The rattle of the door handle became a jangle, and the rap of knuckles that came with it was insistent enough to belong to only one man. And that man was not impressed. And that man was probably wondering what the hell Lyle had done the previous night to warrant staying in bed. Especially when there’d been plenty of warning that leaving the house could have consequences.
“I’m coming,” Lyle muttered, flinging his legs over the side of the bed. The temperature of the room was far too cold for such a perfect summer day, and Lyle winced as the soles of his feet touched the hardwood. How two people so damn old could handle having their a/c that low was beyond his understanding. He hobbled across the small room, flicked the butterfly in the knob to open and then had to step backwards to avoid the door as it was shoved inward.
“Why was this locked?”