As Effie spoke, a sickening realization hit me. Whoever had accessed my computer might have known about the email. They might have known Jane and I were no longer on good terms. My first thought had been that the new inventory database had been corrupted, but after talking to Effie, I now believed this had been done with malicious intent. But what did I have that a hacker would want?
I had a relationship with the victim of an unexpected homicide, that’s what.
After telling Effie about Jane’s murder, we went our separate ways. It was too late to do anything about the computer, and I was reassured by Effie that the best thing we could do was to leave the system powered off. I wanted little more than to change from my raincoat into pajamas. I collected Rocky and headed home. It wasn’t the sort of night where I wanted to be alone, and as it turned out, I wasn’t.
A blue pick-up truck was parked parallel to my property line. The branches of my overdue-for-a-trim hedges reached out into the street like the limbs of skinny green zombies trying to make contact with the truck’s paint job. The oddness of the thought made me realize how dark my day had been and how my usually sunny outlook had been compromised.
The truck wasn’t unfamiliar. It belonged to Hudson James, the most reliable and talented handyman I’d ever met. He was equal parts craftsman and artist, and the early years of Mad for Mod had benefitted greatly from his skills. About a year ago, we’d shifted gears from business associates to romantic partners, a step I’d long avoided out of fear of changing the status quo. Hudson, it turned out, had his own thoughts on the matter, not entirely in sync with mine. After a working vacation out of town, he’d remained in California to help his sister find stable footing while I’d returned to Dallas and Mad for Mod. The distance between us had helped me see that rushing a possible relationship was just as bad as ignoring it.
He’d also grown increasingly aware of the third person in our life: Tex. Hudson had been the one to suggest that perhaps I needed to take a long, hard look at what I wanted out of life (and who I wanted it with). When you’re paying someone a contractor’s fee, they tend not to offer unsolicited advice on your love life, but I couldn’t blame Hudson for having an opinion. My indecision affected him too. Him bringing the subject up was a darn good way to let me know he wasn’t going to hang around forever.
I’d requested the same six-month hiatus from Hudson that I’d requested from Tex, so while I wasn’t unhappy to have his relaxed and familiar company, I was curious of the timing.
“Hey, Lady,” Hudson said as I walked up the sidewalk. He opened his arms and I stepped into them for a hug. Rocky, free from his leash, tore off into the yard and ran circles around the maple tree.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against Hudson’s chest. He smelled like wood shavings and musk. The familiarity of the scent overwhelmed me, and I started to cry.
“Hey,” he said. His calloused hand stroked my blonde hair. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be mad at me for breaking the terms of your birthday present, but this is a little more than I expected.”
I pulled away from his embrace and looked at him. With Johnny Cash’s looks and Joey Ramone’s wardrobe, Hudson put off a bad boy vibe that kept a lot of people from getting to know him. Circumstances in his past had categorized him as that bad boy and, after being judged by the court of local opinion, he’d worn it as a protective barrier. But Hudson was one of the kindest men I’d ever known. The night he confided in me about his past was the night I knew my life would be changed forever.
“Let’s go inside,” I said.
Hudson tapped the outside of his black jeans and Rocky came running. I led the three of us up the concrete steps, through the screen door and the solarium, and into my kitchen. Hudson hadn’t seen the house since I’d torn out the original kitchen. I replaced the old countertops with an uninstalled (formerly built-in) yellow tile kitchen counter that I’d acquired from a now-demolished cafeteria in Casa Linda Plaza and replaced the outlived (possibly original) tan and ivory rolled linoleum floor with new yellow Abet laminate in Sunny Day. (I told you those six months had been productive.) Big Chill appliances—my one concession to new over true vintage—in Buttercup Yellow, whitewashed cabinets, and the original hardware rounded out the overall transformation. All completed with a white iron pendant lamp with lemon yellow and celery green three-inch metal daisies mounted to the frame. If I had to decide between the two men in my life by which one would fit in a newly renovated yellow kitchen with daisies hanging overhead, I might as well choose single life.
