Betty was still sleeping soundly, but her lips were moving. Perhaps she was trying to speak. He leaned over to listen and smiled as he made out the word. Friend. Poor Betty, with her confused mind and her love for everyone. For the first time, he almost felt sorry for her. What would she think if she knew that he was the one who’d supervised the hit on her boyfriend and come up with the plan that had turned her into a vegetable?

Naturally, the Old Man had objected, but he’d finally seen that there was no other way, not if he wanted to keep his darling daughter alive. The Caretaker had hired Margaret Woodard himself. No one knew that he’d recruited her more than ten years ago, the daughter of one of the Old Man’s soldiers who’d been killed in the line of duty. It had been a brilliant move, training her in a profession that might prove valuable.

Margaret was smart enough to know what would happen if she didn’t repay her debt. She hadn’t been happy about her assignment, but she’d done an excellent job so far. The only problem he could see was her sympathy for Betty, an occupational hazard in the nursing profession. Of course, it didn’t really matter. If she made any wrong moves, she was expendable.

He smiled as Alan turned down the covers, a typical domestic scene. There was no need to turn up the audio as long as they went straight to bed. Other people might enjoy being voyeurs, but not him, and Laureen and Alan’s sex life was bound to be dull.

Now Laureen was yawning. That was good. Once they were asleep, he could catch a snooze himself. He’d confiscated Johnny’s stash. By rights it was theirs anyway, since the rat was cutting into family territory, but he hated to use it on such a regular basis. There was no substitute for sleep. And now Alan and Laureen were sitting down on the bed and . . .

The Caretaker groaned as he saw Alan reach for his robe. Now both of them were up again and he used Jack’s fancy system to track them into the kitchen. A late-night snack. He might have known. Laureen took out one of Clayton’s frying pans while Alan assembled the ingredients. It was almost like watching one of her cooking shows. In less than ten minutes, Brie and prosciutto omelets with a dollop of sour cream were ready. Garnished with chives and ripe olive slices, they looked delicious.

Laureen handed the plates to Alan and picked up the napkins and silverware. No problem. But he swore softly under his breath as they bypassed the dining room and headed out to the rose garden.

“It’s nice out here, isn’t it, honey?” Laureen smiled at her husband. They’d finished their omelets and were enjoying a glass of Chablis from Clayton’s refrigerator.

Alan nodded. “Yes, but you can tell Clayton’s no gardener. The rosebushes need pruning.”

“And the gazebo needs a new coat of paint.” Laureen frowned. “I’m surprised at Rachael. She keeps the rest of the apartment in such good shape.”

Alan fumbled in the breast pocket of his robe for a cigarette, wishful thinking since they were still safely hidden in his father’s desk. He really wanted a smoke, but he never smoked a pipe right before bed. It took about forty-five minutes to smoke a bowl and there was no way he’d risk ruining a good pipe by knocking it out before it was finished. The moisture and oils from the tobacco would sour the pipe. He settled for a walk around the garden instead, examining the rosebushes.

“Look at this, Laureen,” he called out, pointing to a patch of ground. “Maybe Clayton’s hired a gardener.”

Laureen walked over to join him. “I know I’m probably being ridiculous, but doesn’t this look a lot like a . . .” she swallowed hard, “. . . a grave?”

Alan laughed. “More like a flower bed to me. Remember that bed of zinnias you put in by our old house? I think it was about this size.”

Laureen gave a sigh of relief. “I guess my imagination is running away with me, honey. It’s just that so many people have died.”

“Yeah. And they’re all in our freezer. Pretty soon there won’t be enough room for your brownies.”

“Alan! You’re terrible!” Laureen was shocked, but she couldn’t help laughing.

Alan grinned and hugged her. Then, catching a glitter in the dirt, he stooped down to pick up a heart-shaped diamond earring. “Look at this, honey.”

Laureen stared down at the earring for a moment and then she gave a little cry. “That looks just like the earrings Hal gave Vanessa.”

“Might as well keep it.” Alan stuck it in his pocket. “I’ve got the other one. I found it on the floor of the freezer. She must have been wearing them the night she died.”

“But what was she doing out here?” Laureen shivered. “This doesn’t make any sense, Alan.”

“Maybe we’d better wake the others. Come on, honey.”

Laureen could feel her knees shaking as she walked through Clayton’s apartment and out the door. The lights on either side of Clayton’s door were out. She hadn’t noticed that earlier.

“It’s really dark, Alan.”

“I must have turned off the hall lights by mistake.” Alan led her calmly down the hall.

Laureen leaned against the wall as Alan pressed the elevator button. At least the arrow lit up, its faint glow reassuring her.

The elevator doors slid open, but the inside light was off. Laureen shuddered and stepped back. “I’m not getting in there in the dark.”

Alan put his arm around her shoulders. “The bulb’s just burned out. The elevator’s still working just fine.”

“But what if the power’s going out? We could get stuck!”

Alan sighed. There were times when his wife was terribly obstinate. “The doors opened and they’re electrical, and the button lit up. Come on, Laureen, we don’t have time to argue about this.”

“Let’s take the stairs. Please?”

“Be reasonable, honey. You told me your legs were stiff from sleeping on the lounge chair. Do you really want to walk down all those stairs? We’ll get there much faster in the elevator.”

Laureen took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, as Alan took her arm to lead her forward. Then she let out a cry and pulled him back. “It’s not there! Oh, my God, Alan! The elevator’s not there!”

Alan took a step back, away from the brink of the yawning shaft, and reached out to wrap both arms around her. “Jesus, Laureen! You saved our lives!”

“Thank God I noticed! If we . . .” Laureen’s voice broke and she found she couldn’t go on. Thinking about what could have happened was just too horrible. As they stood there hugging each other, glorying in the fact that they were still alive and safe, something connected solidly with the small of Laureen’s back, hurtling them forward into the empty shaft. They had a brief moment to clutch at the empty air as they fell five floors to the garage. Alan had been right. The elevator was much faster than the stairs. They didn’t even have time to scream.

NINETEEN

Betty let out a little cry. Her secret friend had gone down to forbidden channel zero to open the big box that ran the elevator and then he’d come back to channel five to push them. Now they were falling to the bottom of the elevator shaft to play dead. She didn’t want to watch the end of this movie. It was so scary that holding her hand in front of her eyes wouldn’t help.

Outside snow was falling again. Betty knew it was late at night because the other channels were playing their sleeping movies. Her secret friend had been here again and he’d given her more of her favorite candy. This time she had taken three pieces, but she’d saved them for later. Of course, she hadn’t let him see her. He was so nice to bring the candy and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

The thought of the candy made her mouth water, and Betty reached under her pillow. It was still there, wrapped in a tissue, but it didn’t look much like candy anymore. She tossed the gooey mass in the wastebasket by her bed and reached for a cracker instead. At least crackers didn’t melt, they only crumbled. She was just about to put on one of the Doris and Rock movies that Jack had given her, when she found something interesting on forbidden channel two.