Little Secrets(62)

The laundry room is in the “bowels” of the building, which is the nickname Tyler assigned the basement, not because it stinks, but because it’s dark, damp, and you’re happiest when you’re coming out. Also, it’s spooky. The basement is kept dimmer than the rest of the building, and there’s a long hallway from the stairwell to the laundry room, filled with shadows and strange clanking noises that make her nervous. Once again she feels her skin prickling with the sensation of being watched, but when she turns around, there’s nobody there.

The laundry room itself, at least, is brightly lit. She darts inside, exhaling when the door shuts behind her. There’s a washing machine free at the far end, and she empties the contents of her bag into it and sticks her Coinamatic card into the pay slot. The little light beside the card reader flashes red. It’s supposed to turn green.

“Shit,” she says.

The digital display shows a card balance of two dollars. It’s $3.25 for a regular wash, which means she’ll have to dash back upstairs to get her credit card to reload it using the Coinamatic machine in the corner of the room. But her Visa and MasterCard are both maxed out, and she hasn’t used Derek’s cash to pay them down yet. And of course none of the machines accept actual bills. Sometimes technology sucks. You can’t even do basic things without a credit card these days.

“Shit,” she says to herself again, trying to decide on the best course of action.

“A little short on funds?” a raspy voice says, and she nearly screams.

She whirls around to find Ted Novak, the superintendent who lives on the first floor, standing behind her. She didn’t notice him come in, or hear his footsteps as he crossed the laundry room floor toward her. He doesn’t appear to be doing much of anything, and he’s holding nothing—no phone, no hamper, no fabric softener, no keys. He’s simply standing there, staring at her, like a fucking psychopath.

She doesn’t like Ted. She’s never liked Ted. From the day she moved in, he’s given her the creeps for reasons Kenzie can’t quite articulate. He doesn’t say or do anything inappropriate. He doesn’t make suggestive comments or tell offensive jokes. He doesn’t leer. But when you’re talking to him, there’s … something missing. A light in his eyes that should be there but isn’t. If he smiles, which is rare, it doesn’t feel genuine. And if he laughs—which is even rarer—the sound is canned, almost forced, like he’s only doing it because social protocol dictates that he’s supposed to, even though he doesn’t exactly understand what’s funny.

“I need to reload my card.” She starts backing up toward the door. She almost says, Be right back, but catches herself in time. What if he waits for her?

He moves closer to her, pulling something out of his back pocket. His Coinamatic card. “Here. Use mine. Save you the trip back up and down the stairs. You can reload when you come back down to dry.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t—” she says, but he’s already removed her card and stuck his into the slot in its place. The light turns green and the screen shows a balance of nearly a hundred bucks, the maximum.

“Go ahead.” Ted steps aside. “Choose your cycle.”

There seems to be no choice but to go with it. If it were anyone else, she would have been grateful for the neighborly gesture. But it’s not anyone else, it’s Ted, and she’s painfully aware that a pair of her pink lace panties are sitting right on top of the pile of clothes in the washer. She jabs at the button for the normal cycle, then slams the lid shut. The washer starts.

“Thank you.” She forces a smile. “I owe you three twenty-five.”

She attempts to move past him, but Ted is still standing in the same spot, and he doesn’t budge.

“No worries,” he says. Then he smiles, a second too late, and it looks as forced as hers feels. “Maybe give me a coffee sometime if I come into the Green Bean. What days do you usually work?”

No way in hell is Kenzie telling him anything about her work schedule. She hates that he even knows where she works at all, and she’s not even sure how he found out.

“We, uh, we get in trouble at work if we give people free stuff.” It’s half a lie. They only get in trouble if they get caught, which they don’t, because they all do it. Hell, giving free coffee to your friends is half the fun of working there. Favors curry favors. But Ted isn’t her friend. “I’m happy to stick the money under your door.”

“That’s not necessary, Kenzie,” he says, and his dead eyes reveal nothing. She can’t tell if he’s being friendly, or if he’s insulted that she won’t tell him when she’s working. She doesn’t like that he calls her Kenzie. It makes it seem like they’re friendlier than they actually are. He should call her McKenzie, if he calls her anything at all. “We’re neighbors. We should help each other out. Besides, I’m older than you. If we were, say, dating, I would always pay, right? That’s what you like, right? Older men who pay for everything?”

Kenzie stares at him, but he just stares back. It’s impossible to tell if he’s being serious. He doesn’t blink, and his voice is devoid of inflection. She doesn’t know whether she should laugh off what he said, react indignantly, or ignore it.

“Thanks again, Ted.” With no other choice, she takes a big step to get around him, and hurries out of the laundry room, grateful her long legs can take the stairs two at a time.