What? That key doesn't fit? Still on Nisha's baby diaper pin, the key would not fit the lock, the lock on the door of the only building that had survived the hurricane in the family's Wilbraham summer compound, the key found by Michael Gaziano on the day after the tornado, the key that had always opened the lock on the door of the shed that housed what was left of life on Wilbraham Mountain. (Click this link to see Marash Girl's blog on the tornado of June 1, 2011, and a photo of Michael Gaziano holding up the key still attached to the diaper pin, the key that he had found in the bottom of the rubble.) The wheel barrows that had leaned against the shed had disappeared, the old zinc tubs in which Raffi and Aline used to take a juum-juum had disappeared, and in their stead was a new Master padlock affixed to the door of the shed. A gift from an otherwise marauding looter? Fearing the worst, Marash Boy (on Marash Girl's suggestion) headed for the police station on Main Street, at the base of the mountain. The Wilbraham policeman on duty suggested calling all of the owners to make sure they had not replaced the lock, including the owner who lived in Oregon. Marash Boy did as he was told. Not one of the owners had replaced the lock. Who, then? Call the locksmith to saw through the hasp, and the police to witness what may be behind those newly locked doors. Who would have taken the old lock off and replaced it with a new lock for which there was no key? Marash Boy, pondering all night long, had no answer.
This morning, at 9 AM, Marash Boy called to report that the locksmith had arrived, the police had arrived, the shed door was opened, and . . . all is as it was. Nothing missing, no dead bodies, no stashes of drugs, no need to call on Nancy Drew! But the question still remains . . . who replaced that lock and walked away with the key? And why?