Frank said, “I’m looking for a sweeper. I need something that’s at a professional level, something with a high RF sensitivity.”
“All right. We keep that kind of thing in the back. Give me a second and I’ll bring a few models out.”
Gavin turned to Frank. “What do you need that for?”
“Look, I’m done messing with you. This isn’t about Angela. It’s about that Web site.”
“Listen to Yourself.”
“That’s the one.”
“So what are you doing?”
“I read the Web site last night. Lots of posts but it’s hard to know exactly who is speaking. Except we know for sure that the Shaws’ conversation was recorded because Mr. Shaw admitted that he’d said everything that was put onto the Web site. I’m going to ask if the Shaws will let me do a sweep, see if we can find some hidden transmitter or something.”
Gavin seemed interested. “So you think that someone is going around planting these things and then listening in on the conversations?”
“I don’t know. But we’ve got to start somewhere.”
Corbin returned to the front counter and beckoned them over. He set an armload of boxes down and arranged them in a line. “Here’s what we got. I’ll start with the top gun of the bunch.” He opened a box and pulled out a machine about as big as a toaster. “This, my friends, is the CF-900. It has total RF spectrum coverage and can locate audio transmitters as low as 1 MHz. It’s got a built-in audio filter, search and/or monitor mode, LCD bar graph, and full carrier current detection.”
Frank lifted the machine, looking it over. “All I want to know is, will it pick up bugs in a sweep.”
“You betcha. If it’s in there, it’ll find it.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five hundred, normally. But it’s on sale for a hundred dollars off today.”
Frank set it down.
Corbin continued. “This is what the professionals ask for. Same brand as what the FBI uses.”
“Over my budget. You got anything cheaper?”
Corbin pointed to the box at the end of his line. “Got that thing. A miniature battery-powered scanner for five hundred.”
“That sounds better,” Frank said. “A little.”
“You’ll be lucky if this thing picks up a fax machine,” Corbin said, handing the box to Frank.
Frank decided on a different approach. “Have you seen a recent interest for listening devices here at the store?”
Corbin smirked. “Is there love and jealousy in the world?”
* * *
“Dad? What are you doing here?”
“Surprise!” Damien smiled and opened his arms.
Hunter just stood there, blinking.
Damien lowered his arms. Surprising Hunter in elementary school got a way better reaction. “Hey, I just thought I’d take you out for lunch today.”
“Oh.”
“What? Don’t want to go to lunch with the old man?” Damien tried not to look as insecure as he suddenly felt.
“Um . . .”
“You got plans or something? A cute girl?”
Hunter grabbed his arm and swung him around, pushing him out of the office. “Yeah, fine. We can go to lunch. No big deal.”
“Great!” Damien wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulder as they walked out the front door of the school. “So how’s your day going?”
“Fine.”
“Tell me something, anything.”
Hunter cast him a forlorn look. “It’s eighth grade. The highlight of my day was that we had a sub in calculus.”
“You have calculus in eighth grade?”
“Yes, if you’re an honor student.”
“Right.”
Inside the car it was mostly quiet. Outside, the high school was letting out for lunch. Kids yelled and hung out the windows of their cars, blaring their horns at one another. Damien headed for Mack’s Ribs. He reached between the console and pulled out a piece of paper. “Brought you my new puzzle. We’ll publish it next week, but I thought you’d like to take a crack at it.”
“Pretty Amazing is the theme?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” Hunter studied it for a moment. “Twenty-two across is too obvious. It’s Pamela. As in Anderson.”
Damien smiled. “Yep.”
“Two down. Desirable Berry.” He scratched his head. “Halle?”
“Wow! You’re good.”
Hunter shook his head. “This is weird. You’re, like, doing all hot women?”
Damien swallowed. It was strange to hear his baby boy say “hot women,” but he kept the smile on his face. “Try some more.”
“Simpson, without googly eyes . . . seven letters.” Hunter laughed. “Jessica?”
“You’re good. I thought I’d made it more difficult.”
“So you sat around today and thought of nothing but hot women?”
Again, the “hot women” remark made him clench his jaw. “Well,” Damien said slowly, “I am a, um, man. And men do like . . . hot women.”
Hunter was in a full-fledged stare now. “Is Mom on here?”
“What?”
“Are you having an affair?”
“What? No! No! Why would you think that?”
“Because not once in my whole life have I heard you say ‘hot’ and ‘women’ in the same sentence. You don’t even use those words. You tell Mom she’s beautiful.”
“It’s just a . . . I thought—” Damien stopped himself. “Okay, look, I haven’t really ever had the birds-and-the-bees talk with you.”
Hunter’s eyebrows shot straight up. “Dad! Yes, you did. Wait . . . no, you didn’t. Mom did. She bought a picture book that explained it all. I was nine. It came with a coloring book.” He glued his gaze to the road.
Damien took a breath and tried to remain cool. This was much harder than he anticipated. Were the windows fogging up? “I know that you know ‘technically’ how it all works, but there are some other things you need to know, things that every father should teach his son.”
