Double Dimple

by N. C. Lewis

  Anxiety flashed across Augustine's face, then she spoke, "Yes, I guess you'd better be on your way." She rubbed her hands and paced. "The replacement should be here by now," she muttered as if to herself.

  "Who should be here?"

  Augustine paused, stared out into the distance, then explained, "Gratia Violeta was to visit this evening. We'd planned to look at a storage facility donated by Rita Lilly. You know Rita Lilly, don't you?"

  I did. Rita was the head of the wealthy Lilly clan and owner of the Lilly building in downtown Medlin Creek.

  "Unfortunately, Gratia had to cancel. While you were snoozing, I called around for a replacement. She should be here by now."

  "Who should be here," I quizzed, a little unclear.

  "Binti Howard; she works in Driftwood. I need to get back to Rita tomorrow morning to let her know which unit I want."

  Augustine pulled out a cell phone from her pocket, peered at the screen and let out a disappointed sigh. "Binti's car has broken down. What with all the traffic from the jazz festival, the tow truck won't arrive for another hour."

  While my mind thought about grading student assignments, my mouth asked, "Where is the new storage facility?"

  "In the warehouse district, not too far from here," she replied. She ran a hand through her hair. "Ollie, would you mind going with me? It would be invaluable to have a second pair of eyes. Probably take us less than forty-five minutes. You'd be home a little after seven p.m."

  I hesitated.

  She deployed a dazzling smile. "Ollie, I'd really appreciate your opinion."

  "Is there anyone else you can ask?"

  "Not at such short notice," she said, wringing her hands.

  I sighed. "So long as it's only an hour or so."

  Augustine let out a relieved giggle. "Don't suppose it will take that long. We'll take a quick look around and be in and out in a New York minute."

  Chapter 7

  Augustine climbed into the passenger side of the Tahoe.

  "This should be fun," she said, peering out of the windshield.

  The sun was low in the sky as we set off, a fiery, orange globe hovering just above the treetops. I cranked up the air-conditioning as we headed off to the east side of Medlin Creek—the warehouse district.

  On the main road we hit jazz festival traffic, a start-stop crawl along winding narrow lanes. After seven miles, we turned off the congested lane onto the highway that led to the warehouse district.

  As the creeping shadows of dusk announced nighttime we pulled into the car lot in front of the storage facility. A single rusted lamppost sent shards of light into the darkening sky.

  "Is this it?" I said, peering around.

  "Yep. The Lilly family bought these buildings, must be over ten years ago. Not much redevelopment happening in this part of town yet."

  "No kidding," I muttered, taking in the bricks, stone, steel, and an assortment of other debris that lay in disorganized heaps around the edge of the car lot.

  "Guess we'd better make the best of the fading daylight, look around, then go," I said, wondering which dilapidated building to visit first.

  "Oh no, no, no, we should wait," Augustine said as though she were confiding a secret, which maybe she was.

  "Wait, what for?" I responded.

  "Rita Lilly said the caretaker would meet us. He'll know which building she had in mind for our storage facility."

  I swiveled my head scanning the run-down structures. "This place has a caretaker?" I said doubtfully.

  "I'll text now," Augustine replied, punching words into her cell phone. "Hopefully our wait won't be too long."

  I kept the engine running, headlights on.

  We fell into silence, each staring out of the windshield. A flock of grackles circled overhead, fluttering down one by one to roost on the roof of a nearby building.

  After five minutes watching the sky gradually darken, I became impatient. "We may as well walk around now, make the best of the fading daylight. When the caretaker shows up, I guess we'll get the full tour. What do you say, Augustine?"

  She pursed her lips, shifted in her seat and brought her hands together forming a steeple. "Well, I don't know—"

  Before she finished, I had an idea. "Why don't you text the caretaker, let him know we're looking around. He can text or call us when he shows up."

  Augustine winced, trying to hide her expression, and winced again. "All right," she said at last, but her tone was half- hearted.

