“About ready,” he said. “Just let me clean up a little.” He pushed back from the desk and walked past the door of the tiny private consultation room to the washroom in the back of the office.
I had a couple minutes reprieve, but he would be back soon.
I listened for the running water that would signal his imminent return, as my fingers flew across the keyboard.
Just a few more characters to go.
I looked in horror at the words that emerged.
It was a phrase I remembered well.
“Georgie Nevermore.”
It was the juvenile play on my name I had used the day I broke up with him over Sue’s cheating boyfriend. It was how I told him to think of me when I had given him my self-righteous speech about friendship and loyalty and trust.
I closed the window and broke the connection. I could find some other way to get the information I needed.
A way that didn’t violate Wade’s trust in me.
chapter 28
I barely remembered lunch. I know I talked to Wade and he talked to me, but I couldn’t stop obsessing about the mistake I had almost made. I had been drawn back into the world I’d left behind and very nearly betrayed the trust of one of my best friends.
The dogs greeted me enthusiastically when I returned home. They wanted a walk, but I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts for that long.
I needed a distraction.
My gi was in the closet of the second bedroom.
I began my routine, concentrating on the precision of my movements, the control of my body, and the focus of my breathing. Slowly, I felt my concerns drain away as I reached down inside me for calm and control.
I wished again for a dojo and a sensei, then realized I no longer needed them. I used my martial arts training to gain control over my temper and negative emotions, and I had learned to do that on my own. I had gained the control I needed without anyone’s help.
It was a wonderful feeling.
Stress never solved a problem, it only made it worse. Although I had regained control, I still desperately needed a solution.
The key had to be Gregory’s finances. If he was in serious trouble, he could have been desperate enough to try and stop Blake.
I had stopped myself from snooping in Wade’s computer, but there was another place to look. Gregory’s files. I could break into the files of Whitlock Estates Realty.
I would be doing the exact thing I had battled against for all my years at Samurai. The same thing I had nearly done to Wade. The difference was I didn’t trust Gregory, and I didn’t think he trusted me.
It had nothing to do with his relationship with my mother. I had to save my own skin. The sheriff hadn’t arrested me for murder, and he still acted as though he believed I was innocent. But how long would that last if I didn’t find out who really did do it? How long before I was arrested and charged with Blake’s murder?
As Barbara Parks had said, it didn’t look good.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. And although I had mastered my rising panic, I was still in a desperate situation and it was time to act.
My desktop whirred to life, and I began tapping keys. There was a public website for Whitlock Estates. I would start there.
A long, frustrating hour later I had found the hosting system for the website, but there was no link back to the Whitlock computers.
Strike one.
It had been a long shot, after all. I hadn’t really expected it to be that easy, had I?
I went back to work, trying another avenue. Perhaps I could find information in public records that would tell me about the status of Whitlock Estates. I spent the entire afternoon crawling through search after search, combing public records, news archives, blog posts, anywhere I could find a mention of Whitlock or Clackamas Commons. I didn’t find anything that indicated whether Whitlock and the Commons were solvent or not.
I turned up a couple public-record filings that weren’t supposed to be searchable. Clackamas Commons was incorporated, and the named officers were Gregory, my mother, and the attorney who had filed the incorporation. Fortunately for Mom it wasn’t either of the Gladstones, who were in jail awaiting trial for the murder of Martha Tepper.
Beyond that there was nothing.
Strike two.
The sun had set and outside the night was quickly turning cold. There was a hint of winter in the air; snow and ice would soon keep most of Pine Ridge indoors.
I hoped we would be able to finish the McComb project before the weather shut us down for the winter. It didn’t matter how much of a premium Chad McComb was willing to pay, there were times when you just couldn’t work outside.
I shut down the computer, fed the dogs, and changed into the warmest clothes I could find. The morning’s visit to Wade’s office had given me an idea. I had my doubts whether it would work, but it was the only other thing I could think of.
The parking lot at the back of the Whitlock Estates office was deserted. A streetlight in front of the office cast a dark shadow over the lot, perfect for my purposes.
I parked close to the building, putting the Beetle deep in the shadow. When I opened the laptop the glow of the screen seemed overly bright in the darkness. I adjusted the display until I could just make out what I was doing on the dimly lit screen and set to work.
I scanned for available networks, and found several. I shook my head at the trusting folks of Pine Ridge. There were at least two local businesses whose networks were not only visible but open and unprotected. I could have prowled through their records and stolen their data if I wanted to.
Pine Ridge needed serious education about computer security. I hoped Gregory Whitlock was as clueless as the rest of the business owners.
I worked my way down the list of available networks, discarding the ones I could identify. Some names were obvious, and some were more obscure. I came to a network named Commonsnet, and my heart quickened. Commonsnet—for Clackamas Commons, perhaps? But no, it was a network for libertarian politicians, “in honor of the common man.”
I moved on.
