“Fiona? I’m so sorry, but can I call you back?”
A pause. “Yes, dear. I just wondered when you’d be sending along…you know.” A conspiratorial whisper. “I know it’s early, but we’re already running short on funds…”
“No problem.” Maggie looked around, trying to get her bearings. The unfamiliar hallway dead-ended at a door. “I’ll send a check tomorrow. Okay? Gotta go.”
“Thank you, dear. I—”
Maggie clicked off and dropped the phone back into her bag. She looked at the door before her and opened it. A flight of stairs led down into a black abyss.
She placed her right foot on the top step and peered into the darkness below. The stairs were steep, carpeted with a thin, padless runner that ran down the center like a skunk’s stripe. “Zartar?” Maggie called uncertainly. Her own voice echoed back.
Maggie took off her heels and tucked them beneath her left arm. She began to make her way quickly down the steps. The door slammed behind her, plunging Maggie into inky blackness.
Maggie thrust her hand inside her purse. She pulled her phone free and activated the flashlight app. A small beam of light trickled from the back of the phone. Maggie shone the anemic light down the stairs and followed its path to the landing at the bottom. There was no carpet at the base of the stairs, just a wide swath of dilapidated vinyl that ruptured into blisters of worn, dirty plastic that snagged the bottom of her stockings.
Maggie wrinkled her nose. While her lab smelled like chemicals engineered for germicide, this section of the building smelled dank and oily. The walls and floors were slicked with a thin layer of grime.
She paused, listening intently. A soft, indiscriminate sound emanated from a hallway that snaked to the left. Maggie turned and followed it down the narrow corridor, stockinged feet padding on filthy vinyl. Although the stairs were unlit, the hallway was lit by the feeble glow of dim bulbs held captive by wire cages.
This must be an older part of the building, she thought. Maybe even the original structure. She remembered reading that Rx had converted an old factory into its new headquarters.
Maggie turned off the flashlight app and dropped her phone into her purse. She walked on, her hand trailing along a brick wall, which felt cool and chalky and filthy beneath her touch.
Maggie squinted. Ahead, a sliver of light sliced through shadows, a tiny lighthouse beckoning her on. It leaked from beneath a door.
Maggie approached the door slowly. She heard voices from the other side. She moved closer to hear if Zartar’s was among them.
The sound of Maggie’s phone, with its old-fashioned Jim Rockford ring, punctured the hallway’s silence.
Shit, shit, shit. Maggie tore open her purse, her hand grasping frantically for her phone.
Wallet. Sunglasses. ChapStick. Luna bar. Finally her fingers found the thin plastic slab. She clutched it and yanked it from the bag.
She tried to hit the silence button but hit SPEAKER instead.
“Hello?” a voice boomed.
Maggie fumbled with the phone, trying to turn off the speaker. She found the right button then pressed the phone against her ear. “Hello?” she whispered, not entirely sure why she was whispering.
“Is this Maggie O’Malley?”
At that moment, the sliver of light beneath the door blast into the hall, ensnaring Maggie in its cool fluorescent glare.
Maggie froze. Her pupils retreated, contracting into tiny pinpoints. For a moment, she couldn’t see anything. She heard the low rumble of surprised voices. A heavy door swung shut.
“Ms. O’Malley?” said the voice at the door.
“Maggie O’Malley?” said the voice in the phone.
“Uhh,” said Maggie, not sure which voice to answer first.
She blinked, her eyes still adjusting. A rotund form crossed stubby arms across a barrel chest. White hair caught the light.
“Mr. Montgomery?”
“Yes?” he replied.
“Just a second,” she mumbled into the phone.
“Can I help you with something?” Montgomery asked.
“I, um,” Maggie stammered, putting the phone behind her back. “I seem to have gotten myself turned around. Too much champagne, I guess.” She laughed. Montgomery did not. She started talking, faster now. “I was trying to find my friend Zartar, and the next thing I know, here I am. Which is kind of cool, because I got to see a historic part of the building. It’s very interesting. Almost institutional.”
