Page 105 of Not a Word

Whoa, Alicia thought. She had that much money in the house? And how could the Chartwells let Holden live in that shithole with that kind of cash at hand? What was wrong with these people?

But what she said was, “Great.”

Now she had to figure out how to do the handoff. Definitely not in person. Couldn’t let Catherine find out who she was. She’d have her drop the money someplace Alicia could retrieve it. Like in the movies when the ransom money is left in a trash can and the kidnappers pick it up later. But this time, the criminal roles were reversed. Catherine was the bad guy. And her crime was worse than kidnapping. She wasn’t going to be calling the police. No one would be staking out the drop-off point.

And hey, who said this had to be the last payment? Soak the bitch for even more money before making her pay the ultimate price.

“I’ll call back with the details,” Alicia said, ending the call.

Think, think, think.

Corky had returned. “He’s not even here today,” he said.

“What?”

“Asshole Wilkins. He’s off. You said he was looking for me.”

“Yeah,” Alicia said. “But I didn’t say he was looking for you today. I just said he’d been looking for you.”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know.”

Corky, annoyed, sat back down, got out his phone, and resumed his video game. Alicia glanced at the clock on the wall. Her break would be over in two minutes.

Her regular cell phone rang. She took it from her pocket, glanced at the screen.

HOLDEN.

She didn’t have time to talk to him now.

She went back out into the store, returned to her station, removed the “Sorry Closed Use Next Checkout” sign. She turned, looked out the window and across the street, where a small hardware store and a laundromat flanked an alleyway. Halfway down it sat a dumpster, up against the wall. Alicia knew trash pickup was not until Monday, so anything left in that bin wasn’t at risk of disappearing right away. If she told Catherine to leave it there at quarter to seven, it wouldn’t sit there long.

An elderly man was already emptying his cart onto the belt. Alicia gave him a smile and said, “Just one second.” She turned away, got out her burner—she almost used her regular phone by mistake—and called Catherine.

“You know the Home Hardware and the Coin-Op Laundry, across from the FreshCo, on Cornwall?”

“I . . . uh, yes, I think so.”

“There’s an alley between them, a dumpster in there. Put it there at quarter to seven. And not in a garbage bag! Something that stands out.”

Catherine recalled a recent trip to a high-end Toronto mall. She’d bought a purse.

“It’ll be in a Longchamp bag,” Catherine said.

Alicia couldn’t believe Catherine would leave a designer purse in a dumpster. “You’re throwing out a purse?” Alicia couldn’t afford a Longchamp, but she knew the brand.

“The bag the purse came in,” Catherine clarified.

“Oh, right.”

“And—”

Alicia ended the call. The woman had been told all she needed to know. The dumpster, quarter to seven.

Now Alicia just had to get to the end of her shift. How was she supposed to concentrate? Good thing you didn’t need an engineering degree to wave items over a barcode reader. A few hours from now she could quit this shit job. Once she had that money in her hands, her first call Monday morning would be to Mr. Wilkins. Take this job and shove it. No, she wouldn’t even call him. She just wouldn’t show up.

She heard a text arrive on her other phone. Holden, again.