by Cat Adams
She put a hand to her chest as though she’d been startled out of a year’s growth. “Oh, hi, Tom. I hate it when that damn buzzer goes off in there.”
“What in blazes is going on in here?” He looked furious, but if Eunice noticed, she didn’t seem especially concerned.
“Devon’s on vacation and I need to get to the old inventory. It’s in the pigeon hole desk, so Mila’s giving me a hand getting all this stuff out of the way.”
He lowered a glare on Mila that made her want to bolt back into the vault and close the door. “I don’t like anyone but you or Devon in this room. You know that.”
The older woman snorted and put hands on her ample hips before looking into his face sternly. “Well, unless you want to pay the worker’s comp bills for me throwing out my back, you don’t have much choice.” They stared at each other for a long moment, neither one budging. It startled Mila a bit when Harris let out a little smile. Then Eunice smiled too and winked at him. “Besides, you know Mila. She’s been here over a decade and it’s her grandmother’s property we’re getting out. Do you remember Nadia Penkin—one of Myron’s old clients?” She paused and then put emphasis on the next phrase. “One of his unique clients.”
Then Harris rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath. “One of his witchy clients, you mean. How could I forget?” Mila must have been wearing an odd expression, because he looked at her and continued. “I’m sure your grandmother is a fine woman, but there was no end of problems in this place every time one of them showed up. Either the plumbing would go out or the furnace.”
Eunice laughed. “Oh, and how about the time the potted plant in the front office exploded?” She nodded at Mila, who froze and couldn’t breathe for a second. “Yeah, actually exploded. The whole pot just burst into pieces when one of the witchy women walked by. There was dirt everywhere—even inside the typewriters. Old Betty Trophy, who was our receptionist at the time, quit that very day. Said the whole place was haunted.”
“Didn’t really mind losing her,” Harris said with a small chuckle. “She was a bitter pill. That was the only good to come out of that group. Apparently, they were friends or relations to one grandmother or other, so Myron couldn’t turn them down when they needed help.”
Three days ago, she would have laughed along with them. But three days ago, magic wasn’t real. It was something to scoff at on television. “So, what sort of work did the witchy clients have Mr. Sanders do?”
Harris shrugged. “Oh, all sorts. We were a general practice firm then. I do remember there were a lot of petitions for name changes. But in the late fifties and early sixties, that was pretty common all over—the McCarthy era, you know. Immigrants from anywhere in the USSR would want to Americanize their surnames. Rothschenko would become Roth, Kuryliak would be Curry. I remember doing that one when Myron was on vacation.” He looked at the stacks of boxes, some five high, and let out a slow breath. “Anyway, that’s beside the point and not why I’m here. I need a check, Eunice. Four grand should do me.”
She snorted. “Three thousand will have to do you until January. Four would bump you into the next tax bracket and Gil would have my hide when he put your return together in April.”
Instead of arguing or ordering her to comply, as Mila had expected from seeing his other interactions with staff—Harris merely sighed. “Well, you know best. I guess there’s no helping it.” He held open the door for Eunice and waved his other hand airily at Mila. “Carry on, then. I’ll have her back in a moment. Don’t let anyone inside except senior staff and do be careful of the breakables. I’d hate to have to find yet another insurance carrier if we have to reimburse someone again.”
“Of course,” she replied seriously. “I’ll be very careful.” She was just pleased he didn’t suggest she was untrustworthy. That Eunice had said, Oh, you know Mila was a little surprising. She’d never really thought much about what the senior partners thought of her—so long as she kept her boss happy, she figured that was enough. Still, it was nice to hear.
Once alone, she quickly finished clearing out the boxes. It was easier with only one person working. As much as she liked Eunice, they had very different ways of achieving the same goal.
