchen counter was 10:47 p. m.
Still holding the rolled-up illustration of the Lighthouse Museum under her arm, she stood for a moment in the tiny foyer.
Only the dim silver light from the street lamps coming in through the living room window illuminated the completely dark apartment.
The thrilling pride she had felt an hour earlier was chilled by a deep bone-weary exhaustion that descended upon her.
She extended her hand and flipped the switch next to the door. As the living room was filled with a warm yellow light the shadows were driven into the corners.
Annabel paused.
On t
