hand, the idea of spying on someone so uptight only added to the anticipation. He had a feeling that under that plain dress was something brief and lacy.
She drank a soda, smoked a cigarette, and fidgeted on the chair, glancing occasionally at her watch. All of a sudden Eddie realized that she was waiting for someone. He jumped at the sound of the door knocking, just as she did. Then she got up, stepped into her shoes, and let the guy in.
She and the visitor did not even shake hands, much less embrace. The man edged past her as if reluctant to make any contact with her.
Shit, Eddie thought, as the guy sat down on the other stiff chair. I haven’t got all night to see if this thing warms up. The phone rang and she walked over and picked it up while her visitor, his arms folded across his chest, looked disapprovingly around the room.
Disgusted, Eddie backed out of the closet, quietly shut the connecting door, and walked back through room 171. He started to let himself out of the room when an old couple came walking down the corridor. His impulse was to duck back inside, but he reminded himself that there was nothing suspicious about what he was doing. Then he remembered the light bulbs. After letting himself back inside, he picked up the bulbs and looked at his watch. He’d really have to hurry to get these replaced before his shift. The hell with it, he thought. It would give him a good excuse to come back down later on. This guy had to leave sometime. And she had to take her clothes off sooner or later. The night was still young.
Chapter Nine
“You just keep a lookout. Make sure nobody’s coming,” said the man. “And turn off that flashlight until I tell you.”
Obediently the woman clicked off the switch and scanned the empty parking lot, still lit by halogen lamps, in the predawn darkness.
The man lifted the rear door of the station wagon, grumbling as he hauled out overstuffed plastic garbage bags and dropped them to the ground with a thud.
“I don’t think your mother threw one goddamned thing away in forty years, Jean,” he said.
The woman ignored him. She’d been listening to this for three days now. They’d just put her mother in a nursing home, and now she and her husband, Herb, were cleaning out the family home so they could sell it. Herb had made a number of trips to the county dump, but it was half an hour’s drive away. They’d been supplementing their wholesale trash removal with late night and early morning drop-offs in the open Dumpster bins behind some of the local stores. So far they’d put stuff into this particular grocery store’s Dumpster three times without being caught. Jean felt as if they were pressing their luck, but Herb was getting tired of that drive to the dump.
“Throw in the appliances first,” she whispered. “Then we can cover them up with the bags.”
Herb lifted an ancient, grease-encrusted broiler over from the back of the car. “Why in the world did she keep this?” he cried. “We gave her a microwave two Christmases ago. This thing probably hasn’t been fired up in ten years!”
“I don’t know, honey,” said Jean, trying to be patient. She couldn’t blame him for complaining. It was a big job, and he’d been working like a trooper. And she had to admit, her mother had been a compulsive saver of useless items. “The Depression mentality, you know,” said Jean. “I guess she thought she might need it sometime.”
With a sigh, Herb lifted up the oven. “Okay,” he said. “Shine it in there.”
Jean climbed up on the lower rim of the Dumpster and pointed the flashlight on the piles of loose, rotten produce and broken boxes inside. On top of the pile was an overstuffed black trash bag. “We’re not the only ones doing this,” she observed.
“Just hold the light steady,” Herb said, wrinkling his nose against the smell. He tossed the rotisserie over the side of the Dumpster. The sharp comer of the broiler oven snagged on the bag below
She drank a soda, smoked a cigarette, and fidgeted on the chair, glancing occasionally at her watch. All of a sudden Eddie realized that she was waiting for someone. He jumped at the sound of the door knocking, just as she did. Then she got up, stepped into her shoes, and let the guy in.
She and the visitor did not even shake hands, much less embrace. The man edged past her as if reluctant to make any contact with her.
Shit, Eddie thought, as the guy sat down on the other stiff chair. I haven’t got all night to see if this thing warms up. The phone rang and she walked over and picked it up while her visitor, his arms folded across his chest, looked disapprovingly around the room.
Disgusted, Eddie backed out of the closet, quietly shut the connecting door, and walked back through room 171. He started to let himself out of the room when an old couple came walking down the corridor. His impulse was to duck back inside, but he reminded himself that there was nothing suspicious about what he was doing. Then he remembered the light bulbs. After letting himself back inside, he picked up the bulbs and looked at his watch. He’d really have to hurry to get these replaced before his shift. The hell with it, he thought. It would give him a good excuse to come back down later on. This guy had to leave sometime. And she had to take her clothes off sooner or later. The night was still young.
Chapter Nine
“You just keep a lookout. Make sure nobody’s coming,” said the man. “And turn off that flashlight until I tell you.”
Obediently the woman clicked off the switch and scanned the empty parking lot, still lit by halogen lamps, in the predawn darkness.
The man lifted the rear door of the station wagon, grumbling as he hauled out overstuffed plastic garbage bags and dropped them to the ground with a thud.
“I don’t think your mother threw one goddamned thing away in forty years, Jean,” he said.
The woman ignored him. She’d been listening to this for three days now. They’d just put her mother in a nursing home, and now she and her husband, Herb, were cleaning out the family home so they could sell it. Herb had made a number of trips to the county dump, but it was half an hour’s drive away. They’d been supplementing their wholesale trash removal with late night and early morning drop-offs in the open Dumpster bins behind some of the local stores. So far they’d put stuff into this particular grocery store’s Dumpster three times without being caught. Jean felt as if they were pressing their luck, but Herb was getting tired of that drive to the dump.
“Throw in the appliances first,” she whispered. “Then we can cover them up with the bags.”
Herb lifted an ancient, grease-encrusted broiler over from the back of the car. “Why in the world did she keep this?” he cried. “We gave her a microwave two Christmases ago. This thing probably hasn’t been fired up in ten years!”
“I don’t know, honey,” said Jean, trying to be patient. She couldn’t blame him for complaining. It was a big job, and he’d been working like a trooper. And she had to admit, her mother had been a compulsive saver of useless items. “The Depression mentality, you know,” said Jean. “I guess she thought she might need it sometime.”
With a sigh, Herb lifted up the oven. “Okay,” he said. “Shine it in there.”
Jean climbed up on the lower rim of the Dumpster and pointed the flashlight on the piles of loose, rotten produce and broken boxes inside. On top of the pile was an overstuffed black trash bag. “We’re not the only ones doing this,” she observed.
“Just hold the light steady,” Herb said, wrinkling his nose against the smell. He tossed the rotisserie over the side of the Dumpster. The sharp comer of the broiler oven snagged on the bag below
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