Mila stared at the closed rolltop. She should wait until Eunice came back. She didn’t even know for certain what she was looking for. Yet, when she saw her hand reaching for the handle, she didn’t pull it back. The slatted top wasn’t locked, but it took some effort to make the rollers spin to raise it. The green leather desktop was covered with a scattering of loose papers. From a quick glance they appeared to be old bills to the firm—vendor invoices that had never been filed for some reason. But with dates of 1962 and 1963, she doubted seriously whether they were important.
Only a few of the multiple mail slots, or pigeonholes as Eunice had called them, were full and it was pretty obvious which one was the inventory. It was a bulky document, eleven legal-sized pages, with twin hole piercings in the top, as though it had once been housed in a folder or binder. She slipped it out and scanned down the top page quickly. It was actually a good system based on the boxes she’d already removed. Each document had a file number which corresponded to a box number. After the number was the client name, the file matter, the original document or item stored, and the date put in the vault. There were handwritten notations and initials on a line showing when someone had accessed the document. A strikeout line with the word removed made it obvious when something was no longer being held by the firm. It was the same system in use today, so apparently it worked.
Everything was in last-name order, but even after scanning each page two times, running her finger down the entries, she couldn’t find a listing for Baba.
“Oh, you found it. Good.” Eunice’s voice behind her made her jump and let out a little yip. It was noticed and the other woman looked at her apologetically. “Sorry about that. You can see why the buzzer gets me. So, have you found the right box yet?”
Mila furrowed her brow and shook her head. “No, and I can’t figure out why. Did Mr. Sanders have any other vault? Maybe I’m looking in the wrong place.”
“Nope. Just this one.” She reached out her hand. “Here, let me take a look.” Mila passed the stapled list over and watched as Eunice’s finger sped down the page. She flipped sheets quickly, pausing once to stare at an entry, but then moved on. At the end, she tapped her fingernails lightly on the desk and then flipped back to the page where she’d paused. “I think this is our problem. We keep saying Nadia Penkin. But that was after the divorce. I remember now—that’s why she retained Myron. I just need to remember her married name, ’cause that’s what the file would be under. Give me a second.” She started over on the list, looking at each entry where the document stored was an original Decree of Dissolution of Marriage.
Divorced? Mila was trying to wrap her head around the concept. Who did Baba divorce and why? It made her realize she really didn’t know that much about her grandmother. She’d never really thought of her as anything other than … well, her baba. Yet she’d been someone’s best friend, someone’s lover, and a divorced woman trying to start over again—alone.
“Wow,” she said after a moment. “You never really think of a grandmother that way, do you? Nobody in my family ever mentioned it.”
Eunice smiled sadly. “No, they wouldn’t have. It happened, but it was sort of frowned on. Like having to get married. Out-of-wedlock babies happened, too, but they simply weren’t discussed in polite company. Not like now.” She shook her head and returned her eyes to the list, then let out a triumphant, “Yes! Here it is. N. Zolota—d.f.d., my shorthand for decree of dissolution.” She stopped and then moved her finger to the top of the page. “And here’s another file for N. Zolota. All that’s listed is envelope. We’d probably better pull both of them since you don’t know what you’re looking for. I’m betting she needs the Decree, but who knows. Grab Box 25, envelope 16 and Box 26, envelope 3, and we’ll take a look.”
Mila
did as she was told, now incredibly curious. While it was probably unethical to look at the details of the divorce, it might also be pertinent. Each oversized manila envelope was sealed with shiny tape and bore a typed label with a repeat of the inventory index—name, contents, plus who was authorized to access it. Mila already knew that unless there were names shown, there were no restrictions. She was pleased when there were no names listed on the divorce file, and was quite surprised when she pulled out the other envelope. It was fairly thick. But even more interesting was the access notation on the front:
Zolota, Nadia (nka Penkin); Penkin, Sarah or Penkin, Ludmila, upon age of majority.
So, like Viktor said, Baba had intended either her or her sister to ask for this someday. As she moved the envelope to the side to return the box’s lid, she noticed another envelope had gotten stuck to the tape of the bulky one. She unstuck it and had just reached back into the box to return it when she noticed the label.
