Death Of A Dream Maker (27 page)

“Oh, yes. Max always treated me well. I had no reason
to leave. Thanks to you. But I need to talk to you again.”

“To me? Why on earth to me?”

“I have some information. About Max's death. I know
something very important.”

“Then you must go to the police at once,” Auntie Lil
said. “I'll call them for you.”

“No!” the woman shouted. There was a silence while
she regained her composure. “No police. I could lose my job. It's
about my boss. Joyce Carruthers.”

“I know about the missing money,” Auntie Lil said.
“Is that it?”

“No. It's something much worse. But if I go to the
police, I'll lose my job. I want to tell you. I know that you'd
keep it a secret. About where you got the information.”

Auntie Lil was silent. The woman would surely not
lose her job for reporting the truth, but if she thought she might,
it was enough to keep her mum forever. “Can't you tell me over the
phone? I've had a very long day.”

“No. I want to show you some papers. There are some
important files. I've got the keys to the cabinet. But only for
tonight. By tomorrow she'll know they're missing.” Her breath came
in rapid gusts.

“You sound very excited,” Auntie Lil said. “Are you
in any danger?”

“No. But I've been drinking coffee for hours. Trying
to decide what to do. Can you meet me at the factory? It's very
important.”

“Tonight?” Auntie Lil looked over at a sleepy Casey.
Casey stared back with a quizzical expression.

“Yes. It must be tonight. You see, I'm... I'm going
away. Just for a few weeks. I have a lot of vacation time. I think
it’s safer that way.”

Good heavens, the woman was terrified. What
information did she have?

“Very well,” Auntie Lil decided. “What shall I tell
the guard?”

“Nothing. No one must see us or connect us. It's too
dangerous. Meet me at the back entrance on Thirty-first Street.
I'll make sure it's unlocked. It's a brown metal door.”

“I know it,” Auntie Lil said. “Where will you
be?”

“I'll wait for you inside. Hurry.”

“I'll be there in an hour.” Auntie Lil heard an
abrupt click as the woman hung up. She stared down at the receiver.
So it was not Max's family after all. His murder had something to
do with the business.

“What's up?” Casey asked curiously.

“Put on your shoes,” Auntie Lil told her. “We're
about to learn something new.”

Casey questioned Auntie Lil all the way to the
factory: Who was Rosalie Benpensata? What kind of employee had she
been? How long since Auntie Lil had seen her? Casey did not want to
walk into a trap.

“I wouldn't worry,” Auntie Lil said. “She was a tiny
thing. She might have put on weight, but she can't have grown any
taller and she was never more than five feet tall.”

Casey was not mollified. She parked in front of the
back entrance, grateful that spaces were plentiful on the now
deserted street. “Pretty dead this time of night,” she
remarked.

“They start early,” Auntie Lil said. “You don't
usually find too many people working late. Especially on this
block. It's mostly service and delivery entrances.”

The back door opened easily, the metal slab giving
way to a hallway painted a dirty beige. The well-worn linoleum
beneath their feet gleamed dully under the light of the single bare
overhead bulb.

“I don't like the looks of this,” Casey said.
“Where's your friend?”

“I don't know,” Auntie Lil answered. “Perhaps she's
upstairs. What time do you have?”

“Quarter to ten.”

“We're early.”

“Let's wait.”

“Nonsense. It's cold. We'll meet her upstairs.”

Casey had no choice but to follow Auntie Lil through
a maze of back hallways. They wound around piles of flattened
cardboard boxes and bags of garbage awaiting pickup. “Nice,” she
muttered.

Auntie Lil tried a door, but found it locked. “That
leads to the front lobby,” she explained.

“We're trapped?” Casey asked.

“No. I know there's a freight elevator
somewhere.”

Auntie Lil shut her eyes and thought. “Follow me.”
She led Casey down a short hallway that forked to the left and
ended in front of an enormous delivery lift.

“It looks like Dr. Frankenstein's,” Casey said. “Are
you sure it's safe?”

“It holds thousands of pounds of deliveries every
day.” Auntie Lil pressed the call button confidently and the
elevator descended toward them with a series of noisy creaks.

“I don't like this,” Casey announced for the fifth
time. What she really didn't like was the fact that she was
unarmed. She loathed guns and kept hers locked in the bottom drawer
of her desk most of the time. Tonight, she felt naked without
it.

