by Mary Bowers
We hunkered down and studied it, covering every inch of Fred’s condo, for the next half hour. Every now and then the fur on Bastet’s back would twitch, but for the most part, she behaved. Ed began to relax and get into researcher mode. After we’d been over everything twice, I had to excuse myself when I heard Coco and Patty coming back into the house.
“You can stay here and look at your data,” I said.
He glanced at Bastet. “No, I think I’d better go. Is it all right if I just go out the French doors here?”
“Oh, Ed. Can’t you even say a quick hello to them?”
“Perhaps I must,” he said. “Perhaps I must.”
* * * * *
“Well if it isn’t Mr. Dinky-Dover,” Coco said, homing in on him like a heat-seeking missile.
Ed recoiled, then stood his ground like a man. “Darby-Deaver. How do you do?”
“You remember Coco?” I prompted.
“And this is our friend Hemi,” Coco said.
“Oh, please, call me Patty. We’re getting past the point of using our little-girl nicknames, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I like being called Coco.”
“Well,” I said, “I don’t like being called Taters.”
Coco laughed merrily. “You’ll always be Taters to me.”
“I was afraid of that.”
Patty and I stood looking on while Coco manhandled Ed back toward the kitchen, slamming him with offers of coffee, tea, or how about lunch? Are you busy for lunch? Because I’m not, and I’m getting hungry, why, look! It’s past noon already. No? Dinner would be even better. Patty is ditching me for dinner, and I haven’t got a thing to do tonight. Are you busy tonight?
“I have a tremendous amount of work to do,” he said. “Tremendous. I’m starting a new investigation, as you may know, and I have a vast amount of data to collate. Vast. Pleasure to meet you. I’ll just be leaving now. Taylor. Er, Patty.” He faced the kitchen and girded his loins. “Myrtle.”
He was gone.
“Your little friend is so shy,” Coco drawled, coming back toward where I stood, looking bemused. “I find that irresistible in a man.”
“What don’t you find irresistible in a man?” I asked.
She didn’t even have to think about it. “Golf.”
* * * * *
We had a quick lunch at the counter in the kitchen. Myrtle kept eyeing Coco’s little ensemble with the diamond hairclip and the cork wedge sandals at the top and bottom and not much in between. Her ponytail still bounced the way it had when she’d been a teenager. We were all girlfriends together, apparently, and when we started telling her tales from high school, Myrtle did a little reminiscing of her own. She had dated once, when she was seventeen. I had to work hard to look like I wasn’t floored. Somebody named Frankie had taken her to the drive-in and the sock hop. But Myrtle’s dad hadn’t like him, and underneath those few words was a tragedy of some kind. We didn’t ask, and she didn’t elaborate.
I decided Myrtle was more complicated than I’d been giving her credit for. Not that I was going to let that change the dynamics of our running battles. I kind of enjoyed them.
After lunch, I showed my friends around the shelter and told them a little about the way things worked. It was a beautiful day, and we spent most of the time outdoors, enjoying the fresh air. But Patty could see I was preoccupied, and after a while she told me that if I had work to do, they understood.
“We’re going into Tropical Breeze,” she added. “Come on along if you want to.”
“No, you’re right. I’m behind in the office. If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here.”
They didn’t mind. They went off, and I went back to my office, to face my computer and Victor Pacetti, master of cyberspace.
* * * * *
The icon sat there at the bottom right of my screen, next to the little trash can, right where I’d put it. At least Victor hadn’t moved it around. He hadn’t deleted it, either. I had deleted it once, and he had put it right back. Since then I hadn’t bothered with it, but whenever I booted up, there it was, staring at me like a square red eye.
Bastet was still curled up on the desk, but she had turned around and was facing me. I found that reassuring. I gave her a look once I had the cursor positioned over the Recipes icon and she gazed back inscrutably.
