Kristi did the same, handing the girl who had cleared the tables a percentage of her tips. She and Ezma walked out of the restaurant together. The night was clear and cool, the air crisp as Kristi climbed into her Honda and Ezma slid onto the seat of her moped and strapped on her helmet. A few seconds later, the motor bike was humming out of the lot.

Kristi started the car. Though she usually walked to work, today she’d been late, so she’d driven the short distance. Before she put the Honda in gear she tried calling Dr. Grotto again and was immediately asked to leave a message on his voice mail. Kristi didn’t bother—the guy already had two from her. Obviously he wasn’t picking up his calls or he was singling her out and ignoring her. Nah, that didn’t make sense.

She drummed her fingers on the wheel and decided if she didn’t hear from him by Monday she’d have to do a sit-in at his office, force him to talk to her. There were also the Internet chat rooms. Maybe she could test the waters with DrDoNoGood, if he showed up. Flirt with him, pander to his ego. So far she hadn’t turned on the video cam on her computer, preferring anonymity, but maybe it was the only way to reach him. She could buy a cheap wig, colored contacts or glasses. She had to do something to get the creepy professor to start a conversation with her.

Shoving the hatchback into drive, she nosed out of the parking lot. Gunning the engine, she drove ten miles over the speed limit on the way home. She was anxious to gain access to the storage unit containing Tara Atwater’s things.

Maybe she would finally learn something about the missing girl.

She parked in a hurry, running up the steps to her apartment. Inside, she quickly stripped off her work clothes and tossed them into her laundry bag. She also threw in two packets of detergent, the bolt cutters, and a flashlight, then stepped into jeans and a sweater. After slipping on a pair of tennis shoes, she started on her mission.

She was nervous as a cat, her stomach knotted as she descended two flights before unlocking the door to the basement and snapping on the wimpy lights.

At night the cavernous room below the building was even more formidable, the nooks and crevices more shadowy and dark. None of the washing machines were agitating, nor the dryers heating and spinning.

Good.

Carefully, certain someone would walk down the dark stairs at any second, Kristi removed the bolt cutters and set them on the floor near the wire storage bins, then she sorted her clothes quickly and started two of the washers.