The Dead Key

by D. M. Pulley

  Iris made her measurements of the room. It was exactly ten feet wide as it was supposed to be, but it was only ten feet long. The wall adjacent to the mechanical ducts Ramone had described was tiled, but there was a large grated panel near the floor by the toilet. She crouched down next to it and shined her light into the grate. Between the louver slats she could just make out the smooth gleam of sheet metal. It must be the cold-air return, she decided, and made a note on the plans.

  As Iris closed the door to John Smith’s office, she couldn’t get Suzanne’s voice out of her head. “Those bastards chained the doors up tight in the middle of the night.”

  Whoever he was, he was long gone.

  CHAPTER 20

  Outside, East Ninth was hot and crowded as all the other worker bees filed out of the surrounding office buildings and into the scattered diners and restaurants for lunch. Iris lit a much-deserved cigarette and walked two steaming blocks to Panini’s for an overstuffed pastrami sandwich. After elbowing through the crowd at the counter and fighting for paper napkins and condiments, she found a bench near a window and dug in.

  “Hey, stranger!” a voice called from across the room. It was Nick.

  Iris grabbed a napkin and wiped the mustard off her chin. Her stomach flipped with his easy smile. He’d driven her home four days earlier after a work happy hour. She had been sloppy drunk, and she’d given him a sloppy kiss. He didn’t seem too impressed at the time. Her cheeks flushed as he pushed his way through the crowd toward her.

  “Hey, Iris. Where’ve you been?”

  “Hi, Nick.” She felt flattered he had even noticed her absence. “Mr. Wheeler decided to let me out of the office. I’ve been working down the street at the old bank building.”

  He set his tray down next to hers. With his wavy hair and rumpled khakis, he was almost annoyingly handsome. “Wow. How’d you swing that?”

  “Brad volunteered me. I think he was trying to help.” Iris felt herself sitting up straighter and wishing she’d worn a cuter top. Shit. Is that a mustard stain? She crossed her arms to hide the blemish.

  “Trying to help you do what?” he smirked.

  “Hmm? Oh, keep me from going crazy, I guess.”

  “Is it helping?” He raised his eyebrows at her with a slow grin. She could still feel his warm lips on hers.

  “Uh. Sort of.” She kept her eyes on her sandwich. What was really driving her crazy was not knowing why he had just dumped her at her house after kissing her.

  “Hello there. Can I join you guys?” A beautiful blond walked up with a petite salad in her hand. Iris recognized her from the office.

  “Hey, Amanda. Grab a seat.” Nick patted the bench next to him. Amanda had on a silk blouse and white skirt that fit her perfect ass like a glove. Iris could never wear white. Within minutes of pulling on anything pristinely white, she would sit in a pool of ketchup or fall into the greasy latch of a car door. Iris could never keep up with a white skirt.

  “Do you know Iris?” Nick asked.

  “Of course. You’re over in engineering, right?”

  “That’s me.” Iris was certain there was a piece of spinach in her teeth.

  “I’ve been meaning to stop over and talk with you,” she said with a saccharine smile.

  “Really?” Iris was confused. Amanda was an architect and in charge of parading around like a model as far as she could tell. “About what?”

  “Amanda’s a staff liaison,” Nick said with a mouth full of roast beef.

  “Liaison to who?” Iris frowned.

  “Exactly. You see, Nick? The entry-level staff doesn’t even know who’s running this firm.”

  “Well, that’s not . . .” Iris began.

  Amanda kept right on talking: “The younger staff is the future of this company, and it’s up to us to set our goals. The partners really want to see more out of us.”

  “More,” Iris repeated, trying not to show her irritation. She had just worked the entire weekend for free. What more could they possibly want?

  The “partners” were the old men who sat in their offices all day, hogging the windows. The only one Iris had ever talked to was Mr. Wheeler. She pondered that fact for a moment and then realized it wasn’t quite true. She had talked to another gray-haired guy in a suit a few weeks back. He’d caught her in the hallway skulking to her desk.

  “Good morning, Iris,” he’d said with a creepy smile.

  “Oh . . . uh, hi!” she’d replied because she didn’t know his name. It didn’t help that she’d been hungover and fifteen minutes late that morning.

  “So . . . How are you adjusting to life here at WRE?”

  It had been a reasonable question, but she couldn’t help but think that he’d seemed to enjoy watching her squirm.

  “Um. It’s great.” She forced a smile. “We’ve got some really interesting projects going.”

  “Don’t we though?” His twisted grin had hinted that he knew she was full of shit. “Better get to it then, hmm?”

  With that he just sauntered back behind some closed door on the other side of the office. She’d sort of blocked the whole exchange out, but on some subconscious level, she’d been avoiding any direct contact with the partners ever since.

  Amanda continued yammering on about increasing work hours and opening stock options to the entire staff. Iris pretended to be interested while she tried to figure out how she was going to stuff the giant sandwich in her mouth with Nick sitting right there. There was no feminine way to do it. Besides, Iris couldn’t see herself staying at WRE long enough to become fully vested in stock options anyway, so it was hardy an incentive. Nick and Amanda were talking like lifers. It was depressing. She was sure they’d be very happy together.

