Cold Betrayal (14 page)

“A movie rather than a TV show,” Ali corrected. “High Noon. It’s a security firm with clients all over the world. We mostly specialize in computer security issues, but we can do other kinds of personal security work as well.”

“You work for them, too?” Betsy asked. “Does that mean you’re some kind of private investigator?”

“I’m more PR than PI,” Ali admitted, “but occasionally I do some investigative work as well. With that in mind, are you interested in having High Noon launch an investigation on your behalf?”

“Absolutely,” Betsy declared without a moment’s hesitation. “Since Donald Olson, our illustrious sheriff, is being such a piker about all this, I need all the help I can get. In fact, I barely slept last night. I was too busy worrying about who might be coming in and out of my house without my knowledge.”

“All right, then,” Ali said. “Here’s what we’d like to do. High Noon wants to send out one of our associates. His name is Joe Friday, and he’s located in Minneapolis. He’ll come to your place there in Bemidji and set up a surveillance system that will keep your whole house under observation.”

“My whole house?” Betsy repeated. “Even the bathroom and bedroom?”

“Those rooms especially,” Ali responded.

“But . . .”

“Just wait,” Ali hurried on. “Before you object, let me explain. Joe will record images of both you and your dog. The cameras will all be set to recognize your images. Those will not trigger alarms, and they will not be recorded, but everyone else who sets foot inside your house will be.”

Betsy sighed. “I suppose,” she said. “If you think it’s necessary, but does it have to be so intrusive?”

“Yes, it does,” Ali answered. “At least that’s our assessment of your current situation.”

Ali could have added what she already knew—that the earlier intruder had known his way around Betsy’s current alarm system and, more important, he had also known his way around Princess. Rather than overplaying her hand Ali waited, allowing Betsy to draw her own conclusions and hoping she’d make the right choice. Eventually she did.

“Very well, then,” the other woman agreed. “Send him over. I’m sure you people know better than I.”

We do,
Ali thought. “All right. I’ll give Joe a call,” she said aloud. “Once I have an ETA on him, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, you’re going to need a cover story.”

“A cover story?” Betsy repeated. “How come? Like in one of those cloak-and-dagger spy movies?”

“Exactly,” Ali said. “Joe will probably show up in a work van with a sign saying he represents some kind of electrical company. If anyone asks about his presence at your place, tell them that you’ve been having trouble with your electrical service, and Joe’s been dispatched to repair it for you. I understand your home has been equipped with Wi-Fi, right?”

“It used to be,” Betsy said. “After Athena left, I discontinued the service. There was no sense in paying for it when I wasn’t using it.”

“What about a computer? Do you have one of those?”

“I have one, but it died months ago. The screen froze up on me one day, and I haven’t bothered to do anything about replacing it.”

“Joe’s surveillance system will require a state-of-the-art computer because you’ll need that to operate as a server. You can tell anyone who asks that Athena insisted on your taking these measures after that last scare. Tell them she wants you to be online so she can stay in touch with you by e-mail and FaceTime.”

“Do I have to?” Betsy asked.

“Yes,” Ali insisted. “It’s absolutely necessary.”

“Do you have any idea how old I am?” Betsy demanded. “Athena has been after me about all that for years, but I have zero interest in learning about all those computer contraptions or using them, either.”

“If you want us to help you,” Ali advised, “you’ll need to change your mind about that and develop some interest in a hurry. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, your life may depend on it.”

That was followed by a long pause. “Very well,” Betsy said, capitulating at last, “now that you put it that way.”

“Good,” Ali replied. “I’ll contact Joe immediately and let him know that he’s not to leave your house without making sure you can log onto and off the computer and that you’re capable of sending and receiving messages. That’s going to be important, by the way. Otherwise, if your bad guy shows up and sees that you’re not using the computer yourself, he’s going to smell a rat and figure out that the computer was installed for some other reason.”

“Okay,” Betsy agreed. “I’ll do my best, but one other thing. How much is all this going to cost? Do I need to sign a contract or something?”

“No,” Ali answered. “Athena is going to handle it.”

