“Yes, but would Ted call him that?“ Michael asked.
“Good point. Anyway. The Hacker – are we agreed that he's Luis?“
“Right,“ Michael said.
“The Voyeur – that's Roger, because of the porn sites.“
“Hey, remember the blackmail note the police found in Rob's office?“ Michael asked. “Maybe that wasn't intended for Rob at all.“
“You mean, maybe the reference to naked pictures was about Roger's porn site?“ I exclaimed. “I like it!“
“Any chance Roger might also be the one who programmed Nude Lawyers from Hell?“
“Roger?“ I echoed. “No way.“
“Why not?“
Good question. I'd answered off the top of my head, and I had to think about why not.
“It's too nice,“ I said, finally. “There's something about it that's… I don't know… witty. Charming. A certain sly intelligence. And if Roger has an ounce of wit, charm, or intelligence, I'll eat one of his CDs.“
“Makes sense,“ he said. “So go on with the list.“
“The Ninja,“ I continued. “Mata Hari. The Bodice Ripper. That's Anna Lloyd, whoever she is. She may not even be at Mutant Wizards.“
“Or Anna Lloyd could be a pseudonym for someone you know. Maybe your friend Liz has a secret second life as a romance writer?“
“Doesn't seem likely to me. Getting back to the list: the Valkyrie.“
“Perfect for Dr. Lorelei, as you guessed,“ Michael said.
“And what if the blackmail note wasn't to Rob or Roger, but to her,“ I suggested. “What if Ted found some compromising pictures of her and her boyfriend?“
“Or took them, if they're getting up to things at the office.“
“Exactly,“ I said. “I like that idea a lot. Anyway, getting back to the list. The Luddite. Professor Higgins. And last but not least, the Iron Maiden. If you ask me, that's more likely to be Liz.“
Michael laughed. “You said it, not me.“
“I like her, but she grates on a lot of people. I'm sure she did on Ted, for example. And the note beside the Iron Maiden says, 'Still no angle.' I remember someone saying, the last day or so, how miffed Ted was that he couldn't get anywhere with Liz. What if what they thought was his trying to ask her out was his trying to blackmail her?“
“It's possible,“ Michael said. “Or maybe the payment he wanted wasn't in cash.“
“That's true,“ I said.
“Here's another interesting one,“ I said. “Beside the Ninja it says 'xxx pix.' Do you suppose that means the Ninja has something to do with Roger's porn scheme?“
“Seems possible,“ Michael said. “Is there anyone who seems particularly friendly with Roger?“
I pondered for quite a few expensive long-distance moments.
“Not really,“ I said at last. “I think of him as just hanging at the edge of a group, not exactly ignored, but tolerated, just barely. When I was a kid, we had an old dog who smelled so bad no one really wanted to have him around, but it wasn't really his fault, so you couldn't exactly chase him off. You just put up with him and hoped he'd go away eventually. That's how everyone treats Roger.“
“So if you notice someone who puts up with him more than most, maybe that's the Ninja.“
“Good point,“ I said. “I'll keep my eyes open.“
Wrong thing to say, I thought, glancing at the clock, and then trying instantly to forget what I saw.
I yawned, reached to cover my mouth, and then changed my mind and covered the mouthpiece of the phone. I didn't want Michael ordering me off to bed before we finished talking.
