Page 64 of The Tenant
“You don’t want to come in today? Fine. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow either.”
“Kenny—”
“We’ll mail you your things. Goodbye, Porter.”
And then he hangs up on me.
He fired me. I can’t believe it. Actually, Icanbelieve it, because I’ve been phoning it in recently, even when I did show up. I can’t even hold down a temp job.
He’ll let the agency know I’ve been fired. And then what? I don’t know. I suppose they’ll find me another degrading job. I’ll definitely need to sell the brownstone.
Somehow, Whitney is behind all this. I just don’t understand why or how.
I focus my attention back on the laptop screen. Telmont High School. It’s still morning, so they will almost certainly be open if I call. This is something I can do.
I punch the ten digits into my phone. Immediately, it starts ringing. I grip the phone, my palm suddenly sweaty. I don’t know what I’m doing exactly, but I have to start somewhere. I need more information about Whitney Cross, and this is as good a place as any to begin.
After a few rings, a pleasant-sounding woman picks up on the other line. “Telmont High School,” she chirps.
I clear my throat. “Yes, hello. My name is…John Sanders. I’m considering hiring a candidate for a job, and I’m trying to track down a copy of her high school transcript. She told me that you might be able to send it to me.”
“Yes, I could certainly do that,” the woman says cheerfully, “although we would need a signed release from the student.”
Damn, I had a feeling she might say that. “Actually, we faxed that over this morning. Didn’t you get it?”
To my relief, she laughs. “Oh, probably. We got a stack of faxes this morning, and I still haven’t gone through them all. I’m sure it’s in there.”
“It definitely is,” I assure her.
In the background, I can hear her tapping on a keyboard. “What is the candidate’s name?”
“Whitney Cross.”
The tapping abruptly stops. “Whitney Cross?”
“That’s right.”
“Whitney Cross applied for a job?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
On the other line, I can hear the sharp inhale of her breath. “Maybe it’s not my place to say so, but…”
“What is it?”
“If Whitney is applying to work for you, I would highly recommend you pick another candidate.”
I grip the phone tighter. “Why?”
Her voice drops several notches. “Whitney Cross—she’s extremely dangerous. If I were you, I would stay far away.”
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Whitney Cross is extremely dangerous.
That is information that would have been helpful to knowbeforeI let her move into my home.
“Dangerous?” I squeak out.
