Page 71 of D for Dead

It didn’t.

It’s probably someone touching up their lipstick, she rationalised, but it bothered her she didn’t hear them enter the stall, didn’t hear the sound of the faucet running or the click of a lipstick tube.

She held her pee, her breath; waited silently.

There was no noise coming from the other side of the stall, yet she’d heard the footsteps enter the bathroom. And they hadn’t left.

Who is there?

She was tempted to call out a ‘hello’, but stopped herself. People did shit like that in the movies and it usually got them killed.

This isn’t a movie, Amy. It’s real life.

Several long seconds passed. Amy could feel her bladder ache. This was stupid. She couldn’t stay in here until someone came looking for her.

Yes, you can.

Angell, Hickok or Peterson would soon notice she was missing.

But what if they don’t? You need to see who is there.

More seconds ticked by, the sound of the band in the bar was muted, reminding her how far away help was. The only close sound was the thump, thump of her heart.

Look under the door.

Amy glanced at the floor, wondered how many times it had been pissed on or barfed over, then at the gap at the bottom of the stall door. The idea of putting her head down there was gross, but she had to know. Slowly she eased herself forward, holding her hair back with one hand so it didn’t brush the floor. She was low enough to be able to see the row of washbasins.

A shriek had her losing her balance and she fell forward, the palm of her free hand smacking the sticky floor.

The door creaked again and two sets of feet entered the bathroom, both wearing stiletto heels. The owners were giggling and chatting excitedly about a couple of guys they’d hooked up with.

Feeling stupid, Amy picked herself up, quickly peed and got out of the cubicle before they left.

She glanced around the bathroom, looking for the source of the original footsteps, but it was only the three of them.

The two women who’d entered were in no hurry. They were still applying make-up and swapping details, barely affording her a glance, as she rinsed and dried her hands.

Still shaken, she left them to it, pushing open the restroom door and walking headlong into Officer Peterson, who was waiting outside.

‘You should’ve told me you were going to the bathroom,’ he scolded. ‘I’m not supposed to let you out of my sight.’

‘Someone came into the restroom. I heard footsteps.’

‘It was just me, Miss Gallaty. Checking everything was okay.’

‘Oh, okay.’ Now Amy felt stupid. She had overreacted.

Get a grip.

Forcing a smile for Peterson, she hurried back to the bar.

* * *

Seeing Amy return, Fran deposited her tray on the counter and leant over to retrieve her cigarettes and lighter.

‘I’m taking my break,’ she called to Gage.

He nodded, not bothering to look up as he filled two glasses with margarita.