Debra Miller offered a short laugh and glanced over Judy’s shoulder to the design on the light table. “I think I’m the last to leave, except for you. What are you working on?”
Judy actually scrambled in front of the desk, blocking Debra’s view. “It’s, ah . . . just . . .”
Debra looked around her, her lips stopped smiling. “The Santa Barbara Performing Arts Center?”
Oh, God. She wasn’t supposed to be working on this. In fact, no one knew she even had the specs for the place. Was she overstepping her limitations as an intern?
“I’m just playing. It’s nothing I’ve been asked to do, Mrs. Miller.”
“It’s Ms.,” she corrected while she moved to Judy’s side and stared at the design. If it was anyone other than Debra Miller, Judy would have shoved in and kept her from viewing an unfinished design.
“Oh, sorry. Ms.” Flustered, Judy started to fidget.
“Don’t be. The Mr. to my Mrs. was an ass**le.”
Judy let out a nervous laugh.
“What’s this?” She pointed to a pop-out design for the sound barriers that often hung over the main auditorium in performing art centers.
“Acoustic panels that drop from the ceiling.”
Ms. Miller pointed to the main drawing where the ceiling didn’t show the panels, but instead held the vaulted expanse seen in any of the California missions up and down the state. “Why aren’t they here?”
“They’re portable.”
Judy lifted the drawing to show one below that demonstrated their use. “My brother—”
“Michael Wolfe? The man who drew production to a halt on Monday?”
“Uhm, yeah. Sorry about that. He’s not in town very often.”
“It’s OK, Judy. I’m just sorry I wasn’t here to meet him.”
Phew. Why was her heart beating so fast?
“So, your brother . . .”
“Right.” The room felt ten degrees warmer. “Mike always complains about auditoriums that are meant for live theater hosting concerts, or concert halls that attempt live theater not having the right acoustics.”
“What do you mean?”
Judy pointed to the stage. “During a concert a band will have stacks of speakers amplifying the performers. Yeah, a good sound guy can work with what the auditorium has to offer, but most are used to big empty spaces without the aid of vaulted ceilings and acoustic panels of any kind. There are a couple of outdoor concert venues in Santa Barbara, but not many indoor ones. I’d think that any performing arts center that houses five to eight thousand people would be ideal for concerts.” Excited about her design, Judy forgot to be nervous and she kept rattling. “A performing arts center should always keep in mind the perfect balance for stage performers. Yeah, they wear a mic now, but most stage actors understand about projecting their voice and if an auditorium can hold in the sound of a single voice on stage . . . nothing captures the attention of an audience more. It’s magical.”
Judy flipped back to the top drawing.
“Having the panels there when they’re needed, and gone when they’re not . . . I think it might make this the best choice for all kinds of entertainment. The panels themselves can be redressed to set the mood. Lighting can be used for effect.”
Ms. Miller flipped through her design a second time. “How long have you been working on this?”
“About a week. Mainly at home . . . for kicks.”
“For kicks?”
“Sure. Helps keep up some of the skills I learned in school that haven’t been put to use yet. It’s exciting. Isn’t it?”
Ms. Miller stared at Judy for a long minute. “I’m trying to remember if I was ever in love with design as much as you appear to be.”
“I do love it. I think an artist might feel the same way when they place a brush to a canvas.” She looked down at the design. “Even if the end result isn’t beautiful for anyone but the artist, the journey is worth the effort.”
Ms. Miller offered a half smile. “Well, Judy who is drawing up an entire project just for kicks. I want to see this design when you’re done.”
The air stood still. “Y-you do?”
“I do. I’m not going to lead you on. I think some of the elementary design ideas are just that, juvenile. Your insight on the building, however, is thought-provoking and worthy of a second look.”
“It is?”
Ms. Miller gave her a full smile now. “It is.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Judy. This has to continue to be a side project for you. It wouldn’t bode well to give an intern something like this when I’ve had junior architects working for me for half a dozen years that never get off the strip malls.”
Judy gave an enthusiastic nod. “Got it. Thanks.” She extended her hand to shake her boss’s.
Ms. Miller left her standing with a slack jaw and giddy excitement swimming up her spine.
Judy turned toward her stack of papers and did a full-on happy dance. She turned in a full circle and her eyes fell on the clock. Six twenty. “Oh, shit!”
She rolled up her plans, shoved them into the tube used to transport the large drawings, and scrambled to leave the deserted building. Halfway to the elevators, she realized she didn’t have her purse. She ran back to get it.
The parking lot was practically empty. The low ceilings and dark lighting never bothered her when she walked to her car during the day. Abandoned, it felt isolated.
Judy reached into her purse and removed her cell phone to check the time. She was so late. Rick would just have to wait.
What sounded like a coin hitting the concrete floor behind her had her jumping at the noise. Two cars, several yards apart, sat at the far side of the lot, closer to the elevator. She knew she was probably just being paranoid, but the feeling of eyes on her made her walk backward for several steps before she turned around.
The hard body of a man stopped her. Before she could look up, he had an arm around her throat and was pulling her into the deep shadows of the parking lot. The tube holding the plans dropped to the floor and rolled away.
Terror stunned her, kept her from all cohesive thought.
She struggled against him and opened her mouth to scream. Meaty fingers clamped over her mouth.
“Shut up, bitch!”
This isn’t happening. Oh, God.
“You’re not so tough now, are you?” She felt his breath, smelled something minty.