Executive Dirt: A Sedona O'Hala Mystery (7 page)

The meeting might have ended then, but Cary, still desperate, took a new tack. “We finally have our official name for the phone assistant.”

We did? The test phones still responded to “Borgot assistant,” the phrase I’d always used. Of course, the executives had made a big deal out of the naming of the assistant for the phone. We had to make sure it was a better name than Apple’s Siri so there was even prize money for the winning name. “The contest period hasn’t ended yet, has it?” I asked, trying to remember the email from over a week ago.

Cary made a guttural snarling noise without his face ever changing from its surgical perfection. “Whoever comes up with the name for the assistant
must
be on the patent.  Any of us can do better than Apple’s ‘Siri’ or Amazon’s ‘Alexa’.” He snorted and rolled his eyes.  “The name I submitted is quite obviously the winner. It will become a household name! We can’t afford to leave it—or me—off the patent.”

Monique piped up with, “Oh, I’m
quite
certain marketing will win the naming contest. And, I do agree that it’s a great idea that whoever comes up with the winning name be on the patent.”  She beamed a thousand-watt smile at Lawrence.

His eyes widened slightly, perhaps in panic.

“Marketing should be disqualified from entering since you’ve been assigned to select the winner!” Cary sputtered. “That’s corrupt!”

“Why not make the naming of the phone assistant user configurable?” I suggested.  I certainly wouldn’t vote for whatever name Cary had submitted.  And it was possible that Monique’s pick would be worse.  The woman wore pants that said “Doll Baby” across her butt.  “There at least needs to be the ability to select from one of two names, maybe one a female name and the other a male name.  But honestly, when you consider what some people name their pets, it’s probably best we leave the naming up to the user.”  Everyone was staring at me again.  The room had gone silent.

“What?” I asked, spreading my hands.

“That’s actually a very good idea,” Kovid said.

Howard opened his mouth, sputtered out a half squawk and then fell silent.

Cary waved one hand as if batting at a mosquito. “Let the user choose? That’s hardly enough of an idea to get on a patent.  We’d do better with a unique name, one we can trademark. We need it to represent the company!” His face had gone blotchy red.  Interestingly enough, the area around his mouth didn’t change color, but it was kind of puffed out as if it might fall off or explode at any minute.  Wow.  Just how much silicone was in there anyway?

The meeting dissolved into a shouting match between Howard and Monique, with Cary throwing in wild ideas and more than a few new patent demands.

When we finally disbanded, I checked company policy to see just how much of a bonus we were talking about for being named on a patent.  “Ah. Five thousand dollars—and the possibility of an executive position.”  I scanned through the executive officers. Lawrence already had a patent, apparently.  The CFO, CEO and COO all had patents.  Most of the board members had patents. It must be some kind of badge of honor with these people.

Well, if they had obtained their patents the way Cary was going about it, the intellectual property award was probably not what the U.S. Patent Office had in mind.

An email from Cary popped into my inbox before I could leave for lunch. Of course it was marked “urgent.”  All of his emails arrived with flames, threats and exclamation marks.

“All feature changes, enhancements and product ideas must be submitted through me from now on,” the email read.  It went on to stress the necessity of being a team player and discussing any possible enhancement to code, to products, and to company policy with him before so much as sharing it with yourself. He included a long list of examples such as color, phone skin designs, handicap improvements and so on.

“Yeah, little late, buddy.  This thing is halfway done.”  He probably didn’t even care about the cash, but a chance at an executive position? He’d sell his boat and house for that.

I grabbed a sandwich from the break room and went outside to call Mark and fill him in on how the Pig Latin had possibly gotten on Joe’s phone.

“The code existed in a past build. The only weird thing is that Kovid seemed to think the code had been deleted.”

“Can Joe have added it again?”

I hesitated. “He had access.  Even I have access to the build server. But I don’t think he knew how to change code in and out. I doubt he did it, which makes things even more strange.”

“Okay,” Mark acknowledged. “Are you going to pass this along to your brother for the police?”

