The Third Club Asked Me To Work Beside A Locked Stairwell

I sent the false invoice to the insurer with my carbon copy and the barber's paid receipt.

Then I called the barber.

"Don't take my word for it," I told the claims worker. "Please call him yourself."

I had no room left for being believed as a favor.

The lawyer Rafael had named was Talia Saye. She met me at her small office near the courthouse. I paid an $1,800 deposit from my tax savings.

"This is more than a scrap dispute," she said after reading Dorian's letter.

"I noticed."

She studied the signed work order.

"Keep the original book here in my safe. Take scans. If anyone serves you with court papers, accept them and call me. Don't hide from a deadline."

She sent a short reply stating that removed materials were covered by a signed agreement and relevant evidence had been given to law enforcement.

She did not name the device.

Dorian called eleven minutes later.

"You brought a lawyer into a friendship?"

I wrote his words on a clean page.

"Send work questions by email."

"I gave you a chance, Aviva. Girls like you build a little shop and think they're something."

I marked the time.

"Send work questions by email," I repeated.

He hung up.

Rafael called about Orchard House that afternoon. It was a private events club west of town, with a kitchen, a cellar, and a separate storage building. Officers were checking the transfer sheet against other records.

"N.W. could mean Nessa Ward," he said. "It could also mean something else. We're not treating two letters as proof."

"My appointment is at four."

"You can cancel."

"Will someone be nearby if I go?"

"Yes. But nearby isn't the same as beside you."

I sat with that answer. Then I accepted only the outside sign work, with the yard gate kept open. The manager agreed by email.

I told Rafael I would leave if the terms changed.

On the drive, fields gave way to storage lots. A ditch carried a thin strip of water past dry weeds. I kept the windows up and the air blowing at my face.

The Orchard House sign was a red peach with a green leaf. Its lower glass stroke had cracked where a steel clip pressed too tight.

I knew that kind of break. Something had been asked to hold more than it could.

Lenora opened the yard gate.

"You work everywhere?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"So do you."

She pointed me toward the wall. The gate stayed open. A delivery driver was stacking flour sacks by the kitchen.

I set the signed order under a clip on my tool case. The yard address was printed across the top. Through the kitchen door, I could see a board listing meal counts for that day's staff.

Someone had added one supper at the bottom, then crossed it out.

I looked back at the sign. A meal count wasn't a person. I had to remember that. Fear could make a shape out of anything, and Nessa needed more than my fear.

I called Rafael to say I had arrived, then set my ladder.

The damaged tube came free without trouble. I could make its replacement at the shop. All I needed was a pattern and measurements.

Inside the open kitchen door, a man argued about a key.

"She gets water when I say," he said.

Lenora went still.

"Finish your drawing," she told me.

I bent copper wire along the peach's curve. My fingers left a small gap at the ends.

From somewhere below the kitchen floor came three hard knocks.

The man kicked the bottom of a closed stairwell door.

"Enough."

I put the wire in my case.

"I need to take this back to the shop."

"You just got here," Lenora said.

"The glass gets bent at my bench. You ordered a repair, not a portable glass shop."

She moved toward the gate. For one second, I thought she would close it.

Then the delivery driver came through with his empty hand truck.

"Truck's in the way," he told her.

She stepped aside.

I walked out with him. In my van, I locked the doors and called Rafael before starting the engine.

"There's someone downstairs. I heard a man deny her water. Three knocks. Closed door off the kitchen."

He asked whether I could see the gate.

"Yes."

"The search request is already with a judge. I'm telling the responding officers what you heard. Are you clear of the building?"

"In the van. Nothing behind me."

"Drive away. Go to the gas station we discussed. Officers are responding."

I did what he said. I bought a bottle of water I couldn't open. My palms kept slipping on the cap.

Twenty minutes later, Rafael called.

"Stay where you are," he said.

Behind his voice, I heard someone shout for a key.

Then came three heavy blows against a door.