“Three fairly definites and two possibles,“ he was saying. “And didn't you say the list had some entries that seemed to indicate they weren't caving in?“
“Yes,“ I said, rubbing my eyes and scanning the list. “The entry on the Bodice Ripper says, “Not ready to tackle yet.“ And beside the Emperor it says, “No response.“ And Professor Higgins apparently said “Go to kell.“ I'd say he hadn't bit everyone yet, and also had struck out a few times. It'll take time to figure out what some of the abbreviations mean, but only about half of them were actually paying blackmail, I think.“
“So if they're not paying blackmail, maybe once we know who they are we can strike them off the suspect list.“
“No,“ I said. “Once we know who they are, I think we need to pay particular attention to the ones who wouldn't pay.“
“Why, if they didn't care enough about whatever secret he'd uncovered to pay blackmail?“
“Maybe someone cared too much, and didn't trust Ted to keep quiet, even with the blackmail. Maybe someone didn't pay because he planned to kill Ted. We need to worry about that, too.“
“I am worried about it,“ Michael said. “What's with this 'we' stuff, anyway? I'm in California, and can't exactly be much help, and you shouldn't be doing this anyway.“ *
“I'm crushed. I thought you shared Dad's admiration for my amateur sleuthing skills.“
“I do. I think you've uncovered some important evidence here,“ he said. “But if you're right, and Ted was killed because he was blackmailing someone, what makes you think that same person will react calmly if you unmask him as the killer? Or her. Don't take any chances. You need to turn that printout over to the police.“
“I will, of course,“ I said. “Tomorrow morning.“
“Good.“
“After I've made a copy of it.“
“Oh, good grief.“
I sighed. It was too late, and I was too tired for yet another argument over my taking too many chances.
“Michael, don't worry so much,“ I said. “I'm not going to confront someone and accuse them. I'll let the police do that. But I'm certainly in a better position than they are to try to figure out the real names of the people on the list. I'm there at Mutant Wizards all day.“
“What if some of the people on the list aren't at Mutant Wizards?“ he countered. “Ted did have a life outside the office, right?“
“Not in the last six months he didn't,“ I said. “And anyway, even if all the suspects aren't from Mutant Wizards, we know the killer was there Monday. I know who was there Monday, and I have a lot better chance of catching them off guard than the police.“
“Just don't take any foolish chances,“ he said. “Sneaking around the office in the middle of the night is not a smart thing to do.“
“Don't worry – I'm not feeling suicidal,“ I said. “I'm not going to do anything but try to identify the rest of the people on the printout.“
“Yeah, right.“
He didn't sound as if he believed me.
“And find out who Ted's landlord is, of course,“ I said. “If he rented the place, I'm more than half-convinced he was supposed to be some kind of caretaker until they could settle the estate and sell it.“
“You know, that's not a bad idea,“ Michael said. “You should definitely concentrate on the landlord angle. See if the place is for rent or sale.“
“Michael, were you paying attention when I described that house?“
“I gather it was a little run-down, but what's wrong with a place that needs a little fixing up?“
“A little run-down? It's a wreck!“
“So it'll need a lot of fixing up,“ he said. “We can handle it.“
“It's Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and you must be the pod Michael,“ I said. “It can't possibly be the real Michael, Mr. 'Neither one of us has time to bother with all that,' who refused to even consider that nice but run-down farmhouse last summer. The farmhouse was in mint condition compared to this place.“
“That was last summer,“ Michael said.
“And you've grown more reasonable?“
“More desperate,“ he said. “Just check it out, will you?“
I closed my eyes. The place was way too big, and probably way too expensive, and I couldn't even imagine what it would look like without Edwina Sprocket's possessions crowding every inch of it. But something
about Michael's voice told me it wasn't the right time to bring up any of that.
“Don't get your hopes up. Everyone in town knows the place is vacant, you know.“
“Just check it out, okay?“
“Okay.“
When would I have time? I wondered. Maybe I could get Dad to do it.
After saying good night to Michael, I got ready for bed. I fussed with the ancient window air conditioner until it deigned to produce the occasional puff of cold air. And then I crawled into bed, but for a little while, I lay there, staring at the printout some more, looking, in vain, for more inspiration.
“Tomorrow,“ I said, and turned out the light.
But tired as I was, sleep seemed to retreat the second I put my head on the pillow. After tossing and turning for a few minutes, I decided that if I was going to have insomnia, I might as well get something done. I turned on the bedside light and looked around.
