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Tim swung through the kitchen of Pauley’s Island and waved at Becca and Bobbi. Everyone else was too busy serving late lunches to stop for that much. He grabbed his and Lola’s gear. He reached for the key to the apartment, but it wasn’t there. Crap!
It had always hung next to the back door, unless someone else was using it. This couldn’t be happening. Who could possibly be using the upstairs apartment in the middle of a Monday afternoon? Occasionally his parents slept there if the restaurant closed late. Grandpop had lived there the last few years of his life. If one of the kids partied too hard downtown, better to crash upstairs than on the road.
After the third time he tried unsuccessfully to slow someone down long enough to ask about the key, his mama came in through the back door
