Bridget thought about Tuesday morning. She’d arrived at work a little bit before 9:00. “So that would have been at about 8:30,” she said aloud. “And the folder wasn’t with the books at that time?”
Christine shook her head. “Nope,” she said.
“Got it,” Bridget said. “So it sounds like the folder was in the back room from 6:30 to 8:30.” She was getting closer. She imagined Christine walking into the back room with the stack of books in her hands. The folder could have been at the bottom of the stack, unbeknownst to Christine. That’s strange, she thought. When I talked to Adrienne, she didn’t say anything about Christine bringing books to the back room. Why not?
Bridget asked a few more questions, but nothing new or enlightening popped up. Then Christine chatted about a vacation request she was going to put in for a late April trip to the Bahamas. As Christine talked about the turquoise water and white sand, Bridget started to wish for a vacation herself. The tension of the last few days, plus the lack of sleep, was starting to catch up with her. She had a throbbing headache as she dismissed Christine from her office.
Bridget walked out into the back room, thinking this over. She looked over the small, crowded space, while her mind whirred with possibilities. If Christine really put a pile of books back here, why didn’t Adrienne mention it to me?
Or was Christine lying about her actions? Maybe Christine was really just a good actress, and she’s really the culprit, thought Bridget. How much are plane tickets to the Bahamas, anyways?
Bridget’s head was starting to spin with suspicion.
Her eyes wandered over toward the hooks where employee purses, jackets, and aprons were hung. She saw Sean’s goldenrod yellow sweater. Something white stuck out of the pocket—a piece of paper. She walked closer, and then leaned down and peered at it. It was folded in quarters, and one corner stuck up just enough for Bridget to be able to see the handwriting curve across the white surface. It was handwriting she recognized—her father’s. “In these precise proportions... a repeat unit of one carbon atom and two... to the degree that the molecular weight is...”
Bridget gasped. This was a scientific note of her father’s. It must be a paper from the folder!
This is it! thought Bridget. This is the proof I needed! Now I know Sean is guilty.
Rather than feeling victorious about figuring out which of her employees had betrayed her, Bridget felt terrible. The thought of confronting Sean about his behavior felt just awful.
She snapped a picture of the note in his pocket, just in case she needed evidence later. Then she returned to her office. She sat at her desk, with her head in her hands, stewing over how she’d approach Sean. When she heard a soft knock at her door, she jumped.
The door opened a crack, and Sebastian peeked in. She motioned for him to step inside. He closed the door behind him as he said, “How’d it go with Christine?” he asked.
“Fine,” Bridget said. She slumped back over her desk. “But she’s not the one who did it. Sean is... I just found one of my dad’s papers in his pocket.”
“Wow,” Sebastian said. “The guy is really an amateur, isn’t he? Why in the world would he leave one of the papers there for anyone to see?”
“I don’t know,” Bridget said. “I guess he really is an amateur. He’s not a bad person. I know he’s got his quirks. We all do. Sure, he acts one way when I’m around, and another, apparently, when I’m not. But still, that’s not illegal or cruel. I just never thought he’d do something like this. I can’t believe I have to have a conversation with him about this. What am I going to say? Should I threaten to press criminal charges?”
She glanced down, and happened to see the photograph that she’d thrown into her trash bin just the night before. “I thought we were friends,” she said, as she looked at the photo of smiling faces. “Almost like family, to tell the truth. I can’t believe he’d do something like this to my dad.”
“Well, I guess you don’t need the info I dug up about the IP address, then,” Sebastian said.
Bridget looked at him. “You figured out where the email was sent from?” she asked. She’d been so caught up with her own avenues of investigation that she’d completely forgotten about Sebastian’s offer to track the email.
Sebastian nodded. “But if you already know it’s Sean, I don’t see how it matters.”
Bridget was dreading the confrontation that she’d have to have with Sean. Talking with Sebastian was a welcome distraction from the ugly task ahead. “It’s good information,” she said. “What did you figure out?”
Sebastian pulled a scrap of paper from his apron pocket and read aloud from it. “112 4th Street, Tuesday at 1:13 pm. That’s exactly where and when the email originated.”
“112... that’s the public library,” Bridget said. She furrowed her brow. “But how can that be? Sean wasn’t over there at the public library on Tuesday. He was here, with us. Remember?”
“That’s right,” Sebastian said. “And Adrienne was here, too.”
“And Christine,” said Bridget. Her headache grew worse. She rubbed her temples. “This is impossible. The folder was here in the building on Monday night, and gone by Tuesday morning at 7:00. Adrienne, Christine, and Sean were the only ones in the building on Tuesday morning before the shop opened up to the public. So one of them has to be the blackmailer. And it has to be Sean! He has a paper from the folder in his sweater pocket!”
“But he was here when the email was sent,” Sebastian said. “He wasn’t at the library. So where does that leave us?”
“Back at the beginning!” Bridget said, as a wave of frustration and anxiety passed over her. There was only 14 hours left until the blackmailer would either get paid or go public. Bridget knew she had to put a stop to the madness before it came to that. But how?
