Trust Me (27 page)

Desdemona was stunned. “You checked on his flight? How?”

Stark shrugged. “I used my computer to search the airline's records.”

“Good grief. You can do stuff like that?”

Stark's mouth twisted wryly. “I'm a computer security expert, remember?”

“You actually checked the airline records,” Desdemona repeated in amazement. “You don't take anything at face value, do you, Stark?”

“No.”

“Is it legal to do that kind of thing?” she asked suspiciously.

“Let's not get into a discussion of technicalities. Checking airline records falls into the same gray area as buying Vernon's computer instead of telling the police about it. Drive carefully, Desdemona.” Stark closed the car door.

Desdemona watched in the rearview mirror as he walked back to his car. He was as solid and unyielding as Mount Rainier. And somewhere inside he was still as cold as the glaciers on its summit.

S
am. Sam, wake up.”

“We brought you some breakfast.”

Stark opened his eyes at the sound of Jason's and Kyle's voices. He took a few seconds to orient himself before he raised his head from his folded arms. He reached for his glasses, shoved them onto his nose, and automatically glanced at his watch.

It was nearly seven o'clock.
In the morning
.

“I must have fallen asleep in the middle of running the search program.” Stark rubbed his jaw and absently noticed the rough stubble of an incipient beard. The last time he had checked the time, it had been three
A.M.

He had learned one thing for certain last night. Whatever his deficiencies as an ice carver, Vernon Tate had definitely been qualified as computer literate.

Tate had employed an exotic operating system, not one of the common ones, and he had secured it and his files behind an invisible, highly sophisticated wall of high-tech wizardry.

It had not taken Stark long to realize that getting into Vernon's files was not going to be a piece of cake. He had made a preliminary survey with his newest password search program, but he hadn't expected it to work, and he had been right. Vernon Tate had been too savvy to use a real word or a name as a password. And as good as his password search program was, Stark knew it was unlikely to come up with a password that had been deliberately scrambled by an expert.

Sometime after midnight, Stark had opted for another approach to the problem.

Kyle set a bowl of cereal on the desk. “We already put the milk and sugar on the cereal for you.”

“Here's a spoon.” Jason handed one to Stark.

“Thanks.” Stark picked up the spoon and started to eat the soggy, overly sweetened cereal.

Kyle came around the corner of the desk and peered at the glowing monitor that sat on top of Vernon's computer. “Did your special trapdoor search program work?”

“Yeah, did you find a way to break into the files?” Jason asked eagerly.

“I don't know.” Stark stoically munched cereal. He was ravenous. “The trapdoor program was still running when I fell asleep.”

“Hey, look, something just came up on the screen,” Kyle said.

Jason crowded close. “Let me see.”

Stark glanced at the monitor. He stopped chewing when he saw the prompt sign flickering gently against the dark screen. Cool satisfaction went through him.

“Gotcha,” Stark said softly.

Jason looked at him. “Are you in?”

“I'm in.”

Kyle grinned. “This is even better than Wyvern's Treasure.”

Stark put down the cereal bowl and went to work at the keyboard. “Let's see what we can find.”

“I'll bet Desdemona and the rest of the Wainwrights will be excited when they find out that Vernon Tate had a super secure system on his computer,” Kyle said.

“Yeah,” Jason said. “It means he might have been doing something really mysterious.”

“It might simply mean that he liked his privacy,” Stark said calmly.

“Mona, what the hell happened here?” Ian Ivers asked from the doorway of Desdemona's office. “Looks like a hurricane went through.”

Desdemona put down the complicated insurance form that she had been working on all morning. “You must have heard that one of my employees was murdered Friday morning.”

“Yeah. That's one of the reasons I came by.” Ian dropped heavily into a chair. “Wanted to make sure everything was okay with you. Christ, I hadn't realized the killer had torn things up like this.”

“The police think he was searching for a floor safe or something of value,” Desdemona said wearily. She had been over the tale a dozen times since the murder. Her neighbors and the owners of the small businesses on the block had all wanted to hear the gory details.

“So the poor ice carver had the bad luck to walk in on him and got iced, himself, huh? And I hear you got locked in the freezer?”

“Yes.”

Ian glanced at her, his eyes very intent. “You actually saw the guy?”

“I saw him, but I couldn't describe him. He was wearing a nylon stocking over his face. Was there something you wanted, Ian? I'm a little busy at the moment.”

“What? Oh, yeah. I called Tony's number, but there was no answer, so I thought I'd see if you had heard anything from Stark. Think he's looked at the proposal for
Dissolving
yet?”

“I think it's safe to say that playing theatrical angel is not high on Stark's list of priorities at the moment.”

“Mona, could you do me a favor here? You're close to Stark. Could you put in a good word for me? I have a hunch he'll listen to you.”

Desdemona sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Look, why don't you give it up, Ian? Stark's not really into theater.”

“Damn it, Stark needs this as much as we do.”

Desdemona raised her brows. “He does?”

“Think what it will do for his corporate image. It's a fast way for him to become known as a patron of the arts.”

“Maybe you shouldn't have told him that your goal was to put on a play that would rip the guts out of the audience,” Desdemona said. “I think the concept had a negative impact on him.”

“Yeah, yeah, maybe that's where I went wrong. His secretary says she's been instructed not to give me an appointment.” Ian shot to his feet and began to pace the office. “Maybe I need to rework the proposal.”

“Good idea. Tell you what, you go rework your proposal, and I'll finish cleaning up around here. Luckily the killer didn't bother to mess up my computer.” Desdemona swung around in the chair and switched on the machine.

“Maybe the ice carver interrupted him before he got around to it,” Ian suggested.

“I guess that's possible.” Desdemona shivered as she punched in the familiar commands that called up the weekly schedule. “I don't even like to think about what happened in here.”

