Straightening her shoulders, she pushed open the door and marched down the hallway, away from the phone room. She turned right where the hallway branched into the executive suite and the maintenance offices. The door to the storeroom was unlocked, and she pushed it open, reaching for the switch.

She was relieved to see several pallets of paper neatly stacked near the door and hurried in to pull a box from the top. Juggling the heavy cardboard box, she turned to leave when she saw George’s figure in the doorway.

“What are you doing in here, Lucy? You’re not supposed to leave the phone room.”

“I just came to get order forms,” explained Lucy. “There were none in the corner where they usually are.”

“You should have notified your supervisor,” George admonished her.

“I didn’t want to waste the time, George. Now, can I get by? I want to get back to work.”

“Let me carry that, Lucy. It must be heavy.”

As George took the box of paper, his fingers brushed against her breasts. “You know, in many ways you’re a model employee. And you’re very pretty, too.” George’s voice had become hoarse.

“Thank you.” Lucy smiled at him sweetly. “You know, George, my husband is six feet tall, and he pounds nails all day long. If I told him that you touched me, he’d beat you to a pulp. He would.” She nodded. “Shall we go back to the phone room?”

“I guess you can manage this box after all,” said George, thrusting it at her. His face was very red, and there were beads of perspiration on his brow. Lucy hurried off. But inwardly she shuddered, unable to forget the sickening feeling of George Higham’s clammy hands on her sweater.

Back at the safety of her desk, Lucy was suddenly exhausted. She answered the phone mechanically and couldn’t help keeping an eye on the clock. The calls dribbled in, and the clock seemed stuck at twelve-thirty. Finally, at one, it was time to go home.

As they were putting on their hats and coats, Ruthie looked over her shoulder uneasily. “I’ll tell you one thing,” she said. “I hope they catch whoever killed Sam Miller real soon. It feels creepy around here.”

“Ladies, don’t forget your paychecks.” George stood by the door with a handful of envelopes. Country Cousins had always followed the old Maine custom of paying on Monday. That way, the paternalistic mill owners had reasoned, the workers wouldn’t drink away their earnings over the weekend.