took out my phone and called a locksmith.
His name was Dwayne, and he ran Coastal Lock & Key out of a van in Holly Ridge. He got there by 3:30.
He was a big man in a fishing shirt with a gray ponytail and a toothpick in his mouth. He looked at the blue door, then at me.
“All of ’em?” he said.
“Every exterior lock. Front, back, the side door to the porch, and the shed out back.”
“Got a reason?”
“My son moved in without asking.”
