The key that fit no lock

The rain had been going since Thursday and nobody had thought to mention it, which was how most things went in that part of the city. Water came off the awnings in sheets and collected in the gutter outside the shop, and the shop stayed open, because it always did.

She counted the till twice. Not because the number was wrong the first time, but because counting was the sort of thing that filled a Tuesday, and there was a great deal of Tuesday left.

Somebody had left a coat on the hook by the door. It had been there four days. On the second day she had gone through the pockets, found nothing but a bus ticket and a key that fit no lock she knew of, and put them back exactly where they had been.

The bell over the door did not ring so much as clear its throat. She looked up before she had decided to.