I clicked the mouse, still gazing into the green eyes of Bastet, and in my peripheral vision I saw the screen change color. The recipes list was there, but the page had been redesigned. Now it had a pretty lilac-colored background. It took me a moment to realize why it looked so raw. The page was a throwback to the early days of the Internet, with nothing but bare-bones text on a solid-colored background. Not even a fancy scroll at the head of the list, and forget about graphics. The font looked like it had been done on an old 10-pitch courier typewriter. Cute. Victor must have been going through a nostalgic phase. The not-cute part was that it showed he’d been working on it since the last time I’d looked at it. He hadn’t forgotten me. He’d been in my computer, fooling around.
The recipe with the link to Victor was labeled “Pesky-tarian Grill.” I rolled down to it and clicked, and as before, there was no recipe there, just a snarky remark about my lack of talent in the kitchen, and a suggestion to click here for one-on-one tutoring. I clicked.
Bastet stretched her neck and sniffed at the keyboard, delicately and gracefully, then settled again, watching me while the contents of my computer screen melted down the screen and disappeared. I began to hear cheesy music, which I knew better than to mute. Victor thought it was an amusing touch, and he didn’t like me messing with it.
There was a message pasted across the screen: “Please Be Patient. Your Business is Important to Us. We’ll Be With You Shortly.”
The man must have some kind of Internet access surgically implanted in his arm. He’s always “on.” In less than a minute, he was there. He didn’t talk to me. He typed. Somehow, that made the whole thing even creepier.
“I’ve missed you, Taylor.” The music stopped. It gave me a sense of being trapped in a silent bubble.
I got right down to it and typed, “I need your help.”
“I live to serve. Still with Michael?”
That made me stop breathing. Victor was a good twenty years younger than me. He couldn’t possibly be interested in me that way. The very thought was terrifying. While I paused, he added, “Don’t be silly. I’m not stalking you. Just wondering how you are. Sincerely.”
I hit the keyboard furiously. “You monitor the Orphans website. You know darned well Michael and I are still together. He’s in half the pictures.”
“Now don’t get like that. I genuinely care. How’s Rita?”
Rita? Rita Garnett. A friend, from Tropical Breeze. I hadn’t talked to her in months. He knew her, of course. She’d been the Federal agent hunting him when he’d been committing cyber crimes. She lived in an old mansion in town, now that she was retired, and I was there when she first met Victor in the flesh. Something had happened . . . there had been a connection between them, and not fugitive and cop. I decided to take control of the conversation.
“Haven’t seen her. I’m investigating a murder.”
Before I could go on, he typed, “Of course you are.”
“What’s THAT supposed to mean?”
“What, you think I don’t know? You really know how to party, girl. Somebody actually dropped dead? Git down & boogie with Taylor, dudes and dudettes!”
I started to type, “It was NOT my party,” but stopped and hit the backspace button, taking it out again. Not relevant. “The guy who died had been snooping around. I saw his notes on his dining room table. I think it had to do with something going on at the condo development he lived in. Can you check somebody out for me? And get into some office files? I mean the ones on computer?”
“Are you kidding? Toys are meant to be played with. Most corporate data files are just toys. And prying into personal info is what the Internet was
invented for. Give me a name, and tell me what you want to know. I’m intrigued.”
“The condo development is The Anastasia Resort, and the name is Candy Cutter. She owns a condo there. Can you check on her personal history? Any aliases? Any husbands? Any arrests? Is she an heiress? And I need inside info on the Resort’s management. Any lawsuits?”
“Oh, come on, give me a challenge. Would you like to look at bank accounts?”
I stopped breathing again. That was going to be Stage 2 of the operation (if necessary), and in my mind, we were only in Stage 1. Still, the man was making an offer.
“Sure.”
“Anything special I’m looking for? Bankruptcy, fraud, late payments?”
“Yes. Stuff like that. Whatever you find that looks off.”
“Done. Now, when can we meet for coffee?”
I reared back as if he could reach through the glass screen and grab me. Before I could remind myself I was asking him for favors, I typed, “Never.”