Maggie knew she had started blathering, but it was as if she were running down a hill. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop herself. “Not in a bad way. Just, you know, architecturally.”
An awkward silence rolled in like thunderheads.
Maggie cleared her throat. “Is this part of the building still in use? I mean, I guess it is because you’re here, ha ha.”
Montgomery looked at her, then at the shoes under her arm. A frown formed between his shaggy eyebrows. “It’s used for storage now,” he finally said.
“Oh.”
The silence thickened.
“Well,” Maggie said. “I’d better get back to the party. Mix and mingle and stuff.” She mentally slapped herself for sounding like she was on her way to third period algebra.
Montgomery opened the door and slid halfway inside. He smiled at Maggie. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Ms. O’Malley. I hope you find Zartar.”
“Thanks, Mr. Montgomery,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll see you—”
He disappeared into the room and the door clicked shut.
“Tomorrow.”
Chapter 10
“Hello? Hello?” A voice, thin and tinny, called from the phone behind Maggie’s back.
Feck.
Maggie put the phone to her ear and ran down the hall. She wanted to get away. Away from the strange old part of the building. Away from the anxiety worming its way into her mind. Away from the tangle of thoughts that snarled in her head.
What if Montgomery thought I was sneaking around? What if he thought I was spying? What if he doesn’t let me act as administrator for his charity? What if I lose my job? Please, God, don’t let me lose my job.
“Yes, hi,” she whispered into the phone as she scrambled up the stairs. “I’m here.” She hoped she was speaking clearly. She couldn’t hear her own voice over the thundering torrent of blood rushing through her ears.
“This is Travis from Reincarnated Phones. I’m calling for Maggie O’Malley?”
Maggie ran through the main hallway and opened the door to the cafeteria. “Reincarnated Phones?” The blood continued to roar through her ears, drowning out everything but her own thoughts.
She couldn’t hear over the din of the party, over the loud voices that competed with her internal voice, which was getting more hysterical by the moment. She grabbed her wrap from the back of her chair and darted back into the deserted hall.
Maggie closed her eyes. In the still of the empty corridor, clarity climbed above panic and confusion. “Reincar—oh, right. You’re Constantine’s friend? He bought my phone from you?”
The voice on the other end chuckled. “Right. I thought for a second I had the wrong number.”
Maggie dropped her shoes and slid her feet into the pumps. Right number. Wrong time. But at least it was someone who might be able to give her some answers.
She concentrated on slowing her heart, on concentrating. “I’m your gal. Constantine told you about the problems I’ve been having?”
“Yeah. Something about getting someone else’s messages?”
“More like someone else’s calendar updates. Constantine thinks the phone may not have been wiped completely and is still connecting to the cloud. So when the previous owner syncs his calendar with his devices, my phone gets updated, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
Maggie opene
d the front door of the building and walked toward her car. Night had descended during the party. Shadows huddled in doorways, beneath the entrance’s decorative benches, in spaces left empty by neglect and design.
Maggie squinted, eyes adjusting to the darkness. “I was hoping you could put me in touch with the phone’s previous owner so I can let them know I—” see dead people on my phone “—have been receiving their updates.”
“Uh-huh,” Travis said again. “Well…” Long pause. “I don’t know that I can do that.”
Maggie stopped walking. “What?”
“I like to keep my customers’ information confidential. I don’t think he’d appreciate a call from a random girl.”
“Random girl?” Maggie felt her face flush. “Look—”
“But what I can do is this.” He spoke as if she hadn’t said anything. “I can get you a better phone, one with all the latest bells and whistles.”
“I don’t want a better phone,” Maggie said tightly.
“It’s my bestselling phone,” he continued in full sales guy monologue. “And because you’re a friend of a friend, I can give it to you for only $60 more.”
Maggie felt a blood vessel in her temple begin to pulse. “Like I said, I don’t want a better phone. I don’t even want a new phone. I want to talk to the guy who had this phone.”