Out on the street a car passed, its headlights cutting through the shadows. I lowered the screen of the laptop, shielding the glow from the display. Once the car was gone I waited, breathing shallowly, to see if it would return. When it didn’t I went back to work.
I discarded several more networks before I hit pay dirt. It wasn’t actually a network, just an unsecured computer left running. A few minutes of digging revealed it to be a “visitor” computer on the Whitlock network.
I was about to connect to the computer when my cell phone buzzed. I had set it on vibrate to keep it silent, but the hum of the instrument against my thigh made my heart race.
I glanced at the tiny screen. It was Stan Fischer, calling from his hotel.
I knew the parking lot was deserted, but I looked around anyway. There was no one to hear me.
“Hello?”
“Georgie Girl,” Stan’s voice boomed from the phone. I frantically thumbed the volume control. “I’m heading for the airport in a couple minutes, girl. Gotta get back and arrange to get somebody up here. Unless”—I could hear the sly smile in his voice—“you’ve changed your mind about takin’ the job.”
“No, Stan. Can’t do it.”
Stan sighed dramatically. “If you’re absolutely sure, then I guess I have to try and take no for an answer—and you know how hard that is for me.”
He chuckled, and I felt the corners of my mouth lift in an answering grin. It was a good thing he couldn’t see me, he might take it as a sign I was weakening, and maybe I was. But the force of Stan’s personality wasn’t quite as strong over the phone as it was in person. Lucky for me.
“Will you send me your notes?” he asked. He rattled off an e-mail address I knew I could easily remember: S Fischer at Samurai Security. The domain I used to own, when I still owned Samurai Security itself.
“Be glad to, Stan.”
“
Okay then. Maybe I’ll get back up here sometime soon, check in on the job and all that.”
Check in on Chad McComb’s checkbook, more likely. But at least he would keep Samurai operating. It might not be my company anymore, but to my surprise I found I still wanted it to succeed.
I got Stan off the phone, and stowed it in my jacket pocket. Then I went back to the Whitlock network.
I established a connection with the “visitor” computer, and roamed through the system until I found the link to the Whitlock network controller. The computer I was talking to didn’t have permission to access most of Whitlock’s files. Which meant I had to spend a few minutes manipulating the network security to change that.
Finally, with access to the network I edited the password files, allowing my laptop to reach everything on the network.
I clicked quickly through the files, looking for anything that might be significant. I downloaded one file after another, copying them to a folder on my laptop.
The phone buzzed again, but this time I ignored it. I would worry about who it was later. Right now I was grabbing everything I could off of Gregory’s computer.
The files took several minutes to copy. All the while I waited in the dark car, barely daring to breathe for fear someone would notice me.
Pine Ridge is a small town, and most everything closes early. Still, an irrational fear gripped me as I sat there, watching the progress bar slowly tick across the screen.
I silently urged it to go faster. My hands clenched into fists and my shoulders drew tighter and tighter.
I felt a muscle spasm run down one leg and fought to hold down the surprised yelp of pain that rose in my throat.
I reached deep inside, pulling myself back under control, focusing on breathing properly. I stretched the cramping leg as best I could in the tight confines of the Beetle, and concentrated on forcing the muscle to stretch out and relax.
The pain slowly subsided.
I drew a deep, ragged breath as I regained control of my racing heartbeat.
The files had only a few seconds to run.
As soon as they finished downloading, I covered my electronic tracks, slammed the laptop closed, and started the Beetle’s engine.
I left the lights off as I drove between the Whitlock office and the building next door. I reached the street and looked both ways. The street was empty.
I turned on the lights, pulled out into the street, and headed home. I had a long night ahead of me, digging through the masses of data I had just hijacked from Gregory’s computer.
And we were going back to work on the moat first thing tomorrow morning.
I sighed. Sleep was for wimps.
chapter 29
I rubbed my burning eyes and rolled my aching shoulders in small circles. The kitchen window glowed a dark gray with the hint of sunrise. Daisy roused herself from her bed in the corner of the living room and padded in to where I sat at the kitchen table.
She laid her head in my lap, offering comfort and begging to be petted at the same time. I scratched her behind the ears, feeling her wiry coat beneath my hand.
The notepad on the table next to me held several pages of notes, scribbles, questions, and impromptu math problems. As near as I could tell, Gregory Whitlock was deeply in debt and his situation had been deteriorating for several months.
Simply put, based on the files I’d downloaded—I couldn’t bring myself to admit I had stolen them—Gregory was on the verge of bankruptcy.
If he could hang on a few months, which wasn’t likely from what I saw, the completion of Clackamas Commons might bail him out. It still wouldn’t restore his financial health, but it would get him off life support.
Bankruptcy would be a harsh prospect for Gregory. He was in an industry where image meant at least as much as substance. The specter of reorganization—even a successful one—would threaten his livelihood as well as his self-image.
That just might make him desperate enough to kill.
I let out the dogs and staggered into the shower. I let the hot water run over my body, then slowly cooled the spray until the frigid water shocked me into a semblance of consciousness.
