Half where the audio surveillance worked poorly or not at all, but Maureen seemed to favor that one. Maybe because there was no video surveillance there. Maybe it was where she felt safest, possibly because the ice machine was so noisy. And maybe he was judging on too little evidence.
He thought about going to the Star Tribune before meeting Maureen, and sat down at his computer. He even went as far as Mr. Griffin, but there he stopped. Did he really want to know? To perhaps find out these bastards, these monsters, were lying, and his parents were dead? Going to the Trib to check would be a little like a guy wagering his life’s savings on one spin of the roulette wheel.
Not now, he decided. Maybe after the humiliation of the thermometer was a bit further behind him, but not now. If that made him a chickenshit, so be it. He turned off the computer and took a walk to the other wing. Maureen wasn’t near the ice machine, but her laundry cart was parked halfway down what Luke now thought of as Avery’s hallway, and he could hear her singing something about raindrops. He went to the sound of her voice and saw her putting on fresh sheets in a room decorated with WWF posters of hulking beefcakes in spandex shorts. They all looked mean enough to chew nails and spit out staples.
“Hey, Maureen, how are you?”
“Fine,” she said. “Back aches a little, but I’ve got my Motrin.”
“Want some help?”
“Thanks, but this is the last room, and I’m almost finished. Two girls, one boy. Expected soon. This is the boy’s room.” She gestured at the posters and laughed. “As if you didn’t know.”
“Well, I thought I’d get some ice, but there’s no bucket in my room.”
“They’re stacked in a cubby next to the bin.” She straightened up, put her hands in the small of her back, and grimaced. Luke heard her spine crackle. “Oh, that’s lots better. I’ll show you.”
“Only if it’s no trouble.”
“No trouble at all. Come on. You can push my cart, if you want to.”
As they went down the hall, Luke thought about his researches into Maureen’s problem. One horrifying statistic in particular stuck out: Americans owed over twelve trillion dollars. Money spent but not earned, just promised. A paradox only an accountant could love. While much of that debt had to do with mortgages on homes and businesses, an appreciable amount led back to those little plastic rectangles everyone kept in their purses and wallets: the oxycodone of American consumers.
Maureen opened a little cabinet to the right of the ice machine. “Can you get one, and save me stooping down? Some inconsiderate somebody pushed every damned bucket all the way to the back.”
Luke reached. As he did, he spoke in a low voice. “Kalisha told me about your problem with the credit cards. I think I know how to fix it, but a lot of it depends on your declared residence.”
“My declared—”
“What state do you live in?”
“I . . .” She took a quick, furtive look around. “We’re not supposed to tell any personal stuff to the residents. It would mean my job if anyone found out. More than my job. Can I trust you, Luke?”
“I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“I live over in Vermont. Burlington. That’s where I’m going on my outside week.” Telling him that seemed to release something inside her, and although she kept the volume down, the words came spilling out. “The first thing I have to do when I get off work is delete a bunch of dunning calls from my phone. And when I get home, from the answering machine on that phone. You know, the landline. When the answer-machine is full, they leave letters—warnings, threats—in the mailbox or under the door. My car, they can repo that any time they want, it’s a beater, but now they’re talking about my house! It’s paid off, and no thanks to him. I killed the mortgage with my signing bonus when I came to work here, that’s why I came to work here, but they’ll take it, and the what-do-you-call-it will be gone—”
“The equity,” Luke said, whispering it.
“Right, that.” Color had bloomed in her sallow cheeks, whether of shame or anger Luke didn’t know. “And once they have the house, they’ll want what’s put away, and that money’s not for me! Not for me, but they’ll take it just the same. They say so.”