“Well, for goodness’ sake, I’m sure with two kids to feed, Chris and Athena are struggling just to make ends meet. No doubt I’m in a better situation to pay the bill than they are.”

“As I said, Mrs. Peterson, the bill is handled, but you’ve just brought up another question. Tell me about your financial situation.”

“I already told you. Call me Betsy, but what do you mean?”

“I mean how are you fixed for retirement funds?”

“I’m not sure why you’re asking, but I’m fine,” Betsy said briskly. “More than fine.”

“How fine is ‘more than fine’?” Ali asked.

“Let’s just say I have plenty of money to last me for my lifetime, probably with some left over. Alton always said that he wasn’t going to cork off without leaving me well provided for. Believe me, he was a man of his word.”

“What happens to the part that’s left over?” Ali asked.

“It goes to Athena, of course,” Betsy replied. “That was written into Alton’s and my wills long before he passed.”

“Your son and daughter-in-law are specifically excluded from being beneficiaries?”

“Absolutely. When Alton and I were watching our money and trying to turn it into a tidy sum, Jimmy and Sandra were acting like money grew on trees and spending like crazy. Mind you, that was after we had paid for Jimmy’s schooling all the way through dental school. Alton always said he’d rot in hell before he gave them another thin dime of his hard-earned cash. That’s what our wills said when he died, and it’s what mine says to this day.”

Yes, Ali thought as she ended the call a few minutes later, as far as she was concerned, there wasn’t a single thing about Betsy Peterson that sounded the least bit dotty.

Ali’s next call was to Stuart. “Okay,” she said. “Tell Joe it’s a go, but you’ll need to warn him. He’s going to need to hang around Bemidji long enough to make sure Betsy Peterson can operate that new computer of hers. From what she just told me on the phone, she’s not exactly computer savvy. That’ll have to change.”

“Should I tell Joe he can expect to earn some combat pay?”

“Yes,” Ali agreed with a laugh. “That sounds about right.”

11

A
li’s intention to leave for Flagstaff soon after breakfast was thwarted by a reminder that popped up on her computer screen the moment she turned it on. She and B. had agreed on an arrangement where she handled all of High Noon’s various public relations inquiries, and this morning she was scheduled to do an interview with a freelancer from the Bay Area who was writing a profile on Lance Tucker, one of High Noon’s most recent employee hires.

Lance was a talented teenaged hacker from Texas who had run afoul of both the law and one of High Noon’s cybersecurity clients. Until a few months ago, he had also been a jailed juvenile offender. Working with a high school teacher who subsequently committed suicide, Lance had developed a groundbreaking program, GHOST, which allowed people to surf the Dark Net undetected. Rumors about GHOST’s capabilities had leaked out into the cyberworld, turning Lance into a desirable target for a flock of good guys and bad guys alike. B. had been one of the good guys. After High Noon succeeded in saving both Lance and his family from a group of murderous thugs, B.’s company had walked away with two valuable prizes—Lance Tucker and his program.

Despite the fact that Lance had lost a leg in the process, his once bleak future was bright again. Although he was officially on High Noon’s payroll, his only duties at the moment consisted of undergoing rehab related to adjusting to his new state-of-the-art prosthetic leg and working full bore on a distance-learning program that would give him a degree in computer science in under three years rather than the usual four. And, because so much of the world’s cybercrime originated in the former Soviet Union, he was also taking a crash course in Russian. In the meantime, his GHOST program was now a proprietary part of High Noon’s arsenal of cybercrime-fighting tools.

This story was clear enough to Ali because she had lived through those harrowing days that had ended in a number of homicides scattered across the wilds of Texas. It was a whole lot less clear to the dim young woman conducting the interview. Much as Ali tried to turn the reporter away from the more inflammatory aspects of the case, she could already tell that the woman would write a piece that wouldn’t be good for Lance Tucker or High Noon Enterprises. Ali found herself wondering if she had been as irritating an interviewer back when she was fresh out of journalism school and starting her career as a television news reporter. One thing she knew for sure was that she had been a much faster typist.