I was tired, but I’d pulled all-nighters before and I could do it again.
The sun still hadn’t made its appearance when I started the Beetle. I was early for work, but I could pick up a mocha on the way. The caffeine and sugar would give me a little boost to start the morning and I had an insulated carafe of coffee to keep me going through the day.
One problem with driving an older car: no cup holders. I balanced the steaming mocha against my thigh as I made my way through the woods to the McComb site.
A faint line of gold traced the horizon when I pulled into the gravel lot. The surrounding woods were quiet, the silence broken by the occasional call of an early-morning bird, or the rustle of a squirrel.
I leaned against the fender of the Beetle and sipped at the mocha. The beauty of the site washed over me as I stood there, surrounded by tall evergreens and the riotously colored oaks and vine maple.
I was going to have to decide what to do about Mom and Gregory. What was I going to tell her?
I knew the answer. I couldn’t divulge what I knew without telling her how I found out, and I wasn’t ready to do that. But what I could do, what I knew I would do, was tell her the truth about me and about Blake.
After work, before I lost my nerve, I would go see her and confess my failures. Mom was too trusting, but she wasn’t stupid. She had to know what Gregory’s financial situation was. She was too deeply involved not to. She would see the parallels between Blake and Gregory, and draw her own conclusion.
The thought of admitting to her how stupid I had been turned my stomach sour. Humiliation, even voluntary humiliation, wasn’t something I looked forward to.
But she had put her house on the line for me, and I would do whatever it took to protect my mother. She had already nearly lost everything because of one man—because my father was too soft-hearted to ask his patients to pay him.
I couldn’t let her lose everything again.
The line of gold on the horizon dimmed as storm clouds moved in. The weather report had called for overcast, but no rain. From the look of the clouds, they were probably wrong.
In the distance I heard a powerful engine laboring up the climb to the job site. It was still early for the crew, and it didn’t sound like Barry’s monster diesel. Someone was climbing the road to the site of Chad McComb’s castle.
With the weather closing in, we’d all end up turning around and going home. Maybe it was Sean, coming out to be sure we all got the message.
A purring Lincoln climbed the rise and pulled into the gravel lot near the Beetle. I was surprised to see Stan’s rental car. Hadn’t he said he was flying back to San Francisco last night?
Stan wasn’t alone. Maybe he had flown down to meet Blake’s replacement and come back to smooth the introductions with Chad McComb. It would be a sensible move if he wanted to work his way into Chad’s good graces, and his deep pockets.
“Figured I’d find you up here, Georgie Girl. I know how you like to get to the job earlier than everybody else.”
My answering chuckle died in my throat. Barbara Parks climbed out of the passenger side of the Lincoln.
She was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, loafers on her feet, and a scarf tossed elegantly around her throat. Without Richard beside her, her height was impressive. I hadn’t realized before what an imposing woman she was.
“Barbara. I didn’t expect to see you. Is everything all right?”
“I certainly hope so,” Stan said. Although the morning was chilly, sweat stood out on his forehead. “But there are some things we need to talk about.” He cleared his throat, a nervous sound I would have never expected from Stan Fischer. “We thought this would be a good time to talk to you. Alone.”
The last word hung in the air, an ominous sound.
He was right. I was alone. Completely. No one was
due at the site for at least another half hour. My lizard brain tried to take over, telling me to run away.
“I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” I said. “But I guess it makes sense, since Barbara’s husband works for you.”
Barbara glared at me, and I wondered what I’d said wrong. She was quick to correct me.
“Stanley should be working for him. Richard is the best thing that company has going for it.”
I nodded. “That’s what I tried to tell him. Stan, I mean. Richard’s one of the best. Better than I was.”
“That’s for sure,” she said. Her voice dripped condescension. “He says you were good.” She shrugged. “Maybe you were, but he’s better, and he knows what he’s doing. There is no way they should bring you back into the company.”
I looked at Stan. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, looking out over the trees as though I wasn’t there.
“That’s what I told Stan. Isn’t it, Stan? I told you to bring Richard up here, that he should be doing this job.”
“She did say that.” Stan moved a few steps away, distancing himself from the growing confrontation. “Told me she wouldn’t take the job.”
“Right.” Barbara didn’t believe a word either of us was saying. “Then why did she come all the way down to San Francisco? To talk about dear, departed Blake? The Blake she abandoned when she ran away?”
Anger washed over me. “You don’t know anything about Blake and me!”
“I know what he told me. I know he refused to get serious about our relationship because he still had some crazy idea that you’d come back some day.”
Stan walked back and stood next to Barbara. He put a hand on her arm, rubbing and patting as though trying to soothe a petulant child.
“That doesn’t matter anymore, Barb. That was a long time ago. You have Richard now, right?”
“And all I’ve heard for the last two days is Georgie-this and Georgie-that. I’m sick of it already, and it’s going to get worse. A lot worse.” Her voice rose with each sentence, anger and resentment growing with each word.
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