“Heh heh heh. Still the same old Taylor. That’s what I like about you. No bullshit.”
“Sorry, but –”
Before I could finish typing, he came back with, “Nah, I get it. Just checking for a pulse. Have fun with your friends.”
Oh, lord. “What friends?”
“Coco and Patty. Saw it on Facebook. Tell Coco to stop calling Patty Hemi. No name for a lady. Patty seems nice.”
“I’m not on Facebook.”
“Patty is. Coco is too, but all she does is comment on Patty’s page. Patty’s got a life.”
“Coco does too.”
“Only if you can get her away from a mirror. Was she always like that?”
“I gotta go. Thanks.”
“Check back in an hour.”
An hour? I’d planned on giving him a day or two.
It was a few minutes before I realized I was sitting there staring at my normal Desktop screen with my hand over my heart. When I did, I pulled myself together, stroked Bastet all the way from head to tail, got up and went out of the office, hoping I hadn’t stirred up even more trouble.
Chapter 20
I left the computer up and went off to have dinner with Michael and Myrtle. We were having my favorite meal: leftovers at the breakfast bar.
After we finished eating, we sat for a while talking idly about the previous week over empty plates and full wineglasses. I tried to keep track of the conversation and act natural, but I kept going blank, or at least I must have looked blank. The wheels were turning wildly in my mind, but not about Coco and Patty, or even Fred Rambo. I was as aware of what was going on in cyberspace as if it were visible in the air around me, little packets of energy flowing across the Internet like blood cells in a network of veins. What Victor was doing was illegal. That wasn’t going to bother him, but it was bothering me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
So I kept coming up with non sequiturs, apparently, because Myrtle was giving me strange looks, and Michael was giving me worried looks.
Coco and Patty hadn’t come home yet, which was strange. Benny was supposed to have picked Patty up by then, but he hadn’t come either. I decided they were all adults and could keep track of themselves, but if they weren’t home in another hour, I’d start calling their cell phones.
Finally, Michael lifted his eyebrows at me, got a look of worry that he quickly smoothed away, and discreetly asked, “Are you finished in the office?”
“Uh, actually, no. I just need to . . . .” I couldn’t think of anything plausible to say in front of Myrtle.
Michael saved me, saying, “Go ahead. I know you’re busy. I’ll help Myrtle clean up.”
“Thanks.”
Myrtle didn’t even seem to notice, and I slid off my chair and headed for the office, closing the door and looking at the computer. It stared back.
After this, I told myself, I was going to keep a sticky note over the camera. I should have been doing that all along anyway, just on general principles, and especially with Victor lurking out there somewhere. But somehow, I’d just never done it – covered that eye that was aimed straight at me. I looked at it and wondered if Victor was looking back.
Bastet was still lying on my desk, to the left of the computer, and when I came in she stood up, circled nervously, then settled again, gazing at me over her front paws.
The question of whether or not Victor was looking through my computer’s camera was answered as soon as I sat down. Before I could even touch the keyboard, the screen images melted and Victor was there, typing at me.
“Who is this Candy Cutter?”
I did a double-take. Then I set my hands on the keys and typed, “She owns one of the condos. She was at the party.”
“She’s bounced around a lot. Married at 17, divorced at 22, no kids, never married again. No criminal history. One bankruptcy – business failure. Doesn’t pay her bills on time. Credit cards maxed out. The resort’s books have her account marked ‘legal.’ Three months behind in maintenance fees.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I sat back, thinking fast. Candy had apparently been looking for a sugar daddy after all. The story she liked to tell about a family fortune was just bragging. She wasn’t paying her bills. But if that’s why she was after Fred, why kill him? According to Michael, she’d tried to attract other men, and when they didn’t fall for her, she’d moved on. Maybe she’d created a little drama first, but Michael hadn’t mentioned any of her old flames dropping dead. While I was thinking, Victor was still typing.
“You’re right. Something funny is going on at that resort. Pattern is developing. Odd payments.”
