An elevator opened. Kayla feigned having lost something and missed the elevator. The guard didn’t glance her way. She lingered, wondering how long it would be until he took a break, when unexpectedly she caught sight of Inspector Sergeant Hanrahan moving into the foyer with a woman in a blue outfit. The inspector showed the woman something on her cell phone.Kayla searched for a hiding place in case Hanrahan started toward the elevators. Squatting beside an oversized garbage can was out. If the guard saw her do so, it would be a dead giveaway that she was lurking.
“Hey, Mack!” A trim guard approached the beefy one. “Sorry I’m late. These doctors, geez. They’re never on time.”
“I know what you mean. You think they would see us faster around here. What were you in for?”
“Hemorrhoids. What else?”
The two men laughed.
“See ya.” The beefy guard hoisted a lunch bag and vacated his post. At the same time an elevator opened.
Kayla contemplated boarding to elude Hanrahan but hesitated when she spied the new guard searching for something.
“Well, dang. Hey, Mack!” the guard called, but the man he’d replaced had disappeared around the corner. “Crud.” He clambered off his stool and hustled to a door. To Kayla, he said, “Miss, will you be here a sec? If anybody comes, could you tell them I’ll be right back. Gotta get a logbook. This one’s full.”
Kayla gave him a thumbs-up sign and eyed Hanrahan. Her focus was still on the cell phone. Quickly, as the guard rounded the corner, Kayla stole to his desk, snatched a visitor badge, and rushed down the administrative hallway to Sara Simmons’s office.
She rapped on Sara’s door. No answer. She tried the handle. Locked. Sara had complained to Kayla once about the need for keys in a secure hall and, in a show of defiance, had revealed where she hid one. Above the doorframe.
The instant Kayla opened the door and stepped inside, her nostrils flared. The room smelled musty and stale. Fortunately, daylight peeped through a split in the striped drapes and cut astream across the carpet, offering enough ambient light to see without having to turn anything on.
A stack of brown boxes sealed with packing tape markedPictures or Diplomasstood by the door. A file cabinet with four drawers, none of which held classification labels, were secured with gaffer’s tape. The copy machine stood on a small desk next to the cabinet. Nothing cluttered Sara’s oak desk except an empty Styrofoam cup, a blank notepad, and a Cross pen and pencil set. Sara’s daughter’s picture was missing, as was theMom’s the Bestmug Cici had given Sara a year ago. All the files must have been packed in the cabinets.
Aclunk-thunkfollowed by the rattling of keys startled Kayla. She flattened herself against the wall behind the door seconds before it opened.
A woman hummed as she flicked on a light and shoved a wedge under the door.
From the hallway, a man said, “Hola,señora.”
Kayla recognized the throaty voice. Her uncle. How could she explain herself if he discovered her inside?
“Dr. Simmons’s husband is moving those files out in a half hour, Consuela,” David said.
Consuela. Kayla had met the cleaning woman once. She was a grandmother of six. At Sara’s encouragement, Consuela had shown Kayla a picture of her little darlings.
“Es muysad, no, Doctor David?”
“Yes. Very sad. How are your children?”
“Good,señor.Muy bueno.”
Kayla inched to the opening between the door and doorframe and caught a glimpse of her uncle in stylish jeans, white Oxford shirt, and sport jacket instead of his typical green scrubs. He popped some breath mints into his mouth.
Reveal yourself, Kayla. Tell him the truth.
But she couldn’t. She remained frozen in her spot. Why had she confessed to Peter and not her uncle? It wasn’t because she believed David was involved with Richard Troy and the others. No, it was because she worried about his weakness for alcohol and how it might loosen his tongue.
Consuela said, “You dressed very nice, Doctor David. Are you going on a date?”
“Board meeting.” David cleared his throat. “Why don’t you come back in a half hour after Mr. Simmons has moved everything out? No use cleaning until the office is empty.”
“Sí, okay.” Consuela removed the wedge and let the door slam shut.
Kayla let out the breath she’d been holding and faced the room. Supposedly, Sara hadn’t left a suicide note, only a voicemail. Was it possible her husband or others had missed one? She crossed to the desk, nabbed a pencil, and scribbled back and forth on the blank notepad. To her amazement a message did emerge: Friday, 12:30, Dolores, cut and blow dry.
Would someone who intended to commit suicide have made a hair appointment?
She set the pen aside and revisited the theory that Sara was murdered. If so, who had wanted her dead? Would there be a clue in her files?