Travis made a sound that sounded like a yawn mated with a sigh. “Man, I really wish I could help you out, but it’s company policy.”
“Don’t you own the company?” Maggie retorted hotly.
She heard an audible click in her ear. Then nothing.
“Hello? Travis?”
Nothing. He hung up. The jerk actually hung up.
Maggie walked to her car, shoulders slumping under the weight of worry that had returned heavier and more oppressive than ever. She shoved her phone back into her purse and fished out her car keys, dropping her cashmere wrap into a puddle in the process.
Awesome. Montgomery thinks I’m a spy. I’m no closer to finding out who owned my phone. And now I’ve ruined the only nice thing I own.
Maggie crouched down to retrieve the garment and heard a scrape of gravel behind her.
She turned. Miles stood watching her, his arms folded over his chest as if evaluating her form. The Russian judge gives a 6.7.
“Hi, Miles,” she said, returning to a standing position.
“Hi, Maggie,” he replied. “Nice time at the party?”
“Yeah. It was great. Very cool about your dad.”
He acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “Saw you drinking with some people.”
What? “Not really. Just a couple of glasses of champagne with Zartar, Roselyn and an old professor from the U.”
“You’ll have a drink with them but not me?” he asked. His mouth stretched into a plastic smile that didn’t touch his eyes. He wagged his finger. “I’ve invited you twice now. Even gave you one of my very special massages. And you keep blowing me off. That doesn’t seem very nice.”
Miles listed sideways against the car. Maggie could smell the pungent odor of alcohol on his breath. He was sweating Tanqueray.
“I haven’t blown you off,” Maggie said. “Besides, looks like you’ve had a few yourself.”
“You’re very perceptive,” he said in a singsong voice. The wagging finger approached her nose. Grazed it. “Yes, I’ve had a couple of…” He paused searching for the word. “Libations. With my three best buddies: me, myself and I. Some of us have to drink alone.”
He cackled. Stopped. The evening had gone strangely silent. Nobody in the parking lot. No cars driving by.
Miles took a step toward Maggie, backing her against the Studebaker’s fender. “You should be careful walking out here all alone. You never know what kind of weirdoes are around.”
Maggie’s throat tightened.
Miles took another step closer, his thigh brushing hers. “You think you’re pretty special, don’t you?” Miles whispered.
“What? No, I—” Maggie tensed her body, ready to strike with her keys or bolt from the car. But where would she run? The building seemed far away and the jumble of woods that surrounded the property looked like it had the power to ensnare rather than deliver.
“Miss Popularity. The pharmaceutical superstar Jon keeps bragging about. The new foundation administrator.”
How did he know about that?
She could feel him studying her, his eyes crawling across her face, which she felt paling beneath the blue-white slash of the security light overhead. He was close to her now. She wondered if he could sense her fear. Smell it growing inside her. He smiled as if reading her mind.
“You think you’re so special,” he continued. He thrust his face toward hers, engulfing Maggie in his alcohol aura. “You think you’re better than everyone else. Smarter. More capable. Not to mention more attractive. And you are attractive, Maggie. In fact, you look good enough to eat.”
Her previous encounters with Miles came crashing back. The way he squeezed her hand when they met. The meeting in the grove on her lunchtime walk. The unwanted chair massage and implication that she frequented kinky dating sites.
Miles extended a muscled arm, brushed a lock of hair from Maggie’s forehead. Maggie shrank from the touch, revulsion festering in her belly, heart thrashing against bone. She felt her insides liquefy. Maggie clenched her hand around her keys, considered her targets. Which first? Eyes or groin?
Then the sound of approaching footsteps.
She turned to see Ethan emerge around the corner, his footfalls ringing against the asphalt. He waved and walked toward them. “I thought I heard voices,” he called.
Miles stood, swaying slightly, and looked at Ethan with disdain. “Sucking up to the boss, eh, Clark?”
