Box 304—payment delayed, notified 6/7/78, Taylor Cummings, repossessed 6/19/78; Box 305—delinquent, contacted 6/6/78, Marion Delaney, no forwarding address, repossessed 6/19/78

It was a record of Max’s audit. It seemed odd that it was written in shorthand. The notes were brief already, and they didn’t appear to be dictated by anyone but Max. Mr. Thompson, or anyone else outside the secretarial pool for that matter, wouldn’t be able to read them. It was almost as if Max had left them just for her. Her eyes wandered down the page, and her eyebrows raised as she read,

 State of Ohio Treasurer’s Office contacted 6/25/78, no record of repossessions. Contents unaccounted for.

Max had called the state to verify the repossessions. There were pages and pages of records for the safe deposit box audits, and each page concluded that the state had no record of taking possession of the box contents. She leafed through sheet after sheet until it really hit her. The contents of over a hundred safe deposit boxes were officially missing. Max was verifying the missing accounts and keeping records in shorthand so that no one else could read them.

Doris had kept records of safe deposit boxes too. Beatrice carefully gathered all of the notes into a neat stack. She opened one of the larger file drawers, looking for a manila folder, and heard something clank at the bottom. It was a half-drunk pint of whiskey. She fished the little bottle of Old Grand-Dad out and shook her head at Max.

As angry as she was, holding the bottle made her feel nostalgic. Work would not be the same without her friend. She unscrewed the cap and took a little sip in honor of Max. It burned rolling down. She put the bottle back and poked around in the large drawer until she was satisfied her aunt’s key wasn’t inside. She grabbed an empty folder for Max’s odd notes and slid the drawer shut.

She opened the smaller drawer above it and found a hairbrush and a small makeup bag. Whiskey was one thing, but leaving makeup behind seemed stranger. The small satin bag was heavy. It jingled like a pile of coins. She hesitated a second and then shrugged. Max had no qualms going through her aunt’s purse. She opened the bag and felt inside.

A door closed down the hall behind her.

Beatrice’s heart stopped at the sound. She zipped the makeup bag shut as footsteps approached her from behind. She turned. A tall security uniform came into view. She considered running down the hall, but that would just make her look guilty. There was a gun hanging in a holster on the guard’s hip. Her only hope was to seem like she belonged there.

She tried to relax her shoulders and smiled. “Good evening!”

“What are you doing on the floor this late, ma’am?”

It wasn’t an accusation really. Not yet.

“Oh, I forgot my makeup bag,” she said, holding up the little zippered case for the man to see. “I’m such a clod!”

She stood up, putting the bag in her purse, and gathered the folder of Max’s notes from the desk. The name stitched on his uniform read “Ramone.” She stared at the letters to avoid his eyes.

“The floor’s closed. It’s time to go home.”

He led her to the elevator lobby, and she followed far behind him, praying he wouldn’t notice that she wasn’t wearing shoes. Her boots were still sitting by the bathroom door. She couldn’t walk out into the snow in her stockings.

“Shoot. I’m sorry. I’ve got to use the powder room. Excuse me for a moment.”

She dashed to the restroom before he turned around. Closing the door behind her, she threw on her boots and stuffed the file of Max’s notes into her purse. She pulled out the makeup bag again and searched for Aunt Doris’s key. It wasn’t there. Just a pile of hairpins and loose change. Max’s desk had one more drawer she hadn’t searched yet. There might still be time, she told herself, and she may not get this chance again.

She walked into the bathroom stall where she had hid earlier that evening and flushed the toilet for the benefit of the guard waiting outside. Gazing at the window as water ran in the sink, she could almost picture Max standing there. She would have taken a cigarette out from under the loose stone where she stashed them and smirked at Beatrice for being nervous. It gave her an idea.

Beatrice turned off the tap and walked over to the windowsill. She lifted the loose piece of marble at the corner where Max hid her cigarettes. Underneath was a hollow clay tile. Beatrice reached inside. Something hard and metal brushed against her fingertips.

It was a huge ring of keys. Beatrice pulled them from the hiding spot and fanned them out. There must have been thirty of them of all shapes and sizes. The large steel ones looked like they were for office doors. A smaller key ring was attached to the large one. It held thirteen small brass keys. Her heart quickened as she picked one out. It read “D” on one side, with the words “First Bank of Cleveland” etched around its outer edge, just like her aunt’s key. She flipped through the others. Each had a letter. None were Key 547.

There was a knock on the door. Beatrice jumped.

“Time to go,” the security guard barked.

Beatrice threw the ring of keys into her bag and carefully placed the loose stone back where it belonged. When she returned to the hall, Ramone was visibly irritated. He motioned her toward an open elevator door.

Beatrice knew she was pushing her luck, but she still needed to find her aunt’s key. “Darn it! I forgot something else. I’m supposed to bring some notes home to look at over the weekend. I’m such an airhead. I’ll be right back.”

He grumbled behind her as she ran back to Max’s desk. She held up a one-minute finger and pulled open the last file drawer. It was crammed full of files. She pushed them aside and felt the bottom of the drawer for the key. She came up with nothing but a handful of pencil shavings. She randomly grabbed one of the files to make her story to Ramone plausible and slammed the drawer shut.

“You find everything you need all right?” Ramone’s deep voice asked from just over her shoulder.

Beatrice stifled a shriek. She hadn’t heard him following her. “Um, yes, thank you.”

“It’s time to be going now, Miss—?”

He was going to report her. She was standing at Max’s desk pretending it was hers, and he wanted her name. She decided to play deaf. “Yes?”

“What’s your name, miss?”

“Oh,” she gulped. “Maxine. Maxine McDonnell . . . I really should be going.” With that, she rushed over to the elevators as fast as she could without running. A car was waiting, and she stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby.

Thankfully, the guard didn’t follow her. He didn’t leave Max’s desk. He just stood there staring at it, seeming lost in thought. He finally looked up at Beatrice, standing there in the elevator.

“Have a good night, miss,” he said with a grim face, and the elevator doors closed.

CHAPTER 25

Saturday, August 15, 1998

Iris berated herself the rest of the week for being an incorrigible slut. How could she have just crumpled onto the floor after a few kisses? It was beyond her control, she argued. It wasn’t her fault he was a mind-scrambling kisser. It wasn’t her fault that the scant sex in her life up until Nick had been lukewarm at best. They had kissed once before. They had flirted. It wasn’t the same as dating but it was something, she reasoned. Besides, adult women could have sex with men they liked without being branded or punished.

But she was being punished. He didn’t call.

By noon that Saturday, there was no doubt about it. She was just a piece of ass to Nick. He would never take her seriously now. The sweaty walls of her apartment were closing in on her. She had to get out.