A half hour later, Carla pulled into the staff parking lot at the back of the five-storey office building at the corner of Kent and Somerset. The street lamps were still on with the sun rising late on these winter mornings. Her employer had sent her to this building three weeks earlier to look after the cleaning on the first two floors. John Schiemann had the top three floors, but his medical clients had the decency to close over the holiday. Her client had put in a request for their cleaner to work regular hours through the holiday season. Just her luck. She’d gotten into the habit of finishing her two floors and helping John with the third. It had been a surprisingly lonely week with him on holidays.
She removed the blueberry muffin from the brown wrapper and bit into it. Still warm from the oven. It took effort to rip the plastic from the coffee lid with her teeth but she managed. A few sips and she felt ready to face the cold outdoors. The temperature had dropped from the day before and it had taken forever to warm up her car. It was a shame to have to leave it to make a dash to the back door.
She glanced to the north end of the lot. Who was working this early? She tried to remember the man who drove the black Impala that was backed into one of the spaces. Did he have no life at all? She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was just going on six thirty. Even this crowd usually didn’t make it in before seven thirty.
She wrapped the muffin back up and stuffed it into her bag. Then she opened the door while holding onto her coffee cup. As she locked the door with her key, she again glanced across the lot at the car. Snow had blown over the windshield and piled onto the hood on the driver’s side. The car must have been there a while. She shook her head. What in the world could get someone into work so early over the holiday week? It was New Year’s Eve for goodness sake. She’d be going home at noon no matter what the other workaholics planned to do. Phil had tickets to the Legion dinner and dance and she needed a few hours to get ready. He’d even had her book a hair appointment and buy a new dress. She’d picked a cherry red number with silver sparkles around the neckline. A bit tighter than she usually wore, but the salesgirl said it made her look good. She could live with good.
Carla started walking across the parking lot toward the back entrance. The fresh layer of snow from the night’s snowfall covered the walkways. It hadn’t been snowing when she got up at quarter to five and something didn’t feel right. She slowed her steps. Where were the footprints from the person who’d beaten her in to work? She turned and looked back at the car, her brow furrowing into puzzled lines. The parking lot was empty and the strengthening dawn sunlight cast long shadows. The sun wouldn’t be completely up for another hour or so.
She started back toward the car. They’d had a problem with people parking in the lot who didn’t work in the building. It wasn’t the case this time though. She recognized the car. It belonged to one of the men who liked to work overtime. He was usually in the other one’s office with the door closed. In the mornings she’d find empty pizza boxes and sometimes beer cans from late night sessions stacked beside the garbage can.
A memory worried itself into her mind. There’d been a murder connected to the company recently. Phil had read the article out loud in the paper, but she’d only been half listening. It wasn’t like she felt any connection to this place. Phil liked to read stuff to her because he knew the effort it took her to work through an article. Then she’d go back and reread what he’d just read out loud. He knew that it helped her make sense of the jumble of letters on the page if she already had an idea of their meaning.
She remembered now. One of the big shots was found in the trunk of his car a few days before Christmas. She’d been instructed not to clean his office until further notice. She’d never met the man who died and hadn’t felt anything more than passing sadness for a stranger. She slowed her steps. What if there was a body in the car?
She stood still, trying to convince herself not to be foolish when John Schiemann’s blue truck pulled into the lot a bit faster than necessary. He parked it next to hers and got out, jingling a row of keys as he approached. He was just a kid in his late twenties with green and black tattoos winding up his arms and the back of his neck. He usually covered his Mohawk haircut with a baseball cap at work. Today, he wore an unbuttoned duffle coat and runners, the sight of which made her shiver inside her down coat.
“What’re you doing just standing there? Locked out?” he asked.
“No. I was wondering … well, it seems silly, but that car has been here a while and I was going to make sure it was … empty.” She laughed self-consciously.
He turned and studied it. “You’re thinking of the old dude they found in the trunk.”
She nodded.
“Let’s check it out.”
She followed him to the car, trying not to slip as she hurried to keep up with his loping strides. By the time she caught up, he’d cleared off the front driver’s side of snow and was cupping his hands to look inside. She moved next to him and rubbed a spot on the glass to look in the back seat. They shrugged at each other before he circled around the back of the car. He thumped the trunk a few times before coming back to stand beside her.
“Doesn’t look to be anything weighing down the trunk. I think whoever owns this already split.”
“Well, thank the lord for that,” she said, feeling relieved but oddly disappointed at the same time. The empty car made her look like a fanciful, old woman afraid of her own shadow.
They crossed to the office building and she unlocked the door. Her fingers were numb through her gloves and it took a few tries.
“I’m supposed to work New Year’s Day, but screw that,” John said. “I came in to do the floors and nobody’ll know the difference.”
“They won’t hear it from me,” said Carla.
They cleaned the snow off their boots before starting down the hallway.
“You want to take a break around ten?” Carla asked. She frowned and pointed. “What’s that mess on the floor by the storage room? I didn’t leave it like that yesterday.”
John glanced over then back at her. They stared into each other’s eyes as comprehension dawned, then looked back at the closed door. A pool of dark liquid had seeped from under the opening.
“I’ll go see what it is,” John said. His voice had risen to the shrill range. He cleared his throat. “You stay here.”
“No, I’m responsible for this floor.” They both stood for a moment without moving. “I’ll do it,” Carla said with more determination than she felt.
John nodded encouragement.
She marched over to the storage room and took a deep breath before yanking the door open. Immediately, she heard somebody screaming. It took her a few seconds to figure out that it was her.
She remembered now who owned the car in the parking lot. He was lying scrunched up in front of her with the back of his head beaten into a bloody pulp. She backed away and bumped into John who’d followed her to get a better look.
“I’m … I’ll …” His face was as white as toilet paper and he couldn’t get his words out. Carla felt as rocky as he looked. Her knees buckled and she took a step sideways to lean against the wall. John opened his mouth before turning to flee, almost making it to the men’s room before he vomited down the hallway.
Geraldine woke from a deep sleep and rolled onto her side. Amy Rose was in the bassinet a few feet away, sleeping peacefully at last. They’d been up most of the night. Amy Rose had fussed and cried for no reason Geraldine could figure out. She’d finally taken half a bottle at five a.m. and mercifully fallen asleep. It hadn’t taken Geraldine long to follow suit.
She stretched and looked at the bedside clock. Ten after eleven. She did a quick calculation in her head; just six hours of sleep, but it would have to do. Her breasts were