“We don't have a choice,” Auntie Lil said. “Rosalie
trusts only me, and the information could be vital.”

The elevator was large enough to hold a small parade
of elephants. Appropriately, it smelled like a circus. “Wouldn't
hurt to clean it once in a while,” Casey pointed out.

Auntie Lil ignored her. “Most of the floors are
locked,” she said, examining the call buttons. Only the
sample-production-room floor was lit. Auntie Lil pressed the button
and the contraption began to creak upward. “Going up?” she asked
Casey cheerfully.

“This whole thing stinks,” Casey warned. “And I'm not
talking about the elevator.”

Auntie Lil sighed. “You're supposed to protect me,
not annoy me.”

“Sorry for being so cautious,” Casey groused back.
The elevator groaned to a halt and the doors opened ponderously
onto the floor of the sample-production area. The harsh overhead
lighting outlined the machines and tables in stark relief. They
were the only ones there.

“Oh, this is very reassuring,” Casey announced,
peering around. She gestured for Auntie Lil to get behind her. “Why
don't we just bonk each other over the head right now and get it
over with?”

“Very funny,” Auntie Lil answered grimly.

Casey led the way forward. They had to squeeze
between two long racks of hanging dresses parked in front of the
elevator, waiting to go out in the morning. Ahead of them, an
enormous stack of filled boxes teetered to one side against a wall.
Auntie Lil called out “Rosalie? Rosalie?” at intervals. No one
answered.

When they reached the end of the rack, Casey made her
decision. “Okay. That's it,” she said. “We're going back. This is
stupid. Turn around now.” Before Auntie Lil could protest, Casey
was hustling her toward the freight elevator. “No Rosalie. No
reply. No can do.”

“Casey, I don't know how in the world you get
anything done as a private investigator when you're so cautious
about—” Auntie Lil did not get the chance to finish. The lights
flickered off. Only the fire-exit lights remained on, sending eerie
red shadows spilling across the floor at the far side of the
room.

“Get to the elevator now,” Casey commanded. “I can't
see a damn thing.”

Auntie Lil did not have a chance to move. Her world
went black. A thick cloth enveloped her head, and she was thrown to
the ground. Behind her, she heard the muffled sounds of a thump and
a groan as Casey crashed into a rack of clothing. Auntie Lil
crawled back upright and swung out into the darkness, kicking and
punching. Her fists met only the soft folds of clothing. Behind
her, a tremendous unseen struggle erupted. Hangers screeched,
clothing swayed, and one of the racks toppled over with a crash. A
hand grabbed Auntie Lil's wrist. She pulled sharply and aimed a
kick upward. It connected with flesh. There was a grunt as she was
released. She fell immediately to her knees and began to crawl
through the clothing that impeded her way, fear lending her joints
long-lost flexibility. She tugged frantically at the cloth wrapped
around her face, struggling to untangle it as she scrambled away.
Cursing and scuffling sounds behind her told her that Casey had not
yet given up her fight. But just as Auntie Lil reached the end of
the racks and freed herself from her hood, two alarming events
happened: the fire lights on the floor went out, creating complete
darkness, and there was another heavy thump behind her. In the
ominous silence and darkness that descended, Auntie Lil knew that
she would have to escape on her own. Casey was down.

She stood in the darkness and thought:
Whoever you
are, you've made a mistake. I've been on this floor. I know the
layout. It was decades ago, but I've seen it since.
She forced
herself to assemble the room in her mind. The center was dominated
by large flat tables and several pattern-cutting machines. The
machines were seldom used, as the floor was devoted almost
exclusively to fashioning samples. Instead, the center tables held
giant shears, each scissor point a good three feet long. One of
them would serve as a formidable weapon. She had to find her way
there. But between her and the center tables lay an outer ring of
sewing machines and rolling supply tables. Finding her way through
the maze quietly would be difficult. She paused, straining to hear
her assailant.

