“Preparing their Monday class assignments,” I said, nodding.
“I hope they don’t grab the swimming hole,” Michael grumbled.
“I just hope they don’t recognize your car.”
We both burst out laughing at that, and were still suppressing the occasional giggle when we heard another engine.
The hulking shape of a large SUV turned into the parking lot and pulled up in front of the old factory’s front entrance. I couldn’t tell the make or color in the dark, but when its door opened, the dome light let me recognize the person inside.
“Carol,” I whispered.
We watched as she got out of the car, wearing a black-and-white warm-up suit and pink-and-white running shoes so clean they practically glowed, even in the near darkness. What the well-dressed amateur burglar will wear. She looked all around to see if she was being watched—a fairly useless maneuver when you’re the one holding a flashlight in the middle of an unlighted parking lot. Then she tiptoed over to one of the tall, multipaned windows that filled most of the front of the building. She glanced around again, and then pulled out the crowbar that she’d been unsuccessfully trying to conceal beneath the warm-up jacket.
“I’ve always wondered if this place had a security alarm,” Michael murmured.
“I haven’t,” I said. “I just figure we’re lucky it has four walls and a roof that doesn’t leak all that much.”
Carol looked up at the window. She could probably reach the glass with the crowbar, but climbing in would be a challenge.
Evidently Carol had done her homework. She returned to her SUV and hauled out a small stepladder. She set it up beneath the window and climbed up, so she had a much more comfortable angle for wielding the crowbar, and then she bashed in enough of the panes and surrounding window frame to create a hole large enough to let her enter.
“Okay, so either it’s a silent alarm or there’s no security,” I said.
“Let’s go,” Michael said.
“Hang on a second,” I said, tugging at his sleeve.
A few seconds later, the front door opened. Carol stuck her head out, looked around, and vanished inside.
“Now let’s go,” I said.
“Why would she do that?” Michael asked.
“Maybe she’s not just planning to inventory Gordon’s stuff,” I said. “Maybe she’s planning to haul stuff away, now that she’s found it. Why carry things down the ladder if you can just march right out the front door?”
We darted across the open space between the Dumpster and the front door and crept inside.
There was a small vestibule inside the door, and beyond it, an archway led to the cavernous three-story main body of the former factory. A light came on in the open area. Not a lot of light, but enough that Carol could spot us if we weren’t careful. Michael and I stayed in the vestibule and peeked out to see what Carol would do.
Chapter 38
The old factory building looked a lot different by night.
By day, and as long as the temperature wasn’t extreme, it wasn’t all that unpleasant. It had been built with great banks of windows, to save on lighting costs, which meant that during the day, natural light filled the huge central area. But now, with only a few widely spaced 25-watt bulbs providing light, it was uninviting. In fact, downright spooky.
I’d have turned on my flashlight if I wasn’t afraid of Carol spotting us. We waited to see what she would do.
Ahead of us, Carol turned on her own flashlight and started down the first aisle, waving the flashlight from side to side in what appeared to be a pointless fashion, until I realized that she was checking the bin numbers on either side as she went. As she swung the flashlight back and forth, huge chain-link shadows loomed up and subsided around us, along with a variety of other odd shadows, harder to identify and thus infinitely more sinister. Although they’d probably turn out to be odd bits of furniture and little-used skis and exercycles. I wondered, briefly, how much of the stuff at our yard sale had come from these bins or others like them; and how much would end up here after a year or so. Ah, well. Not my problem.
Following Carol would be tricky. The chain-link dividers provided security, but not a lot of cover. Here and there, a bin tenant with a more highly developed sense of privacy—or possibly something definite to hide—had hung curtains of some kind inside their bin, so you couldn’t readily see the contents. The curtained-off bins would provide a little cover, but not necessarily enough.
“Let’s go,” Michael whispered, as the light moved away from us.
“Not yet,” I whispered back. “She’s on the wrong aisle. She’ll figure that out any second now and turn around.”