“Get out. They know.”

There was more, but the markings blurred together. They’d been written quickly. The only other words she could pick out in Max’s shorthand looked like “Lancer Motel.”

Beatrice backed away from the mirror. She switched off the light and grabbed her bag from the floor. She rushed out of the house without bothering to lock the door behind her. She peeked down the driveway from the shadow of the stair shed, then slipped behind the building. Running between the boarding houses, she avoided the street. When she hit the sidewalk a block down the road, she slowed to a walk to avoid drawing attention. The engine of a car started up several houses back. It was heading her way. She broke into a run toward the shops and restaurants on Mayfield Road.

The sign for her aunt’s old diner was the first light she saw. She dashed inside, letting the door slam behind her. She only dared to look back once she was safely behind the glass doors. A black car with tinted windows slowly passed outside the diner. She was hyperventilating.

A voice behind her said, “Beatrice? Is that you?” She spun around and saw Gladys walking toward her, holding her coffeepot. “Are you all right, honey?”

“I’m fine.” She forced an awkward smile while gasping for air. “I was just . . . I was running.”

“Isn’t it a little cold out for that?” The old waitress scowled and looked down at her bag. “You goin’ somewhere, hon?”

“Me? Uh, no . . . These are some of Doris’s things. I thought she might like them.” Beatrice’s breathing was almost back to normal.

“Why are you in such a rush?”

“There was a car out there . . . Some guys shouted something. I guess I got scared.”

“Can’t say I blame you. You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself at night.”

“I know. I just wanted to get to the hospital before visiting hours are over.” Beatrice glanced back toward the street. She could no longer see the car. “I should really be going.”

Gladys looked down at Beatrice’s suitcase again. “You know, that reminds me. I hate to bother you, honey, but Mick asked me to clean out Doris’s locker a few days ago on account of the fact that—bless her heart—she’s probably not coming back to work. Do you have a second?”

Beatrice nodded reflexively and followed Gladys back to the service area, where Doris must have clocked in every day.

“I know this is terribly awkward, but can I give you her things?”

“Uh, sure. Of course. I’ll make sure Doris gets them.” Beatrice hadn’t planned on ever going back to the hospital, but there was nothing else she could say.

“There wasn’t much. She just kept a few emergency items.” She handed Beatrice a zippered bag the size of a medium purse. She patted Beatrice’s gaunt cheek gently. “If I don’t see you again, good luck to you, honey.”

CHAPTER 61

Friday, August 28, 1998

“Iris.”

She was hiding in the bathroom on the fifteenth floor. The handle of a brown leather suitcase was heavy in her hand. The lights were out, and all she could hear was her own breathing.

Until the voice whispered again, “Iris!”

“What!” Iris hissed back.

The voice was coming from the air shaft. Iris reached out and touched the iron grate. It was loose and it teetered a bit. She jerked her hand back, but it was too late. The metal fell from the wall with a crash that seemed to echo forever. Flashlights slashed through the dark. She could hear hard footsteps in the hall. Iris had no choice. She dropped the suitcase and reached inside the black cavern, feeling blindly until her hand fell on the rung of a ladder. She gripped it hard and pulled her torso and legs into the duct. Voices were coming from the office next door. She began climbing up the ladder one iron rung at a time.

A flashlight bounced off the sheet-metal walls of the mechanical chase. She hugged the ladder and tried to disappear in a shadow. There was a slatted louver overhead. Thin slices of the muted night sky floated just beyond her reach. Something tickled her neck. It was buzzing. She brushed it off. Then there was another and another, until hundreds of flies were crawling up her neck and in her ears. Screaming and clawing at herself, she let go of the ladder. She fell into the blackness.

Iris screamed herself awake. She sat up, clutching her sheets until the falling feeling in her stomach had passed. She shuddered and buried her face in her hands. She could still see slats of night sky racing away from her as she plummeted down the air shaft.

The clock on the floor read “5:30” and the a.m. button was lit. Perfect. She was up before dawn on the day she was getting fired. She considered going back to sleep, but thoughts of flies forced her out of bed and into the kitchen.

A cigarette and cup of day-old coffee later, it was still only 6:00 a.m. She curled up on the couch and watched the sky grow paler, until the sodium streetlights flickered and then went dead. She was getting fired in two hours and had no idea what she would do with herself. Maybe she would just disappear. No one would care if she did—not really. Nick and Ellie might feel a slight twinge, but their lives would go on without their missing so much as a beer. There was only one person who would really give a shit.

Iris lit another cigarette and picked up the phone.

Her mother answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom, it’s Iris.” Tears flooded her eyes at the sound of her mother’s voice.

“Iris? Honey, are you all right? It’s so early.”

“I knew you’d be up. I had a bad dream.”

“Oh, sweetie. No. I wish I could give you a big hug. What’s wrong?”

“I . . .” Iris wanted to confess it all—the dead body, the keys, the voices, getting fired, her bad drinking habits, her pathetic love life, her loneliness. She wanted to climb onto her mother’s lap and be rocked and held like when she was a girl. Her mother would hold her until she felt better. But Iris knew that woman had her own loneliness and would never let go. She would insist Iris come back home, where her life would be filled up with her mother’s nagging complaints about her father, gossip about the neighbors, thoughts on the latest TV show, overbearing advice, and endless chatter, chatter, chatter about nothing. Iris couldn’t breathe. She swallowed a sob.

“I don’t know. Just nerves, I guess. Is Dad around?”

“I think he’s asleep.” Her mother’s voice fell with disappointment. “I’ll go check.”

One minute later she heard another receiver get picked up. It was still her mother. “Can he call you back, honey?”

“Uh, sure.”

Iris knew he wasn’t calling back. He never did. He expected her to stand on her own two feet and didn’t want to hear her sniveling on the phone. She knew what he would say anyway. He would tell her to come clean and go to the police. There would be other jobs. She should call the detective once her last day at work was done. Iris stiffened her chin, mind made up.

“That’s fine. Everything’s fine, Mom. Don’t worry about me. Love you.”

“I love you too, honey. Call anytime.”

Iris climbed into the shower and let the hot water run down her face. When she closed her eyes, she was back in the air shaft. She pressed her forehead against the shower wall. The nightmares had to stop. She had to get rid of those keys.

“Never steal from a graveyard. You might disturb the ghosts,” the old man had said.

Iris walked naked and dripping from the bathroom toward her closet. The blinking light of her answering machine stopped her in her tracks. Someone must have called while she was in the shower. She hit the button.

“Iris, this is Detective McDonnell. I’m afraid I’m going to need to ask you a few more questions. Meet me at the bank this afternoon at 2:00 p.m.” There was a long pause, and he added, “Don’t mention anything about the investigation or the bank to anyone—not even your employer. And Iris, I’m sorry to remind you that withholding evidence from a police officer is a felony.”