  After lunch, the three of them headed back toward the office, Amanda chatting all the way. Iris found herself lagging behind to keep from pushing the blabbermouth into traffic. At the first opportunity, she waved her good-byes and trotted across East Ninth Street toward the bank. After listening to Amanda drone on for twenty minutes, she could really use a smoke.

  “Iris, wait!” Nick called from behind her. He jogged up to her side. She shoved her cigarette pack back in her bag. No one at work knew she smoked. It was frowned upon.

  “Yes?”

  “I need to see inside the old bank. Can you give me a tour?” He cocked his head at her funny, or maybe the sun was in his eyes. She couldn’t tell.

  “Really? Why?”

  “Mr. Wheeler wants to get my opinion on whether any of the historical interiors can be salvaged. WRE might advise the county to restore some of it if the sale goes through.” He held up a large camera bag she hadn’t noticed before.

  Iris nodded. “Sure. Come with me.”

  Wheeler seemed to be taking a real interest in the project. Maybe her hard work would actually get noticed. Oh shit. He wanted to save the “interiors,” and she’d just demolished a bookcase. At least she’d saved the chairs.

  Iris led him into the alley behind the building. Ramone buzzed them in, and she escorted Nick past the loading dock to the main lobby. She filled the awkward silence with chatter.

  “The First Bank of Cleveland closed in 1978. They chained the doors in the middle of the night, if you can believe that, and left all of this stuff behind. Furniture, coffee mugs, pictures, files. It’s all perfectly preserved. I can’t believe that in twenty years nobody came along sooner and stripped it clean. Somebody must really care about this place. I mean, what vacant building has an armed security guard? I guess they’re worried about someone stealing it all. I don’t know who would want to steal this stuff, though.”

  Besides me, Iris thought. She’d taken Beatrice’s file that morning. Then there was Suzanne’s key. It wasn’t stealing, she protested. She was just trying to help some little old lady get her things back. The little steel doors in the safe deposit vault ran thr
ough her head, along with the flashlight up on the fifteenth floor.

  Iris realized she’d fallen into a dead silence. “So. What specifically do you want to see?”

  His warm brown eyes twinkled with amusement at her nervous stream of babble. “I need to see a typical office area to get a sense of the furnishings and the finishes.”

  She held his gaze a half second too long. Color rose in her cheeks. She turned away and pointed to a wall sconce. “Have you seen these fixtures?”

  “They’re beautiful,” he said behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder, and he wasn’t looking at the walls. He was looking at her. Damn it. Why does he have to be so attractive?

  “I really need to see the upper floors.”

  “Okay. I haven’t gotten past the fourth floor yet, but I’ve seen a few offices.”

  She led him up the monumental main stairwell instead of the emergency egress stairs. They weren’t as direct but they were certainly prettier, with their marble and wrought iron. She felt herself swaying her hips more than usual as she climbed the steps in front of him.

  They poked around the fourth floor for over an hour. Nick took pictures with his camera while Iris took more measurements and notes on her clipboard. The fourth floor contained mostly file rooms with doors marked “Deposits” and “Lending.” She’d lost track of him for a while until she heard him yell, “What the hell is up with this?”

  She followed his voice into John Smith’s office of abandoned filing cabinets. “I have no idea. I guess they needed more file storage.”

  “Huh. These are all still full?”

  “Weird, right?” She began to worry that her tour was a flop and he wasn’t getting enough photos of furnishings or whatever. “Here, come check this out.”

  Iris led him around the file cabinets and into the fancy bathroom. “This is the ‘Executive Washroom.’ Can you believe this stuff?” She motioned to the gilded mirror and the marble shower stall.

  He shook his head, slowly surveying the room.

  “I mean, it’s gorgeous but kind of messed up. Like the rich guys needed to be separated from the filthy masses or something.” She was babbling again.

  Nick took a couple pictures.

  “Okay. I’m going to . . .” Iris paused, realizing she would have to squeeze past him to get to the door. The room was narrow, and Nick was right in the way. She took an awkward step toward him, hoping he would get the hint. “Go get back to my drawings.”

  He just stood at the sink, not budging. He had stopped taking pictures and was watching her with an amused grin. She would have to practically rub against him to get past. Maybe that was the idea. His eyes held hers for too long.

  “Um. Are you gonna . . . ?” The word “move” got caught as his smile faded and his eyes fell to her lips. The room was suddenly quite small and hot. They were completely alone. No one even knew where they were in the empty high-rise or that they were together.

  His gaze fell to her T-shirt, which now seemed too tight. Iris’s pulse jumped. This was beyond flirting or joking around. Shit. She took a step back and nearly tumbled into the shower behind her. He caught her by the waist.

  “Whoops! Thanks, I . . . I’d better go.” Her voice fell to a whisper.

  “I don’t think so.” He pulled her to his chest and kissed her squarely on the mouth. Her lips had a mind of their own and kissed him back. When they came up for air, she felt drunk and dizzy. Even the voices in her head were speechless. He kissed her again, harder, and she felt her knees buckle beneath her. Oh God. She wrenched herself away. Iris had strict rules. She never took guys home from the bar. She never slept with a boy on the first date, not that she ever went on dates.

