Page 33 of V is for Valentine
She set down the joint knife and tray and picked up her phone, scrolling through her music until she found a late-night jazz playlist. Nothing like a mournful sax to calm the nerves.
It took longer to finish the office than Felicity expected…or perhaps she was taking her time hoping, just hoping, that Danny dare drop in to take her to task. She was on the final wall when athunkcame from beneath her feet, the sound of Bertha kicking in, but instead of warm air drifting out of the wall vents a few seconds later, there was…nothing.
Felicity let her head drop back as her shoulders sank a good two inches.
Again? If she left the furnace off, the building would be freezing cold by morning.
She set down her trowel, picked up her phone with the instructions for resetting Bertha, and wound her way through the new hallways to the basement door. It was her second trip that day to bring Bertha back to life; however, it was a lot creepier descending into the nether regions of the old building at night than it had been during the day. When Danny had been there.
The furnace room lock was cranky and resisted the turn of the key until Felicity jiggled it just so and tugged at the proper moment. She hauled back on the heavy door, jammed the rubbery doorstop beneath it, and then snapped the string of the overhead lightbulb. Bertha sat silent just as she had earlier that day at the rear of the room that had apparently once been the custodian’s retreat. There was a padded office chair near the open washroom door, and a bank of four lockers lined the wall between the washroom and a closet. The room was cozy in an industrial sort of way.
Felicity let out a sigh as she approached the cranky furnace.
“You need to do your job, Bert,” she muttered as she headed for the control panel. “At least until the paint is dry. Ten days. Can you do that for me?”
She opened the control panel, then jumped as the heavy door began moving under its own weight, pushing the prop across the smooth concrete inch by slow inch. Felicity let out a half laugh, pressing her hand to her chest. If she were the nervous kind, she’d find the moving door unsettling, but she wasn’t. Much.
She ignored the door and followed the instructions on her phone, the last step being the red reset button which she confidently pushed with her forefinger. Nothing. She pushed it again, harder, then jabbed at it until she heard the sounds of life emanating from Bertha’s metal interior.
Crisis averted.
For now.
Behind her, the door clinked shut, having completed its slow arcing journey across the furnace room floor. She reached for the handle and pulled. The door refused to budge.
Auto lock. Interesting.
She pulled her keys out of her jeans pocket and slid the blue master key into the slot beneath the handle and turned—or rather, attempted to turn. Frowning, she pulled the key out, made certain it was indeed the correct one—the blue master key—reinserted and twisted, first lightly then with more force.
Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she jingled the key and tried to turn it again, feeling the ominous twist of metal in her hand as the key began to bend.
Really?
She let her forehead drop forward until it met the heavy metal door. What were the odds?
Do not be a defeatist.
She raised her head and stepped back to study the door. If she had the proper tools, she could perhaps knock the pins out of the hinges. She went to the bank of lockers and opened each in turn, discovering a pair of coveralls, a library of paperback books, and nothing else. A quick check of the tiny washroom and closet was equally disappointing, although there was a decent supply of paper toweling if she needed extra when painting. She knocked her fist against the last locker and a hollow bank echoed through the room.
She had no tools.
But she did have her phone.
She could call her sisters, but Danny had the only other set of keys to the building, so that would do no good. She could call the city engineer at home and explain that she was the victim of a vindictive door. Or she could man up and call Danny to get her out of there using whatever means possible.
Except she didn’t have his number. Why didn’t she have his number?
Pizza. He’d said they were going to pizza, and there was only one pizza place in town. She scrolled through her phone until she found the contact number for Pizza Bob.
Her hand squeezed the phone in her pocket as she looked around the room. The sole window was high on the wall, only inches below the ceiling, and she may or may not fit through it. To get to the window, she had to have something to stand on that was taller than the old office chair, and even if she did have something to stand on, the idea of getting stuck in a narrow window frame on a cold night did not appeal.
She let out a defeated groan and pulled the phone out of her pocket.
Score one for karma.
*
“So you twowere rivals?” Sandra asked as she sipped her drink. The pizza was gone, and it was almost time to call it a night, but neither of them made a move to end the evening. Danny wasn’t in the mood to return to his parents’ empty house, and Sandra seemed no keener to return to her rental.