“Odd how?”
“New vendor in the last 5 months. Redundant. Regular monthly payments, then a whopper week before last.”
“How big?”
“Monthly payments average $500/mo. Then, mid-month, a single $8,000 payment.”
“Who’s the payee?”
“Do condos need garbage haulers AND trash haulers? Aren’t they the same thing?”
“Don’t know. Could ‘trash’ be yard waste?”
“Nope. They have yet another vendor for that. Who’s running the show there?”
“Terri Jones.”
“She signs all the checks.”
“Wait. She was on vacation week before last.”
“So it wasn’t her. Who’s on her staff?”
“A silly girl named Darcy. Doesn’t look smart enough to embezzle. Or brave enough. What’s the name of the payee on the whopper?”
“New Era Haulers @ a P O Box. They’re in the system for monthly checks, but they already got paid this month. Any thoughts?”
I was thinking about trucks.
“Taylor?”
I blinked and put my hands on the keys again. “It’s complicated. New Era. Wow. How appropriate.”
“You lost me.”
“Even the dunderhead fits in.”
“The dunderhead?”
“Never mind. I think that check went for a downpayment on a big red truck.” I lifted an eyebrow. Jason was smarter than he looked.
“Nice. A worthy cause. I approve.”
“You would. Thanks for the info.”
“Keep me posted.”
Nuh uh. Wasn’t going to do that. But I did appreciate his help, and I told him so.
He stole away into the Internet again, and my computer screen returned to normal. I looked at the pad of small sticky notes I keep by my pencil cup and then looked at the unblinking eye, but decided to wait. Victor was doing me favors. I didn’t want to do anything to make him mad.
I got online and went back to reading the minutes of the homeowner’s meeting, this time in a new light, nodding every now and then. Fred had taken the floor for almost as long as Terri had. He wanted the landscapers fired, he wanted to know if management was buying new furniture for the time-shares out of the general maintenance reserve, and just to put a ribbon on it, he mentioned his suspicions that Jason was moonlighting.
C
andy was there, too, and she only asked one question: Why were the monthly maintenance fees still so high? The damage from the tropical storm had been repaired, and the “temporary” raise in the monthly fees hadn’t been lowered yet. She asked just how high the maintenance reserve had gotten, and was ignored.
It was all becoming clear to me. I sat there nodding.
I wished my suspicions had a little more substance, but I was getting very uneasy about the set-up over at the Anastasia Resort. Just at that moment, I didn’t think it called for action.
“No,” I said out loud. “Not yet.”
Bastet stood up and gave me a direct, unblinking look. Then she made a strange, talking noise, the kind cats sometimes make in that eerie baby voice they have. Bastet almost never vocalizes. The back of my neck tingled.
I was trying to sort out just what I could do about it when I heard Coco coming in the door. It was an excuse to shut the computer down, but before I did, I printed out the minutes of the homeowners’ meeting and set them aside next to the screen shots of the video that Ed had taken of the notes on Fred Rambo’s dining room table.
Chapter 21
When I went back through the great room, Myrtle was asking Coco if she was hungry. She was.
But she was much more disgruntled than hungry, and as I came forward and Myrtle fussed around preparing a special plate of food for her majesty, Coco told us why.
“Well, they’re off again. God knows where he’s taking her this time.” She fixed Michael with a beady eye. “Are you sure this guy Benny is all right?”
“He’s the nicest guy I know,” Michael said.
“Hmpf. Well, he’s all over Patty like a puppy with a new squeakie toy. Next thing you know, he’ll be chewing on her. The man’s becoming a pest. She texted him, letting him know we were shopping in Tropical Breeze and running a little late, and he texted back that he was nearby and he’d pick her up right there on Locust Street. Neither one of them ever even considered how I was supposed to get home.”
“He knew you two had a car,” I said. “You do have a driver’s license?”
Myrtle set a plate of food on the kitchen counter in front of Coco and gave me a disapproving look.