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20
MONDAY MORNING
NOVEMBER 2
Her late breakfast of scrambled eggs was a bit on the runny side for Pippa’s taste, a surprise after the perfect scrambled eggs on Sunday. She left the B&B before Maude’s puzzle shop was set to open at noon, per a sign in the window. She was anxious and wanted to explore more of St. Lumis, but still be first at the door to speak to Maude Filly. She had to see Maude again since this would be her last day in St. Lumis before the third red box was due to arrive at the CAU. The puzzle would be complete, and St. Lumis would be quickly identified. The sender would know that, of course, and know to expect the FBI here soon. She would lose any advantage she had of no one knowing who she was.
She strolled west this morning, away from the tourists still left in town, greeting the few locals she saw with smiles and hellos. She ended up on the less gentrified edge of town, where she remembered a small industrial district. She saw three buildings pressed together. They looked like long-abandoned ancient mercantile supply stores.
There was an antique sign hanging at half-mast over the doorway of the nearest building: HOWZELL’S MARBLE TABLES. The front door was gone, so she walked in. She saw broken windows, rusted, partly dismantled machinery, mildewed boxes, and rat carcasses strewn on the floor. She remembered the once-thriving manufacturer had closed its doors long before her family had moved. Why had the building been left in ruin? She did a quick walk-through, winding around the broken old machines scattered across the large space like giant iron ghosts from a former time.
She’d been about to skip looking at the other two buildings when she checked her iWatch and saw she still had time before the puzzle shop opened. She walked out to the second building, which looked ready to collapse in on itself, maybe even more derelict than the first, its wood-planked door barely held up by rusted old nails. She stepped inside and nearly choked on the musty, stale air. There was no sign left to announce what the business had been, but much of the space was divided by rows of ancient metal shelves, a good eight feet high. She saw three cobwebbed jars lined up on one shelf. She wasn’t about to look inside them. A store of some kind, groceries and assorted dry goods probably. She took a cursory look around for anything that shouldn’t be there. What had she expected to find here anyway? She sneezed. Time to head into town. She’d gone out far enough. There was no reason to visit the third building.
She’d turned back toward the battered door when she heard a groan and stopped dead in her tracks. She stood perfectly still, cocked her head. Another moan, this one not as loud, but it sounded like someone in pain. She thought the moans were coming from behind one of the long metal shelves at the far end of the building. She waited but heard nothing. She started walking toward the sound, adjusting her eyes to the deepening gloom, and made her way down a narrow aisle with the huge empty shelves boxing her in. She paused, called out, “Anyone there?”
Another moan. She suddenly felt spooked. Something wasn’t right. She pulled her Glock from her belt clip, racked the slide, and walked forward, careful not to step on the scattered debris—cans, shards of paper, cracked and shattered bottles. She paused, listened, but heard nothing more.
“Where are you?”
She heard a gasping whisper, “I’m here. Back here. Help me.” A man? A woman? She couldn’t tell. She rounded the last cobwebbed shelf, stopped, and looked into a dim corner, empty, as far as she could tell.
“Talk to me, I can’t see you.”
She didn’t hear him coming. His blow was fast and hard to the back of her head. She was down.
