33

Rose

Now Rose understands why things have been going missing from the storage units. As she steps silently up Metropolis’s rear stairway, she thinks back to last July, when Michael spent a few days at Metropolis with her because he was grounded and she didn’t trust that he’d stay in the apartment if no one was there to make him. And then there was this past Christmas vacation, when the same thing happened. This time it was because he was too much for her mother to handle, what with Emma and Charlotte at her apartment all day.

When Michael was in her office, she’d gone nuts with him slouched on the floor in the far corner, sleeping or staring at his phone, rattling her key ring so loud she had to grab it away from him so she could hear herself think. Even more annoying were the tons of questions he asked about the renters and what was in their units. She explained that their personal information was confidential and she had hardly ever seen the inside of anyone’s unit. Michael smirked in disbelief when she said this.

He was keeping her from the work she had to do, so she let him roam around the building just to get him out of her hair. She made him come back every fifteen minutes so he couldn’t go far and it surprised her when he actually followed this rule. She had hoped this meant he was finally starting to wise up. Foolish, foolish woman. He must have run out and made a copy of the master key during one of his fifteen-minute excursions.

It’s ten o’clock on a freezing Sunday night and she told Vince she was visiting with her friend Deb from bingo, who’s fighting breast cancer. Vince doesn’t know Deb so all Rose has to do is be home by eleven and there won’t be any trouble. As long as she doesn’t run into anyone she knows. Especially Serge. Rose is pretty sure he isn’t here because he works every night at a restaurant in Cambridge, and she hasn’t seen him around since sometime before Christmas when he paid her for January. He hasn’t asked her to open any units for him since then either. This is disappointing, given their money troubles, and his absence has been worrying her a little. But in the case of tonight it’s a plus.

When she was searching Michael’s closet for drugs yesterday, she turned up a bunch of electronics, along with most of the items the renters had reported missing. She wishes she could return it all, or at least give back what he stole from Metropolis, especially Angie Holladay’s jewelry and Linda Shields’s laptop. But it would be suspicious if everything suddenly turned up at the same time, and she’s not about to call the police because then she’d have to explain where she got all the stuff, and how can she do that?

But Serge’s camera is different. His pictures might be strange, but the camera is special to him. And, the Lord knows, poor Serge hasn’t got much. Michael probably thought it was worth a lot of money and tried to fence it, but even she can tell an old camera like this isn’t worth anything.

Rose wore her sneakers on purpose so she wouldn’t make any noise on the concrete floors, but the sneakers squeak and she has to step extra carefully. None of the hallways are all that bright, but the fifth floor is the worst because so many of the bulbs are out. Which now makes it the best. She’s sweaty from nerves and shame, and kind of out of breath. She stays inside the shadows as much as she can.

She makes her way down the long corridor to Serge’s unit without a hitch. Relief number one. A quiet knock, and then another only a little bit louder. When there’s no answer she twists the master key and steps inside. It’s dark and there are no windows and it smells like chemicals and dirty sheets, but Serge isn’t here. Relief number two.

She flicks on the light and is glad to see all of Serge’s pictures and equipment are still here because that means Michael didn’t steal anything else. She puts the camera on the table and, just as fast as she entered, she leaves. The hallway is dark and quiet, but when she passes the stairwell next to the passenger elevator on the fifth floor she hears yelling from the landing below. Nosy as always, she climbs halfway down and cranes her neck.

It’s Liddy and she’s yelling at a man who has to be Garrett, which means he figured out where she’s hiding, just like Liddy said he would. After the way Liddy has been ignoring her, Rose doesn’t want to care what Liddy does anymore. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to know what’s going on.

“Goddamn it!” Garrett shouts. “That’s not going to happen, and you know it!”

“Don’t be so sure!” Liddy yells back. “I don’t care about your money or your fancy condo. I’ll live in a homeless shelter before I live with you!”

Rose doesn’t move. They’re both really mad, and Liddy doesn’t even look pretty with her face all red. Garrett is much smaller than Rose figured and he’s not good-looking at all.

“And what about your precious Mercedes? Are you willing to sacrifice her?” he screams.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” Liddy screams back.

Rose wonders who Mercedes is—Garrett said “her” so he’s not talking about a car, and why would anyone sacrifice a car anyways? But it would be stupid to stick around to find out because either one of them could come up the stairs at any moment. She starts to turn, but then there’s a loud thump followed by a grunt. Rose peeks down again, and there’s Garrett with his back against the elevator door. He’s trying to catch his balance, but he can’t. Out of nowhere, the bottom of the door swings inward, and he falls straight down. Liddy screams, and Rose sprints back up to the fifth floor.

Dear Jesus. No one can know she was here or what she was doing, so Rose runs to the far end of the building as quietly as she can. Then she races down to the ground floor and flings herself out the rear door near the railroad tracks. Garrett has to be dead. Even though it’s unchristian of her, the first thing she thinks is that it isn’t such a bad thing. Unless Liddy pushed him. And if she did it on purpose that would mean she murdered him. Dear Jesus. He could have somehow fallen backward on his own. But that doesn’t make any more sense than what the elevator door just did.