I switched on the light and the soft bulbs glowed from under the daisy chandelier. Hudson’s eyes widened, and he took in the room. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’ve had some spare time on my hands.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No.”
I turned away from him and pulled two vintage glasses out of the cabinet. “Can I get you something? Wine, beer?”
“I didn’t come here for a drink.”
I pulled a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc out of the refrigerator and poured the wine into my tumbler. I didn’t care that it wasn’t the appropriate glass for wine. I was tense, agitated, and uneasy, and I needed something to take the edge off. Hudson’s presence in my kitchen offered a different option for working off stress, but I knew I’d regret that choice in the morning. I could sleep off a hangover.
I raised the glass to my lips and took a long swallow. I felt the combination of the cool beverage and the alcohol slowly flowing through my chest, my arms, and my legs. I pulled out a wooden chair and sat on the floral cushion. “Why did you come here?” I asked.
“I didn’t have much of a choice. You still have my house keys.”
“Did I know you were coming back to Dallas?”
“You should have. I was expecting you to pick me up from the airport.”
EIGHT
“Hudson, I think I’d know if I agreed to pick you up at the airport,” I said.
“Do you want me to show you the email?”
“There’s an email?” We stared at each other. My mind raced, wondering how I could have made such an agreement and completely forgotten. “Didn’t that strike you as odd? That I said I wanted you to give me a six-month break but then said I’d pick you up?”
Hudson’s expression changed from relaxed to angry. “I thought—never mind what I thought.”
He thought I’d made my decision. He thought I’d volunteered to pick him up because I’d chosen him. He was here in my kitchen because he thought I wanted him here.
My surprised reaction must have spoken volumes and not the volumes he wanted to hear. “I—I am happy to see you but I’m—I’m still—I’m not ready.”
He pointed to the entrance. “You’re sending mixed signals, Madison.”
“I know. It’s been a long day—a long, overwhelming, crazy day, and when I saw you, I just—it was nice to feel you with me.”
He put his fingers under my chin and raised my face. “Whether or not we’re in the same city, I’m with you. Say the word. We can leave Texas behind and start over. I’m ready.”
“I’m not.”
Hudson stepped back. “I’m not going to wait forever, Madison. I can’t. I let too much of my life go by without paying attention to it and I want to make up for lost time. I want you in my future, but not if you’re pining for him.”
I got angry. “That’s not fair. I asked you both to give me six months. You and Tex. You’re here, and he’s not. What does that say about respect?”
Hudson didn’t get a chance to answer. The pregnant pause that filled the room was interrupted by a knock on my front door. I looked over Hudson’s shoulder.
I should have known.
I pushed past Hudson and yanked the door open. “What are you doing here?” I asked Tex.
“I came to get my keys. You forgot to give them to
me earlier today.” He glanced over my head. “Nice kitchen, by the way. When did you have the time to do this?”
I glared at Tex. He wasn’t at my house at eleven o’clock at night to get his keys and we both knew it. He’d driven past. He’d seen Hudson’s truck. He figured all bets were off.
“Get out!” I shouted, pointing at the door. Tex looked at me, past me at Hudson, and back at me. I turned around to Hudson. “You too. Get out of here! I’ve had a bad day and I want to be alone.” Outside, I heard a window slam shut. Hudson strode past me and Tex toward his truck. Tex watched him leave and then turned back to me. I pointed to his car. “Go!”
He threw his arms up in the air. “I’m leaving!” He let himself out seconds after Hudson. And as the two sets of headlights and taillights pulled away from my property, I realized alone was the last thing I really wanted to be.
“Come on, Rocky. Time to go to bed.” Rocky yipped and led the way upstairs.
