Chapter Seventeen
‘So … good weekend?’ I say, leaning against the doorframe of Elsie’s office on Monday morning in an attempt to look both friendly and casual and like I don’t have ulterior motives related to suspicious freezer meat.
The Coroner’s Office does DNA testing and we have a daily FedEx pickup pile in Elsie’s office.
She’s sitting behind the desk in her usual high-collared white shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail with her trademark black bow.
I just have to find a way to sneak the sample into the pile for expedited testing.
‘Fine,’ Elsie says, then turns back to her typing.
‘Do you have time to, uh, help me with a thing?’
She flicks her gaze my way. ‘No.’
OK. So she’s not up for being my gal pal. But it was a long shot.
My phone vibrates – it’s Arjun, with the name of the gallery he helped Zoe get into, and the direct phone number to the owner, Simon.
Score. I’ll text him later and see if I can get an appointment.
There’s also a text from Liam last night that I haven’t answered.
Everything ok? Sorry I fell asleep on you.
Lmk when you’re home safe? And another from half an hour ago.
Hey, I really enjoyed our time together.
You free tonight? I still have those chocolate cakes …
But back to the issue at hand: getting Elsie to leave her office.
‘Well, it’s not for me,’ I continue. ‘It’s Bill.
He told me to ask you for this old death certificate.
’ I happen to know the oldest ones are not digitized, but are sitting in bankers boxes in a storage room in the basement.
‘It’s for Beatrice Miller, from fifteen or twenty years ago?
’ It’s a made-up name. A time range long enough that she’ll have to check multiple boxes and move shit around to do so.
She won’t find it. But it should keep her occupied for at least fifteen to twenty minutes …
Her eyes become lasers. ‘Bill needs this?’
‘He said it’s urgent.’
‘Let me talk to Bill.’ She picks up the desk phone.
‘No!’ I shout. ‘Bill is on the phone with, um, a detective. Something about a subpoena? He said not to bother him for the next hour. He said to give me the paperwork, once you find it. It’s for a thing I’m helping him with.’
I’m fully aware this will come back to bite me if Elsie mentions it to Bill, but that’s a problem for Future Margot.
‘I’m not sure if you know this, but you have really bad dark circles under your eyes,’ she says.
We stare at each other for a full five seconds – but I’m not breaking first.
‘Fine.’ She stands and shoos me out of her office.
And then, before my disbelieving gaze, she follows me out and locks her office door behind her.
‘I’ll be back,’ she says in a tone that leans toward threat rather than promise, and gives me a piercing glance before walking off down the hall.
Wow – that girl does not trust me. And you know what?
That’s fair, considering I just lied to her face.
The second she’s disappeared, I jiggle the doorknob just in case luck is on my side.
It’s not. Fuck. Why didn’t I watch some YouTubes on picking locks after my failure at Liam’s?
Aren’t credit cards supposed to work? I plunge a hand into my purse, my fingers brushing the meat baggy as I search.
Got one! I slide it into the door and pump it up and down in the crack.
Nothing happens. Next, I pull out that used and abused hairpin swimming in the bottom of my bag and stuff it into the hole.
Come on. I jiggle, then jiggle more aggressively – and the door clicks open.
Oh my God, I’m a lock-picking genius!
But no time to celebrate my newfound skill – I quickly step inside and shut the door.
Within seconds, I’m at Elsie’s computer.
At a quick glance, everything is organized into meticulous folders.
I open the one marked Coroner Forms, and quickly find one called ‘Request for Testing.’ I print it out and check ‘DNA testing,’ adding a quick scrawl in the Comments: Need to know if this meat is human or animal.
I check the surcharge box for expedited forty-eight-hour testing, only slightly cringing at the extra $300 which hopefully no one will notice when the bill hits – but that doesn’t matter.
Finally, I write in my email address to receive results.
My hand is shaking; I hope it’s legible.
Time to package it up. I pull the baggie out of my purse with a full-body shudder.
Even though I froze the meat again as soon as I got home last night, it seems to have defrosted again on the way here, and pinkish liquid has accumulated in the corners.
It probably smells at this point. I’ll be mouth breathing until further notice.
That’s when I hear footsteps outside the door. Form in one hand, baggie in the other, I dive under the desk.
The door opens. I quiet my breathing. Whoever is there doesn’t seem to move for a minute. Then, I hear a voice.
‘Where is she …’ It’s unmistakably Bill. Looking for Elsie, obviously. Shit. If he looks for her in the basement, the jig is up. He closes the door behind him, and I hear his steps getting further away.
I’ve never moved faster in my life. I stuff the meat baggie in a FedEx envelope along with the testing form, praying it won’t leak on the way.
Should’ve double bagged it. Then, it’s back to the computer.
Thankfully Elsie’s username and password are saved on the FedEx account.
With trembling fingers, I hit ‘Create Shipment,’ pound in the recipient address, then pick overnight delivery and hit print.
The label spits out of the printer, and I cram it into the plastic pouch on the envelope, which is lumpy with the squish of its contents. Thankfully, there’s a pile of FedEx packages and envelopes going out. I bury my envelope at the bottom of the pile and pray for the best.
I’ve just shut the door to the office behind me when I see Devin walking toward me. He saw me coming out of her office …
‘Ready to roll?’ he says, seemingly unbothered by my rapid exit from Elsie’s space.
‘Roll?’ I say with a weak laugh.
‘You haven’t checked your schedule yet? We have another in-home pickup.’
I smile bigger than what is probably appropriate for someone about to go pick up a corpse. Because this is actually perfect. By the time Elsie comes back up, I’ll be gone. Possibly fired, too, but I can’t worry about that now. I guess Future Margot has her work cut out for her.
Then, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out. Simon! Perfect. I scan the message.
Hello, Margot! I’m happy to open up the gallery to any friend of Arjun’s. Can you stop by tonight around 6pm? The artist you mention is familiar to me. And the timing of your text is also very interesting, since a painting of hers just showed up. Let me know if 6 works for you.
What? I re-read the text just to be sure I understood it.
A painting of Zoe’s just showed up. How? Her studio space was ransacked – are the thieves trying to sell her work?
I type out a quick confirmation to say I’ll be there, but have to backspace a few times, because my hands are shaking.
‘Everything OK?’ says Devin.
‘Yes. No.’ I finally shoot off the text and look up. I’m not sure what to think. I’m not sure what to feel. All I know is, this could be the first big breakthrough in the case. ‘One of Zoe’s paintings just showed up at a gallery out of the blue.’
‘Holy shit,’ breathes Devin, running a hand through his hair.
For once, we both agree. Holy shit is right.