“Say, do you know where Tony is? He and I were supposed to do lunch today. We're gonna discuss possible casting for
Dissolving
.”

“Tony's in L.A.”

Ian abruptly stopped pacing. “L.A.? What the hell is he doing down there?”

“He got a call from the soap people.”

Ian was incensed. “Damn it, I thought he'd learned his lesson about Hollywood. He knows that stupid soap is dead in the water.
Dissolving
is at a critical point.”

“You mean it might dissolve completely?”

“Very funny.” Ian looked genuinely hurt.

“Sorry.” Desdemona frowned as an unfamiliar message appeared on her screen. “That's strange.”

“What?”

“My computer is asking me if I want to recover some lost files.”

Ian craned his head to see the screen. “That's a message you get when there was a power failure in the middle of a work session or if you accidentally turned off the computer without exiting the program properly.”

“What does it mean?”

Ian shrugged. “Just what it says. It means that the last work you did was saved in a special emergency file. You'll have to call it up with special commands to retrieve it.”

“But, I didn't—” Desdemona broke off without finishing her sentence. For some reason she did not want to tell him that she was quite certain that she had not accidentally shut down a program. Nor had there been a power failure the last time she used the computer.

“Didn't what?” Ian glanced at her.

She cleared her throat. “I didn't know you were so familiar with computers.”

“Who isn't these days? I use one to keep files of potential patrons and subscription lists and to handle the Limelight's financial records. Tony set up the programs for me.”

“That's right. I'd forgotten.”

“He's got a real knack for that kind of thing, doesn't he?”

“Yes.” Desdemona did not want to pursue that. “Well, if you'll excuse me, I'd better get back to work.”

“I can take a hint.” Ian paused at the door. “Say, Mona?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Stark would respond to a pitch that focused on how he would be hailed as a visionary patron of the arts if he were to back
Dissolving
? Corporate types like to grab on to the vision thing, you know. Good press.”

“Gee, I'm not sure how Stark would respond to the concept of himself as a visionary corporate executive and patron of the arts.” Desdemona smiled encouragingly. “Why don't you give it a shot?”

Ian slapped the doorframe in a gesture of renewed enthusiasm. “I'll do it. If you hear from Tony, tell him to get his ass back here to Seattle. That Hollywood crowd is all hype and no talent. We're
theater
people.” He hurried off toward the front door, ponytail jiggling.

“I'll tell him,” Desdemona said to herself. She waited until Ian was gone before she turned back to the computer.

She regarded the message about lost files for a long while. The only person who had ever used her computer other than herself was Tony. The possibility that he had been working on it shortly before Vernon's murder made her stomach churn.

Eventually she summoned the nerve to instruct the computer to recover the missing work. She punched a kev. Nothing happened.

Desdemona groaned and reached for the manual. She hated having to resort to the manual. She never understood it.

The phone rang, slicing through her concentration. She picked up the receiver.

“Right Touch. This is Desdemona.”

“Hey, kid, it's me, Tony.”

Desdemona stilled. “Where are you?”

“L.A. Didn't Aunt Bess get my message?”

“Yes, but we were a little concerned. Did you hear that Vernon Tate was killed?”

“Killed? As in murdered?” Tony sounded incredulous.

“I walked in on it, Tony. The killer was still here. He took a couple of shots at me.”

“
Jesus
.” Tony was appalled. “Are you okay? You weren't hurt?”

“No, I managed to get into the freezer and close the door. The killer left. But he dumped some shelving in front of the door and…oh, Tony, I was trapped in there.”

“Shit, the
freezer
?”

“Yes.”

“Were you…okay?”

“I nearly went crazy, as you'd expect. All I could think about was the trunk of Northstreet's car. And to make matters worse, Tate's body was in there with me.”

“Oh, shit,” Tony said again. Desdemona could hear the frustration and anger searing his words. “Oh,
shit
. Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm okay, Tony. Remember the personal digital assistant Stark gave me? I used it to contact him. He got me out.”

There was a short, pregnant pause. “Stark rescued you?”

“Yes. The place is a mess, but we should be ready to reopen on Monday. Tony, what's going on down there?”

“Nothing.” Tony's voice dripped with disgust. “That's why I'm calling. The soap concept is still on the shelf. There are no plans to take it into production. And no one here wants to see my face.”

“I don't understand. Why did they pay for your ticket if the project isn't going forward?”

“Damned if I know. No one down here knows anything about that, either. It's a little weird, to tell you the truth.”

“Maybe it was just a clerical glitch.”

“You mean somebody told a secretary to send a ticket to some other actor and it got sent to me by mistake?” Tony sighed. “Given my luck, that's a real possibility.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“What can I do? I'm coming home.” Tony paused. “Uh, there's just one small problem, kid.”

“What's that?”

“I don't have the cash to buy a return ticket, and my credit cards have all been sort of temporarily cancelled. Can you buy a ticket for me? I'll repay you as soon as I can.”

Desdemona groaned. “Take a bus.”

“A
bus
.” Tony was scandalized. “All the way to Seattle? You wouldn't do that to me, would you?”

“I've got a question for you.” Desdemona tapped the tip of her pen against the computer manual. “Did you do any work on my computer before you flew down to L.A.?”

“No. Why?”

“I'm getting a message on the screen that says there was a power failure in the middle of a work session and some files have been saved. I'm having trouble recovering them.”

“No big deal. Pay attention. I'll walk you through the process.”

A few minutes later Desdemona recovered the lost work. She gazed at it, frowning.

“What is it?” Tony asked.

“A string of gibberish. Just a bunch of keyboard characters run together.”

“Sounds like someone tried to type up something personal on your computer and got interrupted before he could figure out how to save the document properly. I'll bet it was Kyle or Jason. They love to play with computers.”