  “Wait. Nick. What are we doing?”

  “Something I should have done the other night,” he breathed, pulling her back and kissing her again. The kiss was deeper. Her blood was madly rushing everywhere but her brain. She’d never been kissed that well before.

  She barely broke free. “What? But we can’t.”

  “Sure we can. Who’s going to know?” His fingertip traced her breast as he kissed her again. A tidal wave of heat rose up inside her.

  “Nick. I don’t . . .” But his lips found her neck, and it was all over.

  Her knees and everything else rigid and principled in her entire body melted to the floor. She couldn’t string two thoughts together, it all happened so fast. They were on the ground. His hands and lips stripping her defenses one by one along with her clothes. His naked skin pressed hot against hers. He was relentless, until every thought in her head shattered into a million blinding pieces.

  When she came back to her senses, they were lying side by side on the ground, struggling to catch their breath. Iris pulled herself up on one elbow. Their clothes were scattered around the dusty floor like a bomb had gone off. Her thighs were still trembling. Jesus. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before. None of the three college boys she’d been with had done anything close to that. She was mortified. We have to get dressed. What if someone at work finds out? What if Ramone finds us like this? What if he heard us? She might have been screaming; she had no idea. Blood flooded her cheeks. She laughed nervously, teetering on the edge of hysterics.

  “What’s so funny?” Nick was lying peacefully with his eyes closed.

  She had to say something. “Oh, I was just wondering if this is what the company had in mind when they said they were looking for ‘synergy’ in the younger staff.”

  “Maybe we should make a suggestion. I know I’m feeling like a real team player right now.” He stretched and ran a leisurely finger down her back as she struggled with her bra. Had this been his plan the whole time? She swatted his hand away.

  They pulled themselves to their feet and peeled their clothing off the floor. She stopped buttoning and stole a glance at him. He was at least five years older than her. He’d probably done this before. He caught her looking and tousled her mussed hair. It was something a big brother would do. She glared at him for a moment while he tucked his shirt into his jeans.

  Of course he’s done this before, she thought, eyeing the torn wrapper on the floor. He walked around with condoms in his wallet. He had done things to her that no one had ever done. He was a grown man. And she suddenly felt like a stupid young girl.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You look pissed.”

  “I . . . uh . . . don’t do stuff like this.”

  “Me neither.” He winked and kissed her on the cheek.

  Liar.

  She went to the gilded mirror to smooth down her hair. Little gold cherubs were watching from their perches. They’d seen it all. She turned her back on them and wondered how many other women had been in the room and under what circumstances.

  CHAPTER 21

  Monday, November 27, 1978

  It was past noon when Max and Beatrice stumbled out of the Theatrical and into the winter sun. Fresh snow sparkled blindingly between the long rows of plowed slush. Beatrice recoiled in the light.

  “Let’s go back to your place for a little while,” Max said, leading Beatrice to the bus stop at the corner. “We’ll swing back by the office later tonight and see what we can find out about your aunt’s deposit box.”

  Beatrice was already reconsidering the idea but was too drunk to argue. As much as she wanted to know why Doris had letters from the bank and what was in Box 547, she knew it was wrong. Doris would never forgive her. She’d have to tell Max, but not now. Later.

  By the time they reached Doris’s one-bedroom apartment, Beatrice was dead on her feet. She dropped her bag next to the door and collapsed on the couch. She hadn’t slept much since her aunt was admitted to the hospital. Alone at night in the apartment, Beatrice jumped at every little noise. The last thing she remembered was offering Ma
x a beer from the fridge.

  Beatrice had no idea how long she’d been sleeping. The apartment was dark and quiet when she opened her eyes. The clock on the stove read 5:15 p.m. It was the sound of papers rustling that snapped her awake. She pushed herself up, becoming increasingly alarmed.

  “Who’s there?” she whispered into the dark room.

  The front door was closed. The light in the kitchen was off. The only light was spilling out from Doris’s bedroom, along with the sound of paper being pulled from a drawer.

  She jumped off the couch and raced to her aunt’s door. The closet door was open. The bottom drawer of Doris’s dresser was empty. Max was sitting on Doris’s bed, surrounded by piles of documents.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

  Max dropped the sheet she was reading.

  “Who said you could be in here?” She rushed over to her aunt’s closet and slammed the door. She spun back around, eyes darting from the stacks and stacks of papers piled on the bed to the empty drawer. She would never be able to put them back the way they’d been. “How could you? How could you do this?”

  “Honey, I’m sorry, I just . . . I didn’t mean any harm,” Max stammered. “You fell asleep and, well, I got bored.”

  “I’m not even allowed in this room!” Beatrice screamed. “These are her things! How could you touch her things? Get out!”

  “Come on, Bea,” Max argued, backing away from the bed.

  “I mean it! Get out! You can’t be here!”

  Max hurried out of the room and grabbed her bag. She threw it over her shoulder and opened the front door. She turned back to Beatrice. “I’m sorry, kid! I really meant no harm. I had no idea that . . .” Max almost said more but seemed to change her mind. She stepped out into the cold stairwell and softly closed the door.