Behind her, she heard the faint rustle of plastic
bags. Someone was moving through the racks of hanging clothes,
disturbing the more expensive bagged garments. She tiptoed to the
left, finding an open path. It was easier to move when she closed
her eyes and could concentrate on the map taking shape in her mind.
There was an outer ring of walkway that completely circled the
room. She followed it just long enough to confirm that she had
discovered a clear path. Then she stepped toward the middle and
felt through the darkness for evidence of the sewing area. Her hand
brushed up against a jar of pins and it started to topple. She
grabbed at the darkness, managing to catch the jar before it fell.
She held her breath and listened. There was no return sound. Where
was her attacker hiding?

Or was it attackers? The fire-exit lights had gone
out while someone was struggling with Casey. Which meant someone
else must have turned out the lights. There had to be at least two
people hiding in the darkness. Then it hit her—the lights had gone
off to give her attackers an advantage when overpowering Casey, not
her. They had not expected Casey to be along. That was why the
lights had been blazing when they arrived: they had seen no need
for surprise when they thought they would be dealing only with
Auntie Lil. That meant they were confident they could overpower
her. And probably kill her. If she was dead, what would it matter
that she had seen their faces?

It also meant that they would be turning the lights
back on once Casey had been subdued. And when they did, Auntie Lil
would have no chance of escape.

She had to find the fuse box. She needed darkness to
survive.

Remembering was hard. It was such an insignificant
object. It would be near the freight elevator, she thought. Search
through your memories. Picture the wall. Was the box there? Go
slowly. Be sure of it. Reconstruct the wall, section by
section.

Yes. The fuse box was near the freight elevator. She
was sure. She inched forward, brushing one hand against the
perimeter of the sewing machine circle as a guide. Slowly she moved
between the tables, returning toward the outside wall. She broke
free to the outer walkway and held her breath, listening. Heavy
breathing came from the other side of the room. They were still
with Casey. She could not afford to think why.

Auntie Lil crept forward, step-by-step, the effort
hurting her bruised knees. She would have to move toward the heavy
breathing to find the fuse box, she realized, back toward her
attackers, before she could retreat. She breathed silently through
her mouth in carefully controlled rhythm, willing herself not to
panic. She counted each step silently and dragged a hand along the
concrete  wall for support, imagining her progress in her
mind. The heavy breathing grew louder. Where was the fuse box?

There. Her hand touched the cold metal and she
carefully located the opening ring. She tugged softly and the lid
opened with a metallic creak. She hesitated, listening for sound.
Had anyone heard?

There was a grunt and a muffled crash ahead of her as
one of her attackers bumped into a sewing-machine table. She held
her breath again. Someone was moving through the darkened interior,
carelessly, in a hurry, not bothering to conceal their whereabouts.
Auntie Lil drew herself up against the wall, desperately wishing
she had a table or other barrier to hide behind. Footsteps and
heavy breathing drew closer. The shadowy figure discovered the
pathway that rimmed the floor and broke free from the jumble of
racks and tables impeding his or her progress. The footsteps were
heavy, but two curious noises interested Auntie Lil more. Someone
was moaning softly just behind the unseen attacker, and there was a
slithery sound moving closer and closer.

Auntie Lil strained through the darkness in horrified
fascination as the procession passed directly in front of her. But
because the windows of the cutting floor were dirty and the moon
was hidden behind clouds, she could see virtually nothing but the
outline of a bulky figure dragging a body across the polished wood
floor. Pressed against the wall, she had a chance of going
unnoticed. Another figure emerged from several feet ahead and
hurried to help the first one. Auntie Lil was pretty sure they were
dragging Casey toward the storage closets that lined one of the
walls. They were going to lock her inside. And there was only one
reason to lock Casey inside: to keep her from coming to Auntie
Lil's aid. It was time to remove the fuses.

 Keeping one ear tuned to the sounds of Casey's
body being dragged away, Auntie Lil delicately unscrewed the fuses
nestled inside the box. They yielded easily and she placed them
carefully on the floor. There were nearly twenty.

Her task completed, Auntie Lil was damned if she was
going to cower in fear and let them find her hiding in the dark.
She weighed the risks of running back toward the elevators. She
didn't think she could make it in time. Almost surely, her
assailants were younger and quicker. When you were eighty-four
years old, that was a given. She couldn't tell if she was being
pursued by men or women—or both—but they were certainly strong and
determined. She would do better to make her way to the inner circle
of the room and obtain a weapon before she attempted to hide. If
she could fend them off long enough, maybe help would arrive.