12
Beauty
Bridget expelled some of her frustration with a sigh. “I feel like we’re at a dead end,” she told Sebastian. “Maybe my dad is right—maybe he should sell some of his things, take out a loan, and pay the blackmailer. That would be better than if his papers get leaked.”
Sebastian shook his head. “There has to be something we’re missing.”
“But what?” Bridget said. “One of my staff members took the folder. But it’s not possible that they sent the email. They were all here. Where does that leave us?”
“Maybe Adrienne, Sean, or Christine was working with someone else,” Sebastian suggested.
Bridget thought this over. “Like a friend?”
Sebastian nodded.
Bridget bit her lip, thinking this through. “Maybe Sean took the folder, and then called one of his friends and asked them to send the blackmail message. Christine did say that he was on his phone a lot that morning, maybe he was texting someone with the request.”
“It’s definitely a possibility,” Sebastian said.
“How would we confirm it?” Bridget wondered aloud. As soon as she voiced the question, an answer came to her. “I know! I could go to the library and see who was using the computer at that hour. They have a sign-in sheet. I’ve had to use it before!”
“Good thinking,” Sebastian said. He grinned. “You know what? I really think we’re going to get to the bottom of this by midnight.”
“I hope so,” Bridget said. She was too apprehensive about what the evening might hold to smile, but she was now feeling good enough to lift her head from her hands. “Thanks for talking this through with me. It really helps,” she said as she looked up at Sebastian.
For a moment, she felt lost in his eyes. It was strange to her that his bizarre appearance now didn’t seem so bizarre. He appeared handsome to her, though by conventional standards he certainly was not. She liked his scar, his strange cut, the odd way his clothes fit. The soul beneath all that, shining through, was all she could perceive.
She felt guilty for being so attracted to one of the baristas that worked under her, so she broke the moment of tension. “How did it go out t
here on the register?”
“Well,” he said, in a gruff, deep tone. A shadow crossed his face. “Actually, I was wondering if I could continue taking orders for a little while. I think it’s my best shot at—” he stopped short.
“At what?” she asked.
“It’s been a week since I started working here,” he said. “Today. That means today’s my last chance to—well to... ah... prove that I’m good enough at this job.”
“You’ve already proved that,” she said kindly.
“But my dad—” he stopped abruptly again. “Nevermind. I can’t really talk about it. It would just mean a lot to me to be on the register today, if that’s alright.”
“Fine by me,” Bridget said. She glanced at the clock on her desktop. It was almost noon. Sara was scheduled to arrive with the cameraman at 1:00. “I’ll ask Christine to let you take the reins. She can help out with iced drinks today. I think there’s going to be a lot of them, since it’s so nice and sunny out. I’ll talk to her on my way out.”
She stood and grabbed her purse.
“Where are you going?” Sebastian asked.
“To the library,” she responded. She felt more excited and hopeful than she had all week. “This might finally be it, Sebastian. Maybe the library holds the piece of the puzzle that will make all the information we’ve gathered finally fit together.”
“I hope so,” he said. “Today holds a lot of potential, doesn’t it?” He sounded slightly distracted, and she wondered if he was thinking about his father again.
She didn’t want to press him, so she simply nodded. “It really does,” she said.
He held the door open for her. “After you,” he said.
Bridget led the way out into the café area and spoke briefly to Christine, who was more than happy to hand over the register duties for the afternoon.
Bridget promised her staff that she’d be back within the hour. The walk to the library was too short. It was the first truly warm day that she’d experienced since winter arrived. She found that she didn’t even need her light jacket. She took it off and draped it over her arm.
Shirtless teens played frisbee in the park, women jogged in shorts and tees, and even the dogs on leashes seemed to wag their tails with a little more gusto as they relished in the sunbeams.
Bridget wished that she could enjoy the spring weather instead of trying to prevent the ruin of her father’s career. When she ducked into the public library, the spring sunshine disappeared and cool, stale air washed over her. The space was so silent that she could hear one patron turning the pages of a newspaper, all the way at the other end of the building. Tall shelves of books were interspersed with tables and clusters of chairs for readers to relax in. Most chairs were empty, thanks to the brilliant spring day.
Bridget approached the front desk.
As she did, she pulled out the printed copy of the email her father had received.
The librarian, a petite woman with white hair and silver spectacles, watched her approach. Bridget recognized the woman - she often came into Glitter Cup, but she didn’t know her name.
“Hi,” Bridget said as she placed the printout down on the countertop. “My dad received an email that was sent from one of the library computers this past Tuesday at around one. We’re trying to figure out who sent the email. Do you keep records of your sign-in sheets?”
The librarian’s skeptical look increased. “We do,” she said. “But I’m not sure I’m allowed to show them to you. I’ll have to ask my supervisor.”
“Sure,” said Bridget. “I’ll wait.”
The woman frowned. “She’s not in today,” she said. “She’ll be back tomorrow. Why don’t you come back then?”
Bridget shook her head. “Tomorrow won’t work,” she said. “I really need to know today.”