PEIRCEVIL. VEGRELLION C.O.N.
If Tal hadn’t read that scroll, she never would have spotted the name … or actually, the change of name. But to what? What did Vegre change his name to, and how could he have if he’s been in prison for a century or more? Yet, she couldn’t imagine two people having that same weird name.
She spoke the words quietly enough in the entry that not even Eunice would be able to hear. “And what the hell do I do now?” Should she open the file? Steal it and open it later? Leave it here and wonder about it for the rest of her life—which might be short if we can’t find him before he does whatever it is he’s planning.
Ethically, she had no right to look. Morally, she had a duty to look. She heard Eunice’s voice from inside the vault. “Having trouble finding it?”
She put on a fake smile and answered lightly. “Just buried a bit. Bringing them in now.”
What to do? What to do? She finally settled on folding up the slender envelope and tucking it inside her front pants pocket, even as the Oh, you know Mila was ringing accusingly in her ears. If I just had a minute or two with it. That’s all I’d need.
As if in answer to her prayer, the buzzer sounded behind her. She turned to see Rachel standing on the other side of the glass. She held up her hands in front of her as though praying, mouthing the word, Eunice? Pleeease? She called into the vault. “Eunice, Rachel’s at the door. I guess she needs to talk to you. Can I open it?”
Her white curls poked out again and she sighed as she walked toward the locked glass. “I’ll take care of it. Take those envelopes inside and wait for me. Don’t open them until I get back. We need to put an affidavit in the boxes to replace the envelopes and I need to sign it that I was there when you opened them.”
“Not a problem. I won’t peek.” And she wouldn’t—at least not in Baba’s files. But as soon as the door latched behind the other two women, Mila removed the envelope in her pocket and carefully lifted the thick cellophane tape securing the flap with her fingernail. Only one tiny bit of the manila stayed with the tape, and it wouldn’t even be noticed when she smoothed it back down.
There was a single-paged document inside … the originally signed copy of an Order of Change of Name signed by a judge from the district court down in Douglas County. It changed the man’s name from Vegrellion David Peircevil to … David Rellion Pierce.
It wasn’t possible, and yet there it was. What are the odds that he would pick the exact same name as the CFO of the Palace Hotel?
Mila couldn’t find a way to squeeze the circumstances into the word coincidence, so she simply folded the paper and stuck it back in her pocket, and then resealed the envelope. She had to show this to Tal. Had to talk to him right away and figure out what was going on. She was just tucking the envelope back into the box when Eunice punched in the door code. Mila looked up, smiled, and flipped the file just before Vegre’s to stand in the tall position. “Figured I’d better mark the spots where the files were.”
Eunice nodded with a look of frustration. “Good. Because we’ll probably forget before this is over—especially if people keep interrupting us. Sorry to make you keep waiting, but we’ve got to follow the procedures.”
Mila didn’t mind—even though it took another hour before they got the vault back in order and she could take her prizes back to Alan’s office to examine them further.
Unfortunately, Alan was in Alan’s office when she got back there. He had been a little surprised to find his station on and in Mila’s files, but wasn’t upset. Still, she couldn’t very well kick the man out of his own office and didn’t dare go back to hers. Instead, she stopped at the nearest darkened cubicle and buzzed the front desk. “Rachel? It’s Mila. Hey, Rick said I could take off after I filed the brief, so I’m going to. I’m gonna sneak out the back way—through the garage elevator, so nobody notices. But I wanted to let you know.”
“Did everything work out with the hotel?” She continued to keep her voice low, like when she’d first announced the call.
“Yep. Everything’s still on schedule. Just a misunderstanding. But I sent an e-mail confirming, just in case. Still, call my cell phone if you hear anything hinky. You’ve got the number, right?” Then she remembered she’d given the phone to Tal in case she needed to reach him.