Despite my exhaustion, I stared at the ceiling long after I’d finally traded my pink raincoat for pajamas. It had been awhile since I’d experienced insomnia, but based on the day I’d had, I wasn’t entirely surprised. The hacking message on my computer had temporarily pushed thoughts of Jane’s murder out of my mind, but now that I was alone, with no distractions other than the infomercials shown in the middle of the night, my mind wouldn’t settle down. Correction: I had distractions in the form of the two men who I’d just kicked out of my house.
I didn’t really want to think about them either. Not right now.
Except two things bothered me. Hudson claimed I’d sent him an email that I had no recollection of sending. Our conversation had taken an awkward turn right about that point, and Tex’s arrival hadn’t helped.
That was the other thing. Tex hadn’t expected to see me at the police station earlier today. We’d worked out a schedule where I could get into his house to work like I would for any other paying client while honoring the terms of my birthday request. He’d been the one to point that out, not me. And when I’d told him about Jane’s murder and showed him Detective Henning’s card, he’d had an odd reaction: nothing. For all the other times we’d been thrown together during homicide investigations, he’d always heard me out. He might not have encouraged my involvement, but by now he knew me well enough to know I wasn’t capable of turning my back on the horrible situations I occasionally stumbled upon.
It occurred to me that Tex had had other things on his mind when I’d shown up, specifically, the computer systems being down.
If there’d been even the slightest chance of me falling asleep up to this point, the thought of computer problems eradicated it. Was it possible that the Lakewood Police Department had been hacked as well? No doubt they had a firewall in place. But would an attempted virus slog down their network and cause the problems they’d had? If just one infected file found its way onto their computers, would it act as a Trojan horse?
I ran my hand over Rocky’s fur and thought back to earlier this week. I’d emailed Tex with some decorating concepts for his room. Attachments. I’d used Jane’s interior design software to create the renderings. I was right back to thinking that Jane was somehow responsible for my problems. It seemed petty to find reason to be mad at her in light of her murder, but it felt hypocritical to pretend I had a loyalty to her based on friendship.
I drifted off to sleep somewhere around two thirty, and when my alarm went off at six, I slapped the snooze button and rolled over. Several hours later, I woke naturally. It took me several minutes to shake off disorientation. Rocky, who had burned off enough of his excess energy with the puppies at the police station to sleep through the night was already awake and trying to get me to play. He nosed his head into my hand repeatedly, and then bit the fabric of my sleeve and tugged on it as if he could get me out of bed with his sheer Shih Tzu will. I didn’t doubt he’d keep at it until I got up, so I did. It was eight thirty but might as well have been eleven. I felt like I’d already missed half my day.
It was too late to go to the Gaston Swim Club for my typical morning swim. By this time, the lanes would be jammed with people and I’d barely get a workout. I showered, dressed in my bra, panties, and a fresh nylon slip, and returned to the autumn section of my closet.
Early success with Mad for Mod had been contingent upon me having enough era-accurate inventory to design a room for a true mid-mod enthusiast without expecting them to take out a second mortgage. I’d solved that problem by reading obituaries regularly and reaching out to the next of kin of women of a certain age who had passed away. It was often less hassle for the family to accept my lump-sum bid on their mother’s estate than to take the time to sort through belongings they’d long since seen as outdated, and by buying entire estates, I’d amassed a sizeable collection of vintage clothes and accessories. Living in Dallas, Texas as I did, I had only a limited window of the year to indulge in the heavier weight fabrics in my closet. I’d spent last October in Palm Springs, so I was due.
Much of my wardrobe swung toward a kitschy sixties look: mod shift dresses, double-knit polyester dresses like the one I’d sacrificed yesterday, and colorful Orlon ensembles that showed off the latest in synthetic weaves that were popular during that decade.
The far right of my closet was filled with clear, plastic garment bags that held complete ensembles once worn by LeAnne Sheley, wife of an oil baron. The clothes showed barely any signs of wear, and when I’d first inspected them, I’d wondered if they’d been worn at all. It wasn’t until I discovered a scrapbook that showed LeAnne in a series of publicity stills with her wealthy Texas husband that I realized she’d had the money and the reasons to only wear each outfit once.