“Shouldn’t I wait for them to ask? I’m still not sure whether or not it was Joe’s personal phone, although the voice assistant was in his voice.”

Mark didn’t argue the point. “I’ll let Radar in on what you told me.  It would be a good idea if he were hired on there. He might be able to track who added code and when just in case it’s important.”

“That’s a good idea, but I don’t think it will work. I’ve heard rumors we’re under a hiring freeze until we get the first product out.”

“Oh really? Money must be tight or running out. When the money leaves, some people get desperate.”

“Desperate enough to kill Joe, anyway.  But I’m not sure how him being dead helps anyone.” I sighed. “I’ll check some basic things. I already know how to access the code if I want to, and Joe could have done the same. It would still take someone with brains to add that code back in. I don’t think he could do it.”

“Okay.  Should I stop by tonight? And bring Chinese?”

“Definitely.”

“Enough for your parents too?”

“They’re having dinner at Sean’s.  Mom is cooking over there so we’re good.”

I ate my sandwich on the way back upstairs.  Gosh, working for a startup sure was fun.

Chapter 10

The only reason I was able to sneak out of work at six was because Cary was busy writing up his memoirs in the form of a lengthy thesis on why he should be listed on the patent as the number one inventor. He’d already sent around two drafts.

There hadn’t been nearly enough quiet moments in my life lately, but at least Mark met me in my driveway after work. He had Chinese food in hand.

“Radar had a date so he couldn’t make it, but he said to ask whether the old version of code containing the Pig Latin was still readily available if someone went looking.” 

I nodded. “I checked the server.  All the old builds are still available, including the Pig Latin modules.”  I led the way inside, turning on lights and setting my backpack down before grabbing dishes from the cupboard.

“In that case anyone could have changed a few lines to call the Pig Latin code back into the latest build?”

I nodded again. “Anyone who knew what they were doing.  I just don’t know why anyone would bother, and if Joe did it, that’s not really enough of a reason to kill him.”  I finished setting plates out. The serger was in the way, but Mark moved it off the table.

“It does seem like it would be easier to take the code back out than kill him.”

“He was pretty annoying. Maybe the Pig Latin code was the last straw for someone.” I shrugged. “I forgot to tell you that Cary took credit for hiring Joe today.” I gave him more details about the patent meeting.

“Was Cary smart enough to put the Pig Latin back in there? Perhaps he thought he’d get a patent?”

“The Pig Latin angle on a patent probably didn’t occur to him before today because it
isn’t
patentable. He’s grasping at straws and trying to make a house out of them.”

“Was Joe dumb enough to think he’d make it on a patent?”

“I doubt he even knew anything about patents. He’s more the type to have thought he could use Pig Latin as a secret code to impress people. Huntington seemed to think Joe was involved in moving or selling stolen contraband. Maybe Joe thought it was worth talking someone into putting the code back in so that he could use it to set up the deliveries of the stolen goods.”

“Considering these burglaries have been impossible to trace, I suspect the culprits are not counting on something as obvious as Pig Latin,”  Mark said.

“Probably not, but Joe was very proud of using it. And none of this really gives us a clue as to why someone murdered Joe.”

“I’d feel better about your safety if it has something to do with the burglaries and nothing to do with Borgot.”

“Maybe. But if that is the case, it’s very odd that he was killed at Borgot.”

“True.”

When we were finished eating, Mark lifted the serger back onto the table. “Looks like you already have this machine ready for your first project,” he noted.

“I threaded them both if that’s what you mean.  I’m not sure the serger will actually run, but it has enough threads in there to make a pair of pants by itself.”

Mark grinned. “You sound like you’d like that.”

“Better it than me.” I showed him the inside. “Can you believe this mess? Every time a thread breaks the instructions say to unthread every single one of these and start completely over.  It’s like a bad joke.”  I sat down at the controls, which in this case meant sitting in front of the machine with my foot over the pedal.  I turned it on.  “It’s set to do a rolled hem, but I haven’t tried it yet.”