  She tapped a message on her cell phone, stopping every so often to glance out of the window. At last, she let out a sigh. She had sent the text. "Ready?"

  "Yep," I said, opening the car door.

  I had only taken two or three steps when something scurried past my feet. The furry ball moved with such speed I barely saw it. My head rotated toward the ground. There it was. A huge, dirty, gray rat!

  The rodent paused at a safe distance, sat on its haunches, whiskers twitching, dark eyes flashing with little flecks of yellow. There was something vaguely menacing about the way it watched.

  I pointed.

  "That's a big'un," Augustine whispered.

  "Hope it's not the runt of the pack," I muttered.

  "Mischief," corrected Augustine. "A pack of rats is a mischief."

  I didn't care. If there was more than one, it was a pack of rats to me.

  A sharp clang startled the rat, it was only the wind blowing a rusty tin can along the ground, but the rodent took off.

  By now we were in the yard and rounding the corner of a building. The storage facility was a maze of rectangular, brick buildings most of which were no larger than a small garage.

  The first unit was almost entirely in the clutches of dry ivy. Constructed of a dark brick with a roofline that sloped to one side, it had a large metal door. There was a place to add a padlock, but none was present.

  Augustine nodded toward a sign posted above the door. Large red letters on a white background read:

  NO TRESPASSING, VIOLATORS WILL BE SHOT!

  "Probably old," I said. I spoke with confidence, but my heart hammered against my chest. "Augustine, your new storage facility is probably just beyond that door, just a few feet away. All you have to do is pull the door handle and go inside."

  Augustine half turned, a smile on her face, but it did not reach her nervous eyes. She tried to force her right hand to move toward the door handle, but the authority of the sign weighed down upon her. She stood frozen, staring, her right hand shaking.

  Filled with frustration I stretched out my hand, grasped the handle, and pulled down hard. Just then, the grackles began to squawk, and squawk, and squawk.

  Augustine gasped.

  I stumbled backward.

  "Get away from there," an angry voice boomed.

  Chapter 8

  In the gloom loomed a shape, a figure. It pounded along the gravel, wiry and dark, the face partially visible through the last embers of daylight.

  It was Igor Langer!

  His eyes flickered with recognition. "Doctor Stratford," he said, looking from me to Augustine, "what are you doing?"

  "We're here to choose a storage facility for the animal shelter," Augustine interrupted.

  Igor gestured annoyance, his bushy eyebrows coming down until they almost obscured his protruding eyes. "A caretaker position pays little to nothing, and now I'm expected to show people around after nightfall!" Igor's voice crackled with annoyance.

  "Decided we'd walk around," I replied, a let's be friends smile pasted across my face.

  Ignoring my smile, Igor spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes sharp like steel sparks. "Told y'all to stay by your vehicle until I arrived." He let out a huff, stepped toward us, and said loudly, "Why did you disobey?"

  The man's attitude was annoying. "Are you going to show us around?" I asked, moving away from him.

  "Will you answer my question?" he replied in a gruff voice, a pent-up fury brewing behind his glaring eyes.

  "Rita Lilly
offered free storage space for the animal shelter," said Augustine, trying to change the subject.

  Igor wasn't buying. "Wait by your vehicle, that is what I said." Half turning, he pointed toward my SUV. "That means over there." He jabbed his finger toward the parking lot.

  A surge of annoyance pulsated through my veins. When I worked as a managing director of a large corporation in New York City, I used an authoritative tone to discipline errant employees. It always worked. I deployed that tone now.

  "Igor, I'm sure you know Rita Lilly is a personal friend of Augustine. Rita sent you to show us around, didn't she?"

  Igor's leathery face tightened, his eyes protruded, but he nodded meekly.

  Augustine joined the conversation. "I'll speak with Rita tomorrow morning. I'd like to tell her you did a wonderful job. That is what you want, isn't it?"

  Igor shuffled back several steps. He didn't look at either of us directly, and his bulging eyes somehow gave the idea he might explode in fury at any moment. But he half nodded, sighed, and sighed again. His rage broken, he reverted to his paid role as a docile servant of the Lilly clan. "Ladies, I will show you around."