I picked up Living Graciously in a Single Room and began flipping through it. Like most of the decorating books Mother had given me in the last few months, it was long on pretty and short on practical. But still, I liked decorating books. I could easily have lost myself in all the eye candy if the pictures hadn't kept reminding me of Ted's murder.
Looking at one strikingly minimalist room, I found myself murmuring, as usual, “Nice – but where on Earth do they put their stuff?“ And then found myself mentally back in the midst of Mrs. Sprocket's stuff. Had I searched her house thoroughly enough? I assumed Mrs. Sprocket had no connection with the murder – but what if she did? Another death within a few months of Ted's – was there anything suspicious about it? Was anything suspicious happening around Mutant Wizards in March or April, when Mrs. Sprocket died? Apart from the first appearance of Nude Lawyers from Hell, nothing that I knew of. I scribbled an item on my to-do list to ask Rob when he first began to feel something was wrong around the company. And another to ask Dad to check out Mrs. Sprocket's death. It wouldn't be hard for him, by now he and the local medical examiner were probably playing poker together.
The book contained one section all about creative space dividers. Mother had bookmarked that section, so my first reaction was that we needed to bring her up to see the Cave; apparently nothing else would convince her that we were not in need of creative ways to divide space. We just needed more space. Not to mention the feet that to judge by the examples in the book, its author considered space dividers creative only if they were made of strange and expensive objects that included lots of sharp poimts and dust-catching crannies. I wondered what the author would think about Ted's copier-box dividers. Probably too practical to rank as creative. And Ted's basement lair certainly didn't qualify as gracious one-room living. And exactly how had Ted snagged his living quarters? Was he really renting them, or just acting as caretaker for Mrs. Sprocket's heirs? Was there some way I could find out? And – I tossed Living Graciously in a Single Room aside. Obviously it wasn't going to keep my mind off anything. Instead, I picked up the romance books I'd brought back from Ted's secret stash. I began browsing through them, half reading, half skimming.
They weren't deathless prose, but they weren't badly written, either. And while Anna Floyd, whoever she was, had definitely found a single plot and was busy running it into the ground, I did find her plot a little more to my taste than the ones in the romances some of my aunts devoured.
All the heroines were tall, assertive blond women. Not conventionally beautiful or in the first flush of youth, but still compellingly attractive, to judge by the number of gorgeous men chasing them. But – and this was the part that interested me – in all three books, the actual heroes were not the gorgeous guys. They were shy, mild-mannered, bespectacled, studious chaps, oddly appealing despite their outward goofiness or scruffiness.
Not that the silly heroines noticed this right off the bat; they would dismiss the heroes as uninteresting wimps and spend most of the book drooling over the most buff, square-jawed, perfectly groomed and dressed stud in sight. Who invariably turned out to be a villain, of course, once the heroine made the mistake of boarding his luxurious private yacht, flying to Vegas on his personal Learjet or, in the case of the historical novel, showing up for what was supposed to be a respectable house party attended by a trio of widowed aunts as chaperons, only to find herself trapped in a remote Scottish castle with the local chapter of the Hellfire Club.
Enter the heroes, who, when it came to a pinch and the women they'd been adoring from afar were in danger, would cast off their spectacles to reveal flashing if myopic eyes and shed their mousy garb to reveal lean, muscular bodies that enabled them to rescue the heroines from the clutches of the rogues – now revealed as having the courage of marshmallows.
I liked the fact that the heroines invariably played an active role in their rescue, fighting side by side with the heroes against whatever sinister crowd of minions the villain could muster for the grand finale – piratical deck hands, seedy security guards, or loutish thanes. Although the fighting wasn't particularly well described – what little detail she gave was somewhat inaccurate, at least when it came to swordplay and martial arts, about which I knew enough to be picky. But of course, her focus wasn't on the fighting – in the heat of battle, her heroines would find time to notice the heroes' firm, cleft chins and high cheekbones. During the final clinches each buxom blonde would already be planning to refurbish her rescuer with a better wardrobe and contacts – or, in the case of the historical romance, more flattering spectacles.
