4
Monday flew by without a pause.
Over the weekend, the cops had cleared the lower level for staff access again. Rumors ran thick and fast, but nothing else of note had happened. And nobody had any new news—just endless rehashes of the details everyone already knew.
With Matt’s efficient help, Christy triumphantly checked off cataloging an entire storeroom. It was a little strange to see the blinking red eyes of the video cameras now installed in every room and at most major hallway intersections. Whether due to those or the partner method, nothing strange happened all day.
Christy felt herself relaxing.
This she could do. Even Carla’s “emergency” request for a particular set of curtains seemed to be a challenge instead of a crisis. Make her look good. Matt scored the find on those—right before five o’clock, too—and insisted on doing a touchdown dance.
Still laughing at his wild interpretation of an appropriate victory dance, Christy unlocked her office door and dumped the BNoD on her desk. A few more weeks and the thing would be history. She and Matt should make a little bonfire of it.
She pulled open her drawer and jumped back a foot. Snakebit! her aunt Isadore would have said.
Another rose. Crimson and in lush, full bloom.
Another note.
Meet Me Tonight.
With no thought of preserving this one, she crumpled it in her fist, a little panicked noise escaping her.
“Pretty flower.” Carla leaned in the doorway, her arms folded. “Got yourself a boyfriend, huh?”
“I don’t know.” Christy waved her hand, trying to look breezy. “Secret admirer, I guess. You know how it is.”
“No. I don’t, actually. That stuff only happens to the cheerleaders and prom queens.”
The sharp edges of the vellum note pricked her palm. “Well, I’ve never been either.”
“The concept still applies.” With a close-lipped smile, Carla shrugged up from her leaning position. “Good job finding those curtains—or was that all Matt?”
“Matt definitely gets the prize for that one.” A good manager always gives credit where it’s due. But the praise, faint as it might be, showed that her mom’s technique was working.
“And the flute—who helped you with that?” Carla’s gaze dropped to the rose and she picked it up, spinning it in her fingers and inhaling the wine-dark scent that already pervaded the little office. Her eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses were hard as marbles.
“N-no one.” Dammit, she never stuttered. Christy shrugged, put her hands in her pockets, and tucked the note deep inside. “Just got lucky in the Mozart room.”
Jeez, that sounded bad.
“I’ll bet you did. Find anything else interesting?”
Strange question. “Like what?”
“Call it curiosity.” Carla shrugged and held out the rose. Christy took it, not really wanting to touch it again, but she couldn’t very well tell Carla to toss it on the desk. “Have a wonderful evening.”
Christy clenched her fists in her pockets, the note digging into her palm, while she glared at Carla’s departing swagger. That woman couldn’t possibly know anything. How could she? And how had the phantom gotten into her locked office?
She checked the door to the adjoining room—also locked.
It’s my opera house.
Well, she sure as hell wasn’t his. No way was she meeting him. Tossing the rose in the trash and taking her things, she turned off the light and locked the door.
And left without a backward glance.
If she walked at a faster clip than usual, that could be blamed on being excited to be going home for the day. And it wasn’t possible to feel eyes following her as she walked down the hallway and out the door. It felt weird having those video cameras everywhere. Who wouldn’t get paranoid?
Her rubber soles didn’t click on the concrete floors the way her heels had that first day, but each step seemed to blare an alarm. Resisting the urge to run, she rounded the last corner and hit the exit bar on the doors with a bang, emerging into the balmy evening with shredding relief.
The dirt and gravel under her tires spit and hissed on the underside of her car when she backed out with a bit too much spin, and again when she peeled out, passing through the gate.
And nearly ran down Carla.
The tall blonde stood in the middle of the road leading out of the lot, hand up flat like a traffic cop. Of course Christy braked. She barely entertained the notion of running her over. Nice people didn’t think that way.
Carla came around to the driver’s side, pantomiming for Christy to roll down her window. “Can you come back in for a few minutes? I need some help moving a few things.” She leaned down, peering at Christy’s things on the passenger seat. “Did you forget your posy?”
It took Christy a few seconds to process that the old-fashioned–sounding word meant the rose. “I wanted to keep it at the office—more cheerful.”
“It will die without water.”
Christy stared at the woman, her eyes hidden by the glare on her glasses from the lowering sun. “I guess that’s a chance I’ll have to take.”
“Your deal.” Carla straightened and knocked a fist on the hood. “Come help me. It’ll only take a few minutes, and everyone else is gone.”
Christy flexed her hands on the steering wheel, so close to telling Carla to go screw herself. Which wouldn’t be following her mother’s advice—nor would it mesh with the story she’d given her father about her desire to prove herself to the staff. Above, the soaring roof of the opera house glowed white and gold against the deep blue sky. A shadow fluttered in one corner, and disappeared again. Her heart clutched.
Meet Me Tonight.
But she couldn’t tell Carla she was afraid. She parked her car again and turned off the ignition with a deep, sinking sensation. Carla actually smiled at her, and they walked back in together. That was important; they’d be together. And there were the cameras. In another few minutes, she’d be in her car and gone again.
She followed Carla to the prop shop, where two freshly painted totem poles stood waiting next to a handcart. “You can dump your things there.” Carla indicated a tall workbench with her chin. “I can move these with the dolly, but I need you to help me maneuver it on there. I’m glad I caught you—two-person job, and the glazers get in two hours before I usually do. They’ll have a fit if these aren’t in place and ready to go. I really didn’t want to get up at four a.m., you know?”
Christy hesitantly smiled back at the unusually relaxed and chatty Carla. Another point for Mom on how to get along at the new job. Together they wrestled the totem pole onto the flat ledge of the handcart, and Christy steadied it while Carla tilted the cart back, letting the statue settle into its cradle.
“Perfect! I’ll go drop this and be right back for the other.”
“I’ll come with you—”
“No need! I can scoot it off easily enough and be back in two minutes.” With that, Carla was already in the big freight elevator, the doors grinding closed.
Christy was a heartbeat from running after her, like a timid kindergartner chasing after her big sister. Two minutes. No big deal. The elevator cables clattered, then were silent.
She surveyed the empty prop shop, the off-duty stillness of the opera house settling like a heavy cloak. Shadows deepened in the corners, taking on the darkness of the unlit hallway. A grating sound, like metal against glass, scraped across her nerves. She turned in a slow circle, looking for the source.
Nothing.
She decided to text Roman to pass the time. He had meetings, he’d said, but maybe they could meet for a drink in between or something.
But her bag was gone.
She spun in a slow circle, her heart climbing through her ribcage like a tarantula. The workbench stood empty. Carla hadn’t returned. The blank eye of the video camera over the door returned her stare, the red light off.
The sound again. A sparkle of light as a prism fell, spinning in slow motion until it crashed and shattered on the concrete. Her eyes flew up.
Above her, on one of the high shelves, an enormous crystal chandelier teetered, then plummeted.
Her thoughts flashed, a flock of birds changing direction with a thunderbolt clap of wings.
A shadow appeared, seizing her in iron arms, lifting her.
“Christine.”
Like a curtain closing across her mind, she lost consciousness.