Damien noticed Hunter’s knuckles turning white as he gripped the denim on his jeans. Maybe he was going about this wrong. At the time, a crossword puzzle seemed like a good way to broach the subject of how women and hormones and all that could be, well, puzzling. But things seemed to be backfiring. Quickly.
“What I’m trying to say is that I’m here for you if you ever need to talk about anything. Anything at all, even if it’s difficult or you think it’s wrong. Whatever it is, I’ll listen. Okay?”
Nothing. No reaction.
“What I mean is that you know right from wrong because we took you to church. That’s what I’m trying to say. Not that you’re doing anything wrong. Are you?”
Hunter finally looked at him. “We haven’t been to church in, like, two years.”
“Well, we’ve been busy and you’ve had soccer tournaments on the weekends and all that. Hunter, just hear what I’m saying. If there’s something you need to talk about, I’m here for you.”
“Maybe I could talk to Uncle Frank.”
That stung. But he trusted nobody more than Frank. “Sure, buddy.”
Hunter let go of his jeans. “Yeah, okay. I get it. Thanks.”
Damien turned into Mack’s. “Now, let’s dig into a big ole slab of meat!”
Hunter smiled. “Can I get double ribs?”
“Definitely.”
They walked in and sat down at a table near the window. Hunter gazed out for a little while, then apparently got bored with the view. “So what’s going on at work?”
“Just trying to get this investigative reporting down.”
“I heard a cat got hung.”
“The news is making its way around, is it?”
“Gossip travels fast.”
“You hear anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Kids talk. We’re trying to figure out if the neighbors did it.”
“No, I didn’t hear a
nything.”
“What about this Web site I showed you the other day? Anyone talking about that?”
Hunter shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard.”
Suddenly Damien got an idea. He leaned forward. “Edgar wants me to check this whole thing out. The Web site. Try to figure out where it’s coming from. You can do that, can’t you?”
“You mean hack into it and try to find the host and therefore find the person responsible?”
“Can you do that?”
“I can try. It’s not easy. Or, um, legal.”
“How about after work, I’ll join you upstairs, and we’ll see what we can dig up.”
Hunter pitched a thumbs-up.
11
The succulent smell of pork chops wafting into the dining room did nothing to add any ambience to the chilly atmosphere at the dinner table. Kay brought in scalloped potatoes and returned to the kitchen for the rest of the food. She wasn’t in the mood for the moods. Not today. But she faked a smile and returned to sit with her family. If she couldn’t have the happy family, the next best thing was the illusion of one.
“Pork?” Jenna moaned, leaning over the platter. “What is it with you and pork? Do you know how fattening this is? And then you have the carbs with the potatoes.”
“It’s a lean cut of pork,” Kay said, serving Damien and then Hunter. She tried not to focus on the paper-thin T-shirt Jenna wore. It barely covered her stomach. “It’s high in protein. It’s not like I’m serving up bacon here.” She stabbed the last chop and plopped it on Jenna’s plate. The sauce splattered onto her shirt.
“Mother!” Jenna barked, grabbing her napkin.
“It was an accident,” Damien said, handing Jenna another napkin. “Calm down. It washes.”
Jenna glared at Kay as she furiously scrubbed her shirt. “I’m not hungry,” she said and started to rise from the table.
“No ma’am,” Kay said sternly. “Sit your rear end back down right now.”
All movement froze, Damien holding the scalloped potatoes, Hunter with a big bite of pork bulging in his cheek. Jenna’s glare cut through the steam coming off the lima beans. But she finally sat, grabbed her knife, and started sawing at her pork as if she intended on murdering it had it not already been dead.
Kay cleared her throat and passed the bread basket. “Hunter, how was your day?”
“Good. Dad came to eat with me.”
Jenna looked up briefly, studied her brother for a moment, then went back to her food.
“Yeah, I’m going to need Hunter’s help for my first investigative piece. Edgar wants me to do some digging, see if we can figure out where that Web site about Marlo is coming from.”
“What Web site?” Kay asked.
“It’s called Listen to Yourself. Apparently it’s recording private conversations of the citizens of Marlo.”
“Are you reading it?” Jenna stared at Damien.
“Not for pleasure, no. But it’s a little eerie. And newsworthy. Not to mention illegal if the person doing it is indeed eavesdropping.”
“Or maybe it’s more like Robin Hood. You know, stealing from the rich, giving to the poor.” Hunter shrugged. “Except with words.”
“That’s stupid.” Jenna’s attention returned to Damien. “What kind of stuff’s on there?”
“Just weird, random conversations. Some are harmless and some are . . .”
“Are what?” Kay asked.
“Well, damaging. You two haven’t heard about this?”
“No,” Kay said. She looked at Jenna. “Have you?”
Jenna continued eating one lima bean at a time.
Kay watched her daughter for a moment, trying to read that mind of hers. When she was little, she’d worn every emotion on her sleeve. She became glassy-eyed at a moment’s notice if something didn’t go her way, or anyone else’s way for that matter. She had the biggest heart, always concerned for other people, including her little brother, who often made her life difficult if not embarrassing.
Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the emotions were gone and in their place, nothing more than sulky, disapproving expressions that went no deeper than the gobs of makeup she smothered her face in. She had the most beautiful freckles sprinkled across her nose, but they hadn’t seen the light of day since she’d discovered a high-priced foundation that promised to cover up all flaws. So what once had been a bright sign that summer was here was now like a shameful secret that was not allowed out.
Kay really missed those freckles. And so much more. Jenna was like a whisper of who she used to be. Friends told Kay not to worry. Jenna would come out of it one day. It was what you were to expect with a teenage girl. But Kay had never expected it to be like this.
And then there was the way she’d suddenly started dressing. Sleazy. That was the only word for it. She hated to say it, but it was true. Cleavage when at all possible. Jeans tight and low. Shirts flimsy and revealing. Damien didn’t seemed concerned, but Kay knew what it meant.
Kay cleared her throat and focused her attention on Jenna. “Hey, so who are you hanging out with this year? I haven’t heard you talk about anybody in particular. What about the girls on the cheer club? Zoey. Caydance. What about Madison?”
“Just because I cheer with them doesn’t mean I have to hang out with them,” Jenna said.
Damien added, “What about Natalie? She used to be a good friend.”
Jenna’s gaze darted from Kay to Damien as she stopped chewing. “What is this, twenty questions?”
“We just like to know who your friends are,” Damien said, his voice kind in tone like it always was with Jenna. Kay, for some reason, could never quite find the right tone.
Jenna sighed, picking at her dinner roll. “Yeah, fine. Natalie. We still hang out some.”
Kay lowered her fork. “You do?”
“What? You don’t approve of Natalie now?”
Damien frowned. “Nobody said that. Natalie’s a perfectly fine—”
“She’s not.”
Everyone stopped and looked at Kay.
“What I’m trying to say,” she said, forcing a calm tone on top of a tight smile, “is that Natalie seems troubled.”
Jenna placed her fork onto her plate and put her elbows on the table just like Kay hated. “What are you talking about? No, she’s not.”
“I’m just hearing some things—”
“What things?”
“Her mother is . . . well, there’s some trouble at home and—”
“So what? That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with Nat. Her parents are screwups. But it’s not fair to say she is.”
Damien held up a hand to each of them. “We’re not saying that. Not at all. I think you’re reading what your mom is saying wrong; isn’t she, Kay?”
Kay bit down hard on her lip, casting a measured look at Damien. “I think that she should be careful when choosing friends. Sometimes kids can act out when their parents are going through something and can be bad influences on other kids.”
Jenna gripped the edge of the table. “So you think Caydance and Zoey are good examples?”
“They seem like nice girls.”
“Do they. Hmm.”
“And Madison in particular. She’s a straight-A student.”
“So let me get this straight. You want me to hang out with Caydance and Zoey and Madison because they’re popular and straight-A students, and you don’t want me to hang out with Natalie because her parents are weird.”
“That’s not what your mother is saying,” Damien said, shooting Kay a look that said stop talking. “You’ve always chosen your friends wisely. We don’t question that at all. I think what your mother is trying to say is that if Natalie becomes a bad influence, think twice about hanging out with her.”
Jenna took in a deep breath, looking the slightest bit relieved. “May I be excused now?”
Kay started to stop her but Damien said, “Of course. I’ll get the ice cream out later.”
; “Yum. Ice cream. That’s all I need, more fat on my hips,” Jenna growled, throwing her napkin onto the table. She disappeared up the stairs.
“Can I have her pork chop?” Hunter asked.
Damien scooted the plate toward him but stared at Kay. “What was that all about?”
“What? I’m just trying to figure out who she’s hanging out with.”
“It seemed like you already had an opinion about whom that should be.”
“Don’t give me the third degree on this. I happen to know the mothers of those girls, and it’s better for us if we know the parents of the girls she’s hanging out with.”
“She doesn’t seem to be a big fan,” Damien said, continuing with his meal.
“Well, sometimes at this age they don’t know what’s best. Can’t you see what’s happening with her? Didn’t you see her shirt tonight? Papier-mâché thin.”
“You know Jenna. She’s never been drawn to the most popular girls. Even when she was younger, she was able to choose quality over quantity. I think we should trust her on this one.”
Kay looked down, everything on her plate suddenly unappetizing. “She just can’t see . . .”
“See what?”
The doorbell rang and Damien scooted his chair back. “I’ll get it.”
Kay watched him go around the corner to the door, then looked at Hunter.
But Hunter didn’t look back. “May I be excused?” he asked and didn’t wait for an answer. Before she knew it, she was totally alone.
The table, overcrowded with dishes and plates of uneaten food, caused her to push away and leave the room. She wandered to the office, where a bright screen saver of a rolling hillside greeted her. With one click she was on the Internet. Ten seconds later, she was immersed in a dark world of insinuation and accusation, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
She searched for anything that could be about her.
* * *
Damien smelled her before he even opened the door. That was some kind of dousing to be able to instantly kill the smell of pan-seared pork chops. He braced himself for the overwhelming scent of jasmine and the intrusive eyes that would undoubtedly focus on him.
He’d once complained to Frank that Angela wore too much perfume. He made that mistake only once.
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