Fascinating, I thought, as I put the third one down. But why in the world did Ted feel he had to hide them in his secret compartment?
Presumably, Anna Floyd was the Bodice Ripper. That much was easy. But what was her connection with Mutant Wizards?
I'd worry about that later. Right now, I really needed to get some sleep. Was it dawn yet? I glanced over at the Cave's single, tiny window. Either it was still dark outside, or Michael's landlord had dumped another wheelbarrow load of mulch into the window well, obscuring what little light was not already obscured by the nearly useless air conditioner. I turned out the light and this time fell asleep almost instantly.
As soon as I woke up, I realized that between dodging people and slinking about the office, I hadn't gotten a chance to use the black light. Which was one of die main reasons I bothered to go over in the middle of the night – so I could wield Ted's black light unobserved. I'd have to go back tonight.
I also realized that I was already late for work and destined to be even later by the time I arrived, even if I omitted all my usual little personal grooming rituals – – like running through the shower, combing my hair, and throwing on some clothes.
Since I was late anyway, I stopped by the hardware store on the way in to get Ted's key copied, in case I wanted to snoop in his house again.
I arrived to find Dad seated at the switchboard, looking befuddled, while nine or ten lines were flashing.
“There you are!“ he said. “I seem to have lost the knack of this.“
“I was expecting a temp to show up to take care of the switchboard,“ I said as I scrambled to take his place.
“One did show up,“ he said. “But she left.“
“Left?“ I said. “What do you mean, she left?“
But Dad had escaped. Ah, well. I decided it was academic exactly which staff member had scared away today's temp.
When I'd cleared out the stacked-up calls and put in a complaint to the temp agency, I slipped away long enough to make a copy of the paper I'd found in Ted's cache. Then I called the police station to report finding it and his keys, and sat down to await the chief's arrival.
“Great,“ I muttered as I leaned back in my chair. “The police are trying to railroad Rob, and here I am, stuck at the switchboard again.“
Of course, getting stuck at the switchboard would have been a lot worse if I had any idea what I ought to be doing to clear Rob. But my brain was a blank. So I answered calls and pondered.
And, just
to feel I was doing something useful, I took out one of the romance books I'd found in Ted's cache, stuck an emery board in it as a bookmark, and left it lying on the reception desk, so I could watch people's reactions to it.
“Doesn't look like your kind of thing,“ Liz noted.
“Found it,“ I said, waving at the chairs across the room, as if to imply I'd found it there. “Thought I'd put it where the owner could claim it.“
Jack had much the same reaction, and Luis pretended to ignore it. Everyone else who passed by felt obliged to comment on it. Three of them made fun of the male cover model's physical development and questioned his masculinity. Three insisted on reading passages aloud, and two asked me if I would read to them. Five pretended to think I was reading die book for educational purposes, and four of those offered to help me with my homework.
Rico, the graphic artist, was doing the reading aloud routine when Chief Burke strolled in.
“ 'You're mine!' he exclaimed, as his cruel hand savagely ripped the silken fabric of her blouse. He ravished her with his eyes – “
“Am I interrupting something?“ the chief asked.
“Yes, thank God,“ I said. “Go emote someplace else, Rico; I need to talk to the chief.“
“You're no fun,“ Rico complained, tossing the book back on the desk.
“None at all,“ I agreed. “Go spread the word.“
“So what's this thing you think you've found?“ the chief asked.
“Here,“ I said. “I found Ted's keys – he dropped them when he was riding through the reception area Monday, and I picked them up, but with everything else that was happening, I forgot about them till today, when I opened the drawer they were in. And this was with them.“
The chief took the printout and held it at various distances from his eyes, tilting his head up and down, left and right, then up and down again, with an occasional irritated glance in my direction. Was it my fault that the print was so small? He finally gave up, tucked his chin on his chest, pulled his glasses down so he could see over them more easily, and studied the paper.
Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon Page 16