Chapter 29
Vero and I contemplated ditching the unmarked police car and taking an Uber to the print shop, but Vero’s handcuffs would have made her look too suspicious, and we agreed that driving to Norma’s house to pick up the minivan was a foolish idea.
Officer Oates was probably already staked out there.
It was only a matter of time before every cop in the county was out looking for us.
Time was of the essence, and we had zero to waste.
We drove the unmarked car straight to the print shop.
According to Google, it had closed several hours ago.
The parking lot of the industrial complex was situated close to the road, empty except for a handful of cars.
We’d be too conspicuous if we parked up front, so I circled around to a small gravel lot at the back of the building.
A sign said it was reserved for employee parking.
Only one other car was there. The vehicle was draped in a gray canvas car cover, the dusting of yellow pollen suggesting it had been there a few days.
I checked the roofline of the building for cameras. I could make out two, mounted behind the auto repair center at the far end of the building, but they weren’t angled in our direction, and we were far enough away to avoid being caught in their frame.
It seemed safe enough to take a look around.
“Stay here,” I said to Vero as I put the sedan in park and opened the door.
Vero wrinkled her nose. “Do you smell that?”
I sniffed. “Smells like skunk.”
“Smells like marijuana,” she corrected me.
I reached above my head and turned off the dome light.
I peered around the parking lot, then scanned the back of the print shop.
There were no windows on this side of the building.
Just a solid steel fire door set in a wall of brick.
The sign beside it read EMPLOYEES ONLY—KEEP OUT.
A sliver of light spilled out from it, as if someone had left it open a crack.
“Get down,” Vero whispered.
We ducked low in our seats, peeking through the windows of the darkened sedan as a plume of white smoke blew through the open back door of the shop. An arm stretched out of it to tap the ash off the end of a joint.
“Can you see who it is?” I whispered.
“Can’t see his face,” she said.
“Did Jackson smoke weed?”
“Everyone smoked weed. Or maybe you’re too old to remember being in college,” she teased.
But I did remember. There always seemed to be a smashed beer can propped in the dormitory door so the smokers wouldn’t accidentally lock themselves out of the building.
The smell from outside always managed to leach in, wafting down the halls, setting off the occasional smoke alarm.
The RAs would pitch a fit over all the propped doors, complaining they caused a security breach …
“Wait here,” I whispered.
“You keep saying that as if I have any other choice.”
I slipped out of the car as quietly as I could and crept around the back of it.
I ducked behind the trunk as another foul-smelling cloud blew through the open door.
I tiptoed closer and stood behind it, pressing my back flat against the bricks as the hand reached out again and stubbed out the joint.
The hinge hissed quietly as it began to close. I looked around frantically for something to wedge inside it. In a panic, I pulled off my jacket and shoved the sleeve inside the hinge. The door shut another inch, stopping just shy of the strike plate.
I waited, breath held, hoping whoever was inside hadn’t been waiting for the sound of a latch. When I didn’t hear anything, I peeked through the gap.
The dimly lit back room of the print shop looked like the inside of a small warehouse.
The walls were lined with metal shelves and stacks of boxes littered the floor.
I nearly jumped out of my skin as a figure crossed the room.
The man’s back was to me. He was wearing a sweatshirt.
His hood was drawn up over his head, and a set of keys jangled in his hand.
He disappeared through a swinging door into a brightly lit room full of copiers and printers.
The door swung closed behind him, muffling the drone of the machines.
A moment later, a door chimed, as if he’d left the building through another exit. I listened, my suspicion confirmed when I heard a car door slam somewhere in the front parking lot.
I hurried back to Officer Oates’s sedan and opened Vero’s door. She swung her legs out and wriggled to the edge of the seat, her cuffs clanking awkwardly behind her.
“Come on,” I said, helping her out of the car. “I propped the back door to the print shop. Whoever was in there left through the front.”
Vero planted her feet. “What if he comes back and catches us inside?”
“We have him outnumbered.”
“If you’re counting feet! How am I supposed to defend myself without using my hands?”
“You can talk him to death with your big, fat mouth. This might be our only chance to see what he’s been doing in there. Do you want to come in with me or not?”