She didn't want to divulge too many details, but she was feeling desperate. “My dad’s being blackmailed,” she said. “And the blackmailer used a computer here, in this library. Please help me out.”
This only seemed to put the librarian more on edge. “Sounds like a matter for the police to look into,” she said. “Have you contacted them?”
Bridget tried not to sound too frustrated as she replied. “We did that,” she said. “But they’re being a little bit slow on the uptake. I’d really love to look at that sign-in sheet... if that’s okay?” She scanned the top of the desk for the clipboard that patrons were supposed to use to sign in for computer time.
“There it is!” she said. “I’ll just take a quick peek...” She moved over to the clipboard and began leafing through the pages. She saw today’s sign in—there were only two names on it. But beneath that, there were only blank pages.
“We toss the pages once they’re filled in,” the librarian explained. “I just cleaned that out this morning.”
“Could I see the old pages?” Bridget asked. She sensed that the librarian was going to say no. Before she could, she said, “You come into the Glitter Cup café sometimes, don’t you? I’m Bridget. I’m the manager of the café there.”
“Oh! That’s right! You do look familiar...”
“You get the green tea latte, don’t you?” Bridget asked, glad that it came to her at the last minute.
The woman nodded. “I’m Mary,” she said, extending her hand.
As they shook hands, Mary said, “Say, I think I’ve seen you in there with your father, actually. He has white hair—quite long,” she motioned around the top of her head, indicating the areas where Danny’s hair stuck straight out.
Bridget laughed. “Yep, that’s my dad!” she said. “The one with the crazy messy hair.”
Now Mary laughed as well. “You know, I saw him give a lecture once over at Dayton City College. It was about the chemical properties of plastic. It was quite good, really.”
“You’re interested in science?” Bridget asked.
Mary gave a shy smile. “Very,” she said bashfully. “I would have gone into the field myself, but that wasn’t done back in my day. I became an elementary school teacher instead, and when I retired, I started part time here at the library. But science has always been my one and only love.”
Bridget glanced at Mary’s hands, and saw that she was single. It seemed science was really her one and only love. If that was the case, maybe she had room in her life for a second love—an absent minded scientist, who would soon be either without a lab or bicycle, and in significant debt, or a millionaire—only time would tell which.
“You know what?” Mary said. “I think I could rifle through the recycle bin and come up with those sign-in sheets. Just give me one moment.”
She disappeared into the back room, and Bridget waited for her return with excitement. With any luck, the name on the sheet would be one she recognized, like perhaps Timmy Kendrick. It had even crossed her mind that Jeremiah might be the email sender. Maybe he partnered up with Adrienne to commit the crime.
Bridget held her breath as Mary approached with a paper in her hands.
“We’re pretty strict about our time limits,” Mary said. “Each user is allowed one hour at the most. I wasn’t working on Tuesday, but I’m sure the librarian on duty would stick to those parameters—if that helps.” She set it down on the desk, and Bridget let her eyes slide down the page. There were only five names on Tuesday’s sign-in page. It seemed not many people had used computers that day.
Two users had arrived early in the morning. One had arrived in the evening. There was only one early afternoon computer user, who signed in at 1:05. Bridget felt her shoulders slump as she read the name.
“Phoenix DeBuque.”
Who the heck is Phoenix DeBuque? she thought with frustration. The name meant nothing to her. It had not come up in the course of her investigation, and she’d never heard her employees mention the name, either.
“Helpful?” Mary asked hopefully.
Bridget shook her head. Her tone was sorrowful as she said. “Nope, not really. Well, at least I tried. Thanks,
Mary.”
“Please tell your father I said hello!” Mary said.
When Bridget returned to the café at 12:45, she saw that Sara had arrived early. Her dark, straight hair was up in a bun, held in place with red chopsticks that matched her ruby red painted lips. Her ebony white skin was as flawless as ever, and she wore her typical uniform of a white blouse and black slacks. There was a man lugging a bulky camera standing next to her. Sara flashed a smile and waved. “Bridget! So glad you’re here. Is it okay if we get started?”
Bridget pasted on a smile to match her friend’s, as if she wasn’t having one of the hardest, most stressful days of her life. “Sure,” she said. “What can I do to facilitate things?”
“Just get back there and do your thing,” Sara said. “We’ll want some footage of you and your crew working behind the counter and helping out customers. Then I’ll ask you a few questions, and Craig here will get your answers on film. I might also quote you in the article I eventually write up. It’ll just be general stuff about the business... you know, history, organizational elements, mission statement if you have one... that sort of thing.”
Bridget applied a fresh coat of lip gloss and tried to smooth down a few strands of her hair, which had been blown this way and that by the light spring breeze.
“You look great,” Sara said. She turned to her cameraman. “Craig, you ready to roll?”
Bridget took the cue and headed for the counter. She slipped through the hinged door and joined the crew of baristas already working. There was a small line of customers at the register. Bridget wished she’d gotten more sleep the night before—the bags under her eyes were sure to show up on film. She didn’t want her exhausted facade to be splashed across the Dayton City Newspaper’s website when the post about Glitter Cup went up.
Beauty and the Blackmailer Page 9