Ethan laughed good-naturedly. “It’s my night off.” He looked from Miles to Maggie. Maggie was shaking. Miles looked infuriated, a lion interrupted before it had a chance to taste its kill. Ethan looked at Maggie again and mouthed, “Are you okay?” She didn’t move.
Ethan’s face darkened. He turned to Miles. “Some kind of problem here?”
Miles put his hands up. “No problem. I don’t see any problem.” He made a show of looking under the car, behind him, in his armpit. “Do you see a problem, Maggie?”
Maggie looked down, saying nothing.
Ethan’s face was stony. “Okay. Well, I’ll just wait here to make sure your car starts, Maggie.” He turned toward Miles, eyeing the stains on the front of Miles’ yellow Ralph Lauren polo shirt and his teetering stance. “Why don’t you go back to your office and sleep it off, Montgomery. You smell like a distillery.”
“Screw you,” Miles said.
Ethan acted as if he hadn’t heard him. “What’ll it be, Miles? Are you going to rack it here at Rx HQ? Or should I go inside and ask your daddy to take you home?”
Miles expanded, a puffer fish in country club casual. He swayed dangerously, flexing his hands open and closed. He opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind and lumbered toward the crouching behemoth of Rxcellance, a string of obscenities in his wake.
Maggie waited until his hulking form disappeared into the metal mandibles that jutted out from the entrance before turning to Ethan. “I didn’t need you to rescue me,” she said tightly.
Ethan looked hurt, confused, then embarrassed. “I’m sorry if I stepped in when I shouldn’t have.”
Maggie was suddenly filled with regret. Ethan had been nothing but sweet and kind and helpful, and now she was snapping at him. What was the matter with her?
“No,” she said softly. “I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t mean to sound so ungrateful. I am glad you showed up when you did.” She gave a small laugh. “I didn’t want to have to kick Miles’s ass.”
Ethan began pacing in front of the Studebaker, kicking gravel that sk
ittered with a metallic giggle across the parking lot. “That son of a bitch,” he said under his breath. “That entitled—” Ethan stopped. He looked at the ground, then up at the dark sky above. He seemed to be waging some internal war. He shook his head, the battle lost. When he spoke again, his voice was measured. “Don’t worry about Miles. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again.”
Maggie was tempted to say she could take care of her own problems, remind him that she didn’t need a knight in shining armor. Instead she simply said, “Thanks.”
Ethan opened the Studebaker door and held it as Maggie slid across the bench seat. Their hands brushed as she grasped the door for balance. She felt that same electric jolt run through her. Maggie chanced a glance to see if Ethan felt it, too. He was looking at her, his face filled with worry and something she couldn’t quite identify.
He put his face near hers, almost as if for a kiss. “Goodnight, Maggie,” he said as he began to close her door. “See you Monday.”
The door clicked shut, enclosing Maggie in a cocoon of aged leather and vanilla-scented air freshener. Dazed, Maggie started her car, put it into gear and drove into the night. As she pulled out of the parking lot, she looked into her rearview mirror.
Ethan was still watching her.
Chapter 11
Charlene shuffled from garbage can to dumpster to recycle bin and back again. Getting dinner at this time of night was the worst. Anything good had already been snatched up. The light was pathetic, a sorry stream dribbling from an anemic streetlamp. And you never knew who you’d run into. Who was watching.
Charlene picked a bag of Sara Lee bagels from the dumpster and sniffed. Something was starting to turn, the yeasty smell becoming sugary and ripe. She tore open the plastic bag and pulled three bagels free. She held each to her eye, tilting to maximize the feeble light. Mold on two of the bagels. Threads of rot through the third. She let them fall to the ground and pocketed the remaining three, which looked relatively unblemished—although those “raisins” could really be anything.
She turned heavily and gazed the length of the alley. The streetlamp cast funhouse shadows, long and crooked and reaching, against the concrete foothills of the mountainous buildings around her. Where now? East toward the maze of alleys that burrowed into homeless camps? Or west toward more prosperous, although less welcoming, prospects?
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