  "Let's start with this unit," I said reaching again for the door handle.

  "No!"

  Igor's sharp tone caused me to jump.

  "No," he said again, this time softer. "These units are scheduled for redevelopment over the next twelve months. The units on the far side offer more permanent storage."

  Igor pointed out into the darkness. The outline of a building was barely visible, although, even at this distance and through the gloom, it appeared less dilapidated.

  I glanced at Augustine. "What do you want to do?"

  She folded her arms. "The shelter only needs a temporary storage space. I'm guessing three to six months at most." Augustine turned to Igor, smiled and continued, "Do you believe these units are suitable for our needs?"

  Augustine's words had the effect of a soothing medicine. Igor's tight jawline slackened, his eyes softened, and he rubbed his hand on his chin in deep thought.

  "Suppose so, for short-term storage. But, the other units are larger…" He took several steps back, tilted his head, and stared for several moments at the storage unit door. "Yes, a unit on this row might work for a few months."

  I placed my hand on the door handle. "Shall we go inside?"

  Igor paused for a moment, apparently in deep thought. "Oh, you won't want an end unit. They are usually the worse for wear. A center unit is much better."

  "Since we're here, why don't we take a peek at this end unit, and then you can show a middle unit for comparison," Augustine suggested diplomatically. Then she added, "It would help to hear your thoughts on the differences."

  Igor smiled, rocked back and forth on his heels. "Yes, that's what I was trying to say."

  I grasped the door handle and pushed.

  It didn't move.

  "Guess it's bolted from the inside," I said, shoving again.

  "Impossible! These units have exterior locks," Igor said, stepping toward the door. "Let me try."

  He grabbed the door handle, pushed, then pushed again.

  The door didn't move.

  "Put your shoulder to it," Augustine urged.

  Igor shoved hard, doubled over in a fit of coughing, and fell forward into the door. A sharp clang, a grating creak, and the rusty door swung wide open.

  We peered into a dark void.

  Igor flicked on a flashlight.

  "This way ladies," he said, stepping into the darkness.

  Chapter 9

  A moment later there was a slight click. Weak, yellow light glimmered from a low-wattage bulb.

  We stepped inside.

  The air, heavy with the scent of dust and mold, held one more unmistakable odor—decay. Igor broke out into another fit of coughing.

  I peered around, my eyes taking in everything: the oil stains on the concrete floor, the low, corrugated iron roof, the smooth cinder-block walls, and the low-wattage lightbulb dangling from the ceiling like a spider hanging from a thread.

  "Much smaller than it appears from the outside," I commented.

  Augustine took out her cell phone, the rapid click-click echoed like a shout in a valley. "A bit like Doctor Who's TARDIS in reverse," she said, peering at her photo's.

  "Doctor who?" asked Igor prodding a rusted bolt on the far side wall.

  "British sci-fi, kinda cult viewing," Augustine replied returning the cell phone to her handbag. "Love that show, but don't think this space is large enough."

  Igor huffed. "As I said earlier, this unit is too small for your needs."

  He hadn't said that, but we were too tired to argue.

  "Is that a door?" I pointed to the wall behind Igor.

  Igor half turned. Behind him was an entrance with a door painted in similar tones as the surrounding cinder-block wall. The hinges weren't visible, and the door was set flush against the wall without a handle, almost like a secret compartment in a rolltop desk.

  "Must be another room back there," I said, curious on why such a small space had a partition.

  Igor rubbed his chin. "These units have been more or less abandoned since the Lilly family took ownership." He placed his hands on his hips eyeing the door with suspicion. "Most units are single space."

  "May as well look inside," I said.

  "No, not worth it," Igor replied through narrowing eyes. "It's getting late. Let me show you some other units. You can make your choice, and we can all go home."

  "Good idea," I said, remembering the student assignments.

  Igor smirked. "Come on ladies, let's go."