When the interview finally ended, Ali headed out. Leland stopped her in the kitchen on her way to the garage. “Here’s a little something for you and Sister Anselm,” he said, handing her a cardboard box that looked suspiciously like one the cleaners used to return B.’s laundered and folded shirts. The unexpected weight of the box indicated it contained something other than shirts, and since the bottom of the container was warm to the touch, Ali suspected this to be one of Leland’s signature care packages.

“What’s this?” Ali asked.

“I have a clear understanding about the grim reality of the food choices available from hospital cafeterias,” he answered. “These are a pair of pasties, fresh from the oven—one for you and one for Sister Anselm. If I put them in a tightly sealed container, they’d end up steamed and soggy. Inside the box, they should be crisp and still slightly warm by the time you get there. You can have them for lunch. I know Sister Anselm loves pasties, and you’ll also find paper plates, napkins, and plastic silverware in the box—everything you’ll need for a hospital waiting room picnic.”

“What makes you think I can be trusted with two pasties?” Ali asked. “What if I keep both of them for myself?”

“You won’t need to,” Leland said, “because you know there are more where these came from.” With that he reached over to the counter and picked up the small thermal carrying pouch he used for bringing frozen vegetables back from shopping excursions in Prescott.

“Some bottled water,” he explained. “It’s just out of the fridge, and it’ll stay cold for a long time in this.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You always think of everything.”

Bella had hung around with Ali while she was getting dressed, but when Ali’s purse came out, Bella headed for her bed in the kitchen and settled in, making it plain that she had zero interest in going. She was not a dog who liked car rides. That wasn’t too surprising considering how traumatic her last few adventures in vehicles had been, including the latest one—a trip down to Phoenix to see a canine dental specialist who had removed several of her terribly decayed teeth.

Ali headed north in a Cayenne that smelled more like a traveling bakery than an SUV. When she pulled into the hospital parking lot forty minutes later, both pasties were still untouched, but leaving them alone had required willpower.

At the reception desk in the main lobby, Ali asked for Sister Anselm and was surprised to be directed to the maternity unit on the fourth floor. There were several people in the unit’s waiting room—two anxious husbands whose wives were currently in delivery rooms, and one proud father with a gaggle of relatives, pointing proudly toward a red-faced baby sleeping peacefully in a bassinet that was parked close to the nursery window. Eventually Ali caught sight of Sister Anselm, seated on a rocking chair in a far corner of the nursery.

Retreating to a waiting room chair, Ali set down her purse and the box of pasties, and then sent Sister Anselm a text announcing that luncheon was served.

A few minutes later, when Sister Anselm emerged from the nursery, Ali was shocked by her appearance. Everything about Sister Anselm looked bone weary. The sparkle was gone from her blue eyes. Her normally perfect posture was marred by the slump of her shoulders. In the few hours between the time Sister Anselm had left Ali’s house in Sedona and now, the nun seemed to have turned into an old woman.

Trying not to stare and looking for a way to cover her dismay, Ali attempted a bit of normal conversation. “Your patient’s a baby?” she asked.

“One of them is,” Sister Anselm said, sinking gratefully into a chair and lowering her voice so no one else in the room could hear what she was saying. “A baby and her mother.”

Ali knew better than to inquire about the condition of the two patients. She didn’t have to. She could tell from the grave expression on Sister Anselm’s face that the situation was dicey at best. Not wanting to voice her concerns about Sister Anselm herself, Ali sought refuge in a less difficult topic.

“Leland has all your best interests at heart,” she said. “He baked a batch of pasties this morning and sent two of them along for lunch.”

“Bless him,” Sister Anselm murmured, leaning back and closing her eyes. “That man is a wonder and a marvel.”

“He is that,” Ali agreed.

When Sister Anselm continued to sit with her eyes closed and with her head propped against the wall, Ali wondered if the nun had simply dozed off. Ali had known her friend for years, always marveling at her energy and industry. Usually she was able to stay at a patient’s bedside for days on end, sleeping in short power naps that would have left your basic finals-cramming college student in the dust. Now though, with Sister Anselm looking beyond exhausted, Ali forced herself to swallow her concern and busied herself setting out the food. Only when the pasties had been set on plates and the bottled water opened did she touch Sister Anselm’s shoulder. The nun awakened with a start.