“Will do,” Rachel replied, forcing Mila to interrupt her.
“Wait. Never mind. I just remembered I don’t have my phone with me. Call the house if you hear anything. I should be there, but in case I run out for anything at the store, I’ll call you back.”
“Okay. Got another call now. Feel better.” Then she was gone.
Now I just need to talk to Tal. She pressed an open line and dialed her cell number. The recorded message that was spoken into her ear made her furrow her brow, part curiosity and part worry. “We’re sorry, but the mobile unit you’ve dialed has traveled outside the calling area. Please try your call again later.”
Where could he have gone? He was just supposed to be talking with another undercover O.P.A. agent who worked at the library a few miles away. Her calling area was a five-county range, plus even farther when driving east of the city. It was certainly possible there was a problem with the phone—being the holidays, so she went downstairs and waited in the lobby as they’d agreed. Ten minutes passed, then thirty. At two o’clock … seventy minutes after she snuck out of the office, she finally left the spot by the building directory that she’d carefully described to Tal. She hurried to the bank entrance, trying to keep an eye on the front door in case he was running late. While she hated spending the majority of the money Candy had given her to pay the mortgage, it wasn’t looking promising that Sela would paying her rent this month. And she definitely didn’t dare make a late payment on the note or they’d refuse to turn it into a mortgage and lower the interest rate after the house deed was finalized.
She tried the cell again, using the phone at the building security desk after showing her employee badge. The same message played. Then she tried Candy’s number.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded frazzled, which didn’t mean good things.
She didn’t have to introduce herself. They talked nearly every day. “Have you heard anything?”
Air rushed out of her friend in a frustrated snarl, or maybe it was just a car passed by. “Not a word. You? Did you make it to the garden okay? How’s Viktor?”
“Gone. But he got Baba, Tim, and Suzanne out before company arrived.” She had to be careful what she said on this phone. It was monitored. “Oh, and I’m on the phone at the guard desk downstairs, so we have to keep it short.”
They did. There was nothing to talk about anyway, since neither of them was in a place they could talk. They agreed to meet later and tell each other everything. After she hung up, she tried the cell one more time. Nothing.
Curiosity got the better of her and she opened the first of the envelopes … the one about Baba’s divorce. She was both shocked and yet not at all surprised to learn that it was Viktor Zolota who used to be married to her grandmother
. So, a second marriage, and one that hadn’t ended well. Yet, they’d always remained friends. Not unheard of, but it was strange she’d never heard a whisper of it.
Another ten minutes had passed. She couldn’t afford to leave and miss Tal, in case he was following up on something important. She couldn’t afford to go back upstairs and wait or someone would give her work. The only thing she could think to do was try something she wasn’t positive was possible.
But it was her only option.
Mila got back in the garage elevator and got off on the fourth level. She unlocked her car and got inside. The cold had seeped into the car’s interior and the darkness lulled her, put her into a relaxed state. If you can reach me, I don’t see any reason why I can’t contact you.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath of chilled air and let it out slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth—over and over until she felt a light tingling flow over her skin. She reached inside her mind and felt for the door in the darkness, the one where the light was bright and hot—fiery as a mage’s magical flame.
She stared with her inner eye at the light. She heard sounds from the other side of the brightness, but recognized them as screams and shouts of panic. Could this be where Tal was? Did he need her help? Or was she about to go to a different place, somewhere she’d never been?
There was only one way to find out. She pushed her way into the light, felt an invisible barrier stretch and then give with an inaudible pop. Her foot started to numb and her head pounded. Instinctively, she tried to back out, fought against going unconscious. But then the brightness faded, dimmed until it was almost dark. As the light disappeared, so did the screaming. It was cool and peaceful wherever she was, filled with soft footsteps and whispers in the distance. Mila tried to look around to figure out where she was, but she couldn’t make the head or eyes move. Still, the calm confidence and swing of limbs was familiar and some weird muscle memory part of her recognized the sensations.