“Fine, but let’s do it quick.” Vero followed me to the back door, and I freed my jacket from the hinge. I peeked inside to make sure the coast was clear, then I held the door open for Vero. She crept inside, took a quick look around, and jerked her head, signaling for me to follow.
I tiptoed in after her, wincing at the snap of the latch as the door shut behind me. I held my breath, waiting for someone to leap out of the shadows and catch us, but the sound was muted by the hum of machines in the next room.
We took a moment to check our surroundings. There was a small bathroom, a kitchenette, and an old ratty sofa in the far corner. A pillow and blanket had been stacked on the cushions. It looked like an employee break room.
“What’s that sound?” Vero asked in a low voice.
“Jackson must have left a print job running. He probably won’t be gone very long.” I gestured to the boxes of paper, inks, and photo-processing chemicals on the shelves behind us. “You check the shelves. I’ll look through the cabinets.”
“While you’re in there, see if you can find anything we can use to get these cuffs off me.”
I opened the first set of cabinets, skimming quickly through the bottles of ink, canisters of coffee, and assorted office supplies.
Vero nudged aside a stack of empty buckets and used a foot to drag a box out from under the lowest shelf. She knelt beside it, using her chin to lift one of the open flaps.
“Find anything?” I asked after a few minutes of searching.
Vero laughed. “Like a bag of money or a body in a shower curtain?” She stretched out her foot to snag another box. It scraped the floor as she dragged it toward her. “Got anything sharp over there? This one’s taped shut.”
I tried a few drawers and found a box cutter. I started to shut the drawer. A key fob slid to the front of it. I felt the color drain from my face, and my mouth went dry. “Vero? What kind of car does Jackson drive?”
“Probably a beater if he’s working at a place like this. I don’t imagine it pays well. Why?”
“Because there’s a key fob for a BMW in here.”
Vero hurried to my side and peeked over my shoulder at the fob. It was attached to a leather strap with a University of Maryland Alumni logo. Vero’s voice shook as she backed away from the drawer. “Got that box cutter?”
“Uh-huh,” I said, my knuckles tightening around it.
“Let’s find that money and get out of here before we have to use that thing to stab someone.”
I hurried to the box and sliced quickly through the tape. My hands shook as I pried open the flaps.
“Nothing. Just a few reams of paper,” I said, ready to close it.
Vero nudged me aside, leaning over it for a better look. “They’re pretty small,” she said, her brow wrinkling. She wasn’t wrong. Each bound ream was only the size of a brick. “Try that one, too,” she said, jutting her chin toward the box beside it.
I sliced into the next one and froze.
“What is it?” Vero asked.
It was hard to see in the dim light, but there was no mistaking the shape of the stacks or the Benjamin Franklins staring back at us. The air felt thin. “A lot of money.”
The hum of the printer in the next room stopped abruptly. I closed the box, throwing a protective arm over it and gripping my box cutter as a series of beeps came from the next room.
“I thought you said Jackson was gone!” Vero hissed.
“He is,” I whispered.
“Then who’s in here with us?”
“Nobody’s in here.”
“If nobody’s in here, then why are we whispering?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. A drawer slammed shut in the print shop, and the droning hum started again.
I stood up quietly, careful not to trip over any of the boxes or dollies as I crept to the swinging door I’d seen Jackson leave through.
I peeked through the clear plastic window at the top.
A massive printer was churning out brick-shaped stacks of paper in the corner.
Someone hovered over the machine, scrutinizing one of the printed sheets under a handheld magnifying lens, the kind a jeweler might use to inspect a gemstone or fix a clasp.
The printer jammed with a horrible shriek. The man swore as he knelt to inspect it. I retreated from the door and tiptoed back to Vero.
“Someone’s in there. We need to get those boxes back under the shelf and get out of here,” I whispered.
“We can’t leave without the money! I’ll hold the door open with my butt. You carry the money to the car. If he tries to stop us, stab him in the nuts.”
“We can’t take all that cash, Vero!”
“But it’s mine!” she whispered.
“Which is why we have to leave it here! If we’re caught with it, it will make you look guiltier than you already do! We’re going to put the boxes back where we found them and—”
A door chimed. Vero and I froze, our ears tipped toward the front room. A male voice rang through the print shop. “Jackson, I’m back! Where the hell are you?”
“Down here, fixing the feeder on this fucking machine. What took you so long?”