The Chosen

use.

Then where’d that thunking come from?

Not the pantry—that would be impossible. Nonetheless, she pulled on the door’s metal latch—

And found it locked.

Another impossibility. The hasp on the door hung open. No padlock. Which could only mean—

Locked from the inside?

There could be no other answer, which made no sense at all. How on earth could anyone get into the pantry if it was locked from the inside? And who could possibly unlock it?

Unless…

Shit! her thoughts shrieked. She heard a quick rattling now—from behind the pantry door. This is crazy! she thought, ducking madly behind the service line.

Someone was in the pantry…

Squatting, she peeked over the stacks of gray bustrays beneath the cold line. Sure enough, the pantry door opened. Someone walked out, whistling some twangy C&W tune. Vera spied jean-clad legs and typical slip-resistant workboots. But from her low vantage point, she couldn’t see who it was.

“Goddamn it,” a voice muttered. “What a fuckin’ mess.”

Vera recognized the voice at once:

Kyle.

Next she heard a quick clang, as though Kyle were rummaging for a steel mixing bowl or carry-platter. Then the booted feet tracked back to the pantry. Vera risked giving herself away when she raised her eyes over the top of the cold line and peered across the walkway. It was only a glimpse: Kyle carrying some pan-pots back into the pantry cove. Yes, it was definitely Kyle, all right.

With just one incongruity—

He’s…bald, Vera dumbly realized.

Had he shaved his head? Had he been wearing a wig all this time? One or the other had to be true. But—why? Vera wondered.

And as he disappeared back into the pantry, he pulled the door to it behind him. Vera, finally, was in luck.

When the door closed, it didn’t catch.

Wait, wait, she ordered herself from her squat. Don’t move. Don’t get up yet. Wait and see if you hear the—

th-thunk

Then: the motor drone.

She knew now before she even entered the pantry herself. There was an elevator in there—another elevator that no one knew about. She couldn’t imagine a reason for this, but now she felt determined to find out.

She skirted in. As expected, at the end of the pantry stood a closed elevator door. Along the walls were shelves full of marinade buckets. A reach-in fridge lined the other wall, and through its glass doors she saw typical dinner preps in trays, kabobs, meat rolls, and lots of steaks, though she didn’t recognize the cuts. She hadn’t even been aware of this particular refrigerator, nor could she guess why it had been hidden in the pantry.

None of that, however, was the point. Right now only one thing interested her: