“No, why?”
“I thought I might have seen you down in the lobby a little before noon.”
“Not me,” Molly said.
Traci reached into her purse with her free hand, fished out some bills, and dropped them on the table.
“This one’s on the publisher, Mol. You look like you need a break.”
Molly smiled. “Thanks, I do.”
She watched Traci push through the crowd near the door, leave the coffee shop, and join the throng of pedestrians on the other side of the window. Within seconds she’d passed out of sight.
Molly drew a slip of paper from her purse, unfolded it, and reread the addresses of the two apartments she was going to inspect in the West Eighties.
They were a short cab ride away, but since the rain had stopped, she decided to walk life’s dangerous road and save the fare.
35
Molly stood across the street and stared at the six-story prewar brick building that was the first address on the slip of paper she carried. It wasn’t unlike the building she and David lived in now, or most of the others that lined the avenue, stone or brick structures with ironwork at the windows and balconies, many of them with stone steps leading to stoops and tall doors. Here and there were canvas awnings, and flower boxes dotted with colorful and fresh-looking blossoms thriving after the recent rain.
She crossed the street and entered the building, finding the vestibule small but clean, with blue-tiled walls free of graffiti. She rode the elevator, also small, with wood paneling that seemed to be closing in on her, to the third floor, then walked down a narrow corridor to 3E and used the management company’s keys to unlock the paint-checked door. There was a lock near the doorknob, and above that a heavy deadbolt lock.
She pushed the door open, then tentatively stepped inside and looked around. It made her uneasy, examining these apartments by herself. She wished David were there, in case…Well, she didn’t know spectfically in case of what, but in this city there were plenty of dreadful possibilities.
But she soon forgot her fear as she concentrated on the apartment. The living room was freshly painted an off-white except for one wall, which the painters hadn’t gotten to with a main coat but had prepared with plaster-patch and primer. A white plastic paint bucket and a paint-speckled, folded drop cloth sat in a corner. The smell of fresh paint made the place seem clean and acceptable.
From overhead came the rapid, muted thuds of a child’s footfalls. Molly smiled. That kind of noise wouldn’t bother her. Besides, the apartment above was apparently carpeted.
She examined the bathroom and found it old but in good repair, with adequate water pressure. The kitchen was in the same condition, but it had a new dishwasher and plenty of cabinet space. It was smaller than the kitchen Molly had now, and the cabinets had multiple coats of white enamel on them, but there was room for a table and chairs. She went to the sink, turned the spigot handles on and off, and nodded with approval.
“This will do,” she said under her breath. “This will definitely do so far.”
The bedrooms hadn’t yet been painted, but they were both slightly larger than those in the present Jones apartment, and there was enough closet space. A large air conditioner with a round plastic grill was mounted in one of the master bedroom’s windows. It looked powerful enough to cope with summer, but it wasn’t running, and Molly suddenly realized the apartment was uncomfortably warm.
Satisfied, she took a last look around and then left, locking the door behind her.
In the elevator she paused, then decided to check the laundry facilities in the basement. She pressed the button marked B, and the stifling little elevator descended with a speed that made her stomach queasy.
When the door glided open, she stepped out into a gloomy, stone-foundation basement. Faint light was making its way through dirty, iron-grilled windows, revealing a rats’ maze of wooden partitions for tenants’ storage.
Something brushed Molly’s forehead and she jumped. Then she saw that it was a pull cord for an overhead light fixture. She gave the cord a firm yank, but the light didn’t come on. Then her eyes adjusted and she noticed a sign: LAUNDRY ROOM-SUBBASEMENT. An arrow pointed through the dim, partitioned basement to a door with what looked like a hand-made sign nailed to it.
Molly walked across the hard concrete floor and saw that the sign on the door indeed marked the entrance to the subbasement and laundry room. She opened the door and found herself at the top of a flight of stairs leading down into blackness. Leaning slightly forward, she ran her hand over the rough wall, feeling for a light switch.
A slight scuffing sound alarmed her, and she started to turn around. But she’d barely moved when something smashed into the small of her back and butted her out over the stairs into darkness.
She came down on the wooden steps on her side and slid to the bottom, bruising her hip and ribs and banging her right elbow.
Only when she was sprawled on the floor at the base of the stairs did she comprehend what had happened. Someone had shoved her! Tried to injure or kill her!
Even as she painfully scrambled to her feet in the darkness, she heard the shufffle and creak of someone coming down the stairs.
She panicked.
Her heart racing with terror, she saw a dim light at the far end of the basement and ran toward it. She struck an ankle on something in the dark and almost tripped, but somehow remained on her feet and lurched forward, her hands outstretched to feel for unseen obstacles.
When she reached the source of the light, she saw that it was a high, narrow window that had been filled in with opaque glass blocks.
No escape that way!
She could hear the unmistakable sound of leather soles scuffing on the gritty concrete floor, closing in on her!
She fled at an angle and made out the outline of a half-opened door. As she bumped her aching hip on something-a wheelbarrow hanging on a wall-she almost cried out in pain. But she swallowed the sound. If whoever was pursuing her in the dim basement didn’t know exactly where she was, she didn’t want to make her location known.
When she reached the door and opened it wider, she saw that it led to a short flight of wooden stairs leading back up to the basement. She climbed the creaking steps, briefly on all fours like an animal, then straightened up and closed the door at the top of the stairs behind her and leaned with her back against it.
There was more light here, revealing the maze of partitions from another perspective. She was totally disoriented. The only sounds were her rasping struggle for breath, her hammering heart.
She felt the doorknob rotate like a drill bit against her back and gasped.
In a panic, she fled through the labyrinth of wooden partitions, bouncing off them. She couldn’t help it-she screamed. Though the sound was deadened in the thick-walled and cluttered basement, she knew she’d revealed her position to whoever was after her.
Finally she reached a crude, unpainted wooden door, another barrier between herself and her stalker. She yanked the door open, stepped to the other side of it, then slammed it behind her and fumbled for a lock.
There was none.
She looked around and found herself trapped in a small storage room. There was somewhat more light there, filtering in through a narrow, iron-grilled window and illuminating a swirl of dust motes.
Frantically she threw herself against a wooden storage crate and shoved it against the wall beneath the window. When she climbed up on the box and peered through the dirty glass, she was looking at a narrow alley littered with trash. There was no one to signal or call to for help.