I pulled a small piece of blue cloth from the bag of odds and ends Barb had sold me.  She had called it broadcloth, but this was only a “remnant” about the size of a large scarf.  “Okay.” I stared at the blue cloth.  I looked at Mark.

“Are you going to try it now?” His bemused challenge was just short of a laugh.

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer.  Neither did the machine.  It sat silently, not telling me whether to first roll and press the hem and then stick it under there or just put material in and see what happened.  I’m big on the “try and see” method of learning. “Rolled hem plate. Yup. Got that. Threads. Check. Light, check.  Machine set to thin material.  If I did it right, anyway.” The machine was as ready as it was going to get.

“Looks good to me,” Mark said.

“What do I have to lose?  Other than fingers.  Maybe my whole arm if the thing sucks me under there.  My hair could get caught. If this thing hurts me, I’m going to set all of your brother’s clothes on fire,” I muttered.

Mark laughed, filling the room with a warmth only he could ignite.

I placed the end under the guide, feeling more confident with Mark there to save me should the machine decide to attack.

Gently, I pressed the foot switch. The serger was loud. Very loud.  It sounded like a plane was taking off. If Mark was still laughing, I could no longer hear him above the roar of the engine in this thing.

Determined to show no fear, I pressed harder on the foot pedal.

The machine grabbed the material and yanked it from my fingers. Needles pounded, and snapping noises filled in around the plane engine.  The spools of thread jerked hard.  Vibrations shivered across the table like thunder booming after a lightning strike.

“Aaaagh.” As I scooted back in self-defense, my foot slammed down on the pedal, sealing the fate of the scrap of blue material. The needle slashed into the cloth like a knife, cutting it to certain death with threads.

As soon as I remembered to take my foot off the pedal, the roaring beast stopped.  There was no smoke, but the thread running through the needle had snapped under the pressure.

Mark peered over my shoulder. “It isn’t a very straight hem.”

“No, but it’s definitely rolled.” I tugged on the cloth tentatively.  “You might even say it’s bunched.”  The machine had not fed the material under and then out the back end. It had added a lot of thread to it though. “I think this piece may be bound to the machine permanently.”

“Yeah. Sewn tight. Open and sewn case.”  Mark grinned down at me.  “Mom sews. She can help you with this.”

“What?” I blinked. “The one who made the flowers for me?”

“I only have one mom, so yes.”

He must have sensed my fear. “You have to meet her anyway because Steve hired her to infiltrate.  Before you go undercover on this one, it might be a good idea if she tells you all the right things to ask and gives you a few sewing pointers. I’ve been wanting you to meet her anyway.”

My heart stuttered. “You have?”

“She’s been asking to meet you for even longer.”  His eyes softened with affection, a rare expression for him.

I fingered the ruined material. It wasn’t budging from the machine. “Maybe it’s best if we not mention the sewing right away. I’d rather make a good first impression.”  And a second and third.  And anything to do with sewing would make me look like an incompetent idiot.

He laughed and pulled me to my feet for a mind-numbing kiss, the kind that drove my brain from “meet his mother” to “Who cares?”

It was going to be a long time before my head cleared.  Maybe never.  Mark was firmly under my skin and lodging more securely in my heart every day.  Meet his mother, indeed.

Chapter 11

Tuesday I delved deeper into the server where the code was stored.  Each engineer checked in his own segment. Once compiled and built, we loaded the newest code onto the phones for testing.  I’d been a “build master” in the past.  There was a lot of recordkeeping involved with the job, and there was always at least one engineer who managed to either load the wrong code, not be ready, or not have his piece working.

Being the build master was a lot like herding cats; the cats don’t care and no matter how many times you put a cat where you want it, it’s going to go elsewhere. The code, nevertheless, had to be assembled eventually. Like a giant puzzle, all the pieces had to be in the right place.

I had access to all the directories.  The modules had archaic names, but there was no indication that Joe had ever written any of the code.  Most of it had been written by Roscoe or Kovid.  There were a few earlier modules written by Kevin, but he quit after a few months to become a snake charmer. Some of the basic phone functionality had been purchased from another company. That code covered phone calls, camera and non-unique functions.