The weather showed no signs of changing from the previous day, so I dressed in an early sixties orange, coral, and pink silk blouse with a bow at the neck and a coral tweed skirt suit. I added chocolate brown tights and flat brown leather booties. My knee injury from several years ago was mostly healed, but in that time, I’d realized how much easier life was when I wasn’t teetering around on heels. I pulled on a coral turban-style hat, transferred my wallet, keys (mine and Tex’s, which I hadn’t given back), reading glasses, and phone to a brown lizard handbag, clipped an orange leash onto Rocky’s collar, and headed to work.
I wasn’t surprised to find Effie waiting for me by the back door when I arrived. She seemed anxious. “Madison, don’t be mad, okay?”
“Good morning to you too, Effie.”
“Yeah. Um, you know what happened to your computer last night?”
“The hacking? Yes, I’m well aware. Let’s get inside and make some coffee and come up with a plan.” I fitted my key into the door, but the knob turned easily as if it was already unlocked. I looked questioningly at Effie.
She put her hand on the doorknob. “I have a key, remember? You told me to take the one Connie used to have when she started working from home.”
“Then why are you standing out here?”
“I have to tell you something before you go inside.”
I stood straight and gave Effie 100 percent of my attention. “What did you do?”
“I kept thinking about you being hacked. And it didn’t make sense, you know? Like, why would someone hack a decorator? So when I got up this morning, I called somebody who had experience with computers.”
“Why would I be mad? That sounds like exactly what we need.” I put my hand on the door, but Effie grabbed the knob and pulled it shut. “What is it Effie?”
“Um, remember how my old boyfriend was really into computers?”
“Effie, tell me you did not use this situation to invite that troublemaker back into your life.”
“I didn’t. I, um, I called his old boss.”
I pushed on the door and Effie relented. Rocky ran ahead of me into the studio, but the leash kept him from arriving in my office much before me. Effie was close on my heels
. I turned the corner and confirmed what Effie had been trying to warn me about.
Help had arrived in the form of former police officer Donna Nast, aka Officer Nasty.
NINE
Donna Nast looked far too pleased by my arrival. She pulled a set of rose gold earbuds out of her ears and tossed them onto my desk. “About time you showed up. Isn’t this your business? I thought you were a morning person.”
Donna Nast, or Nasty, as I (and everybody else who knew her, as far as I knew) called her, was the kind of smart, confident, and gorgeous thirty-something who made fifty-year-old women like me invest in expensive eye cream. (I’d been blessed with a fair complexion that I protected with high SPF sunscreen and looked younger than my years, but still, thirty trumps fifty no matter how you slice it.) As if her perpetually sun-kissed complexion wasn’t enough, she had rich brown hair that hung past her shoulders, streaked copper courtesy of a pricey Park Cities salon that had exchanged services with the security company owner.
Nasty and I had a history, as did Nasty and Tex. I suspected she trusted me about as much as I trusted her, though for the moment, the balance of power was entirely in her favor. If Effie was right, then Nasty was here to help.
“Hi, Donna,” I said. “Effie said she told you about my problem?”
Nasty’s eyes narrowed for a moment, as if she’d been expecting worse. I pulled off my gloves and hat and set them on the corner of the desk and then poured myself a mug of coffee.
“Somebody hit you with the personality virus. You’re not the only one. It’s being targeted at businesses all around Dallas.”
I leaned against the counter and blew on the black coffee. “Is that normal?”
“Depends on the hacker’s endgame.”
“Meaning…”
Nasty leaned back in my chair. “How much do you know about hacking?”
“Talk to me like I’m five.”
She smiled. “There are different categories of hacker. Black hat, white hat, elite, script, the list goes on. Different categories hack for different reasons. Some good, some bad.”
LOVER COME HACK Page 6