  Augustine ran a hand through her hair. "If there is a back room…this unit might just work." She half turned and flashed a dazzling smile at Igor.

  Again, the bushy eyebrows almost covered his bulging eyes "Hmph…okay… I think I have a key." Igor reached for a keychain clipped to his leather belt. "This should do it," he muttered, picking out a long, thin key like those used in the Middle Ages to lock prisoners in castle dungeons.

  "Wonderful!" cried Augustine clasping her hands.

  Igor inserted the key. It made a rasping sound, followed by a sharp click as he twisted. He pushed, and the door opened slowly; his flashlight snapped on.

  The next instant, Igor stopped dead in his tracks.

  I gasped.

  And then I heard a scream that sounded hollow and far away. It was coming from Augustine.

  Chapter 10

  On the ground in the far corner, a crumpled figure lay next to a wooden crate. The figure was more skeleton than body. Its mummified face upturned, arms and legs stretched out like some giant starfish washed up on the beach.

  Igor let out a startled grunt, like that of a wild animal cornered by a trapper. Then doubled over in a fit of ear-splitting coughing. "Whooa…what…call," his words incoherent, jumbled.

  I recoiled, but my eyes took it all in—everything: the inhuman angle of the scraggy neck, faded tufts of long, dark hair, a flimsy mildew-stained dress of indeterminate color clinging tight to the torso, and the hollow empty stare of the sockets where the eyes once were.

  Augustine's trembling hand reached for her cell phone. She fumbled, pressing the wrong buttons. Click-click-click. It slipped from her grasp, clattered and skidded along the floor, coming to an abrupt stop by the large, wooden box beyond which lay the body.

  Augustine let out another terrifying scream.

  "Got it," I said. Without thinking, I stepped forward and stooped down to pick up her cell phone. Next to it was a folded sheet of paper with a ragged edge like a page torn from a journal. I snatched it up with the cell phone and held it close to my eyes. On the outside, someone had carefully printed the name, "Barbara."

  "What is it?" asked Igor, his voice wavering.

  "Not sure," I replied, slowly unfolding the paper. I read the few words on the single sheet, then read them again.

  "What's it say?" Igor asked, stepping forward.


  My hand trembled as I read it aloud. Sorry for the pain I have caused. This is best for everyone. I know you'll understand—Barbara Nadel.

  I carefully folded the note and slipped it into my pocket. Then with a quivering hand, I dialed the Medlin Creek Sheriff's Department.

  "Gonna be sick," Augustine wailed.

  Igor took her arm. "Let's wait outside."

  Before I left, I walked over to the mummified figure. Under my breath, with stomach churning, I whispered, "How did you end up here? And why?"

  Chapter 11

  Within minutes, a high-pitched wail disturbed the warehouse district's still night. Augustine's partially digested dinner spread on the gravel on one side of the unit and filled the air with a sour stench. She sat pale faced and drawn in the passenger seat of the Tahoe.

  Igor paced back and forth, muttering incoherently to himself. His eyes were in constant motion, darting from the open door to the Tahoe where Augustine sat, and then to me. As the wail of sirens grew louder, he appeared to become more agitated.

  The storage units suddenly bathed in flashing, blue lights seemed to set up some primeval fear in the man, for he slipped away into the night as an ambulance swung into the parking lot. It came to a stop where I stood.

  A tall, slender woman with close-cropped hair climbed out of the passenger side.

  "Where's the victim?" she asked in a soft voice.

  My mouth dry, throat raspy, I pointed at the unit's open door.

  The woman peered inside; the weak, yellow glow of the single bulb providing little aid.

  "There is a room at the back; the body is in there," I stammered.

  The woman half turned. "Mark, I need your help here."

  A plump man with a belly like Santa Claus climbed out of the driver's side. A bushy beard covered his entire face except the eyes which were dark and alert.

  "What have we got here?" he said.

  The woman nodded toward the end unit. He strode in, and she followed. Low, mumbled voices drifted out of the unit. The words were unintelligible, but the tone was crystal clear, no matter what language one spoke.