“The door locked behind you?” the guy finished for her. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to get my uncle to install different locks. People are always getting locked out.”

“So we just need to get back in the apartment,” I said, relieved that this was going to be so easy, and glad we had the dog for proof that we weren’t just grifters trying to talk our way in so we could case the joint. “And then we can put the dog back and get our stuff.”

“This is really bad timing,” the guy said, “because my uncle had to head out of town this afternoon. He was supposed to be back by now, but it sounds like he and my aunt are having car trouble. And he didn’t realize it until he left, but he accidentally took the extra apartment keys with him. We’ve already had one lockout today, in 3C, but luckily, Mr. Gibson’s husband had an extra set.”

“You mean the extra keys are just gone?” I asked, needing this not to be true.

The guy winced. “I know,” he said, shaking his head. “My uncle’s been talking about wanting to retire for a while now, and this just seems like proof that maybe he should.”

“So… how do we get back into the apartment?” Stevie asked, her voice high and stressed. I felt exactly the same. This was not good. I’d expected that once we talked to the super, this would just be a tiny blip—we’d put the dog back, Stevie would get her bag, and this would just fade into a funny anecdote to tell Teri about when we got back. I’d practically started rehearsing it in my head—and then we got locked out, with a dog! What were we supposed to do with him? How was I supposed to go see Mr. Campbell’s play with a Pomeranian in tow?

“I mean,” the guy said, shifting his weight from foot to foot, “I can try my uncle again and see what his ETA is. But the only reason we’re supposed to call the fire department to break down the doors is if there’s a gas leak, or like someone in peril, that kind of thing. Emergencies only.”

“Yeah, let’s not do that,” Stevie said quickly. “It’s just my bag, really.…”

“And the dog,” I pointed out. Brad looked over at me, with what I could have sworn was a smile, even though realistically I knew he was probably just panting.

“Right, the dog.”

“Oh no—did you lock your shoes inside?” the guy asked, looking down at Stevie’s feet, then up at us.

“No,” Stevie said, shaking her head. “I just left them on the fifth floor. They’re heels.”