His Secretary: Unveiled by Melanie Marchande

Author:Melanie Marchande [Marchande, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-04-06T16:00:00+00:00

***

After a few ominous rumblings in the sky, by the time I reach Cora's apartment, the rain is coming down in sheets. I ask the cabbie to wait, and he just shrugs, pulling out a crossword puzzle.

I don't know whether I'm hoping it'll be quick, or not. I don't know what that means. I have no idea what I'm walking into.

The place is falling apart. And the smell. Jesus. Does Cora really live here? For how long? Surely she could afforded nicer digs on a Risinger Industries salary, after so many years of good service. A few of Cora's neighbors are hunkered down in the stairwell, arguing with each other sharply; they glance at me as I step around them, but they don't stop.

"I swear to fucking God, Jimmy, that's exactly what you did. Uh huh. Uh huh. Don't you fucking shake your head at me..."

The matted-down industrial carpet outside of Cora's front door is immaculate. I picture her coming out here with one of those ridiculous little rug-sweeper things, and I smile tightly.

She's fine. She must be fine. Maybe she just got some kind of minor injury she couldn't recover from on her own, just a little fracture in her leg, with the phone out of reach. She's never seemed like the type to subscribe to LifeAlert.

I know, I know it didn't need to be me who came here. I could've sent Meghan, could've sent anybody, could've delegated the situation to any number of people. I'm being irresponsible, because despite what my secretary thinks of me, I actually am a real human being with real human feelings. Occasionally.

But if something has happened to her, I need to be here.

I knock. Once, twice, three times. There's no bell. After a few minutes, I resort to calling her name through the crack of the door. It doesn't really occur to me that I could be disturbing anyone, after I had to step over two probable meth dealers to get here, but then someone taps on my shoulder.

"Sir, you gotta keep it down," says a tired-eyed man, who is teetering off the far end of middle age. "What's wrong? You looking for Miss Cora?"

"She works for me," I explain, trying to push down the worry in my chest. "She didn't show up to work, and we've been calling all morning. It's not like her - I just, I wanted to make sure nothing's happened to her."

"Probably slept in," he grunts. "Sorry, sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"She doesn't sleep in," I insist. "Please, can you just...check on her?"

"Call the police for a welfare check if you want," he says, shrugging. "But I got enough potential lawsuits crawling up my ass without entering somebody's apartment without permission. And don't bother pulling out your wallet, either."

"Thanks," I mutter, pulling out my phone instead. Stupid me, thinking a slumlord would be open to bribery.

I've never been a praying man, but as I dial, I silently make a small plea to the universe that my worst suspicions are wrong.

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