Death by Sudoku (18 page)

“The picture of Jenny,” Liza said.

“That suggests the bad guys have some kind of tap on your computer, your phones, or both.” Michael dug into his jacket and came out with his cell phone. “You might have better luck with this one.”

“Yes and no,” Ava grumbled. “I’ve got our travel agent on speed dial.”

She consulted an overflowing Rolodex and dialed a number. “I need three seats on the next plane to Los Angeles,” she began.

“Two,” Liza interrupted.

This earned her another look from Ava, who put a hand over the mouthpiece. “You have to go, and I’m definitely coming along.”

“Me, too,” Michael insisted. “After all, it’s my phone.”

“I need you to stay,” Liza told him quietly. “Trust me, it’s important.”

Michael looked ready to argue, but he glanced at the impatient Ava and shook his head. “All right. I’ll trust you.”

Ava quickly concluded the phone conversation. “We’ve got to be in Portland in an hour and a half. I’ve got a contact in airport security, so I’m hoping we can get aboard with a minimum of fuss.”

“Now explain to me why you don’t want me along,” Michael demanded.

“There’s something else that has to be done, something important—something that may be harder than anything we do in L.A. If I’m right about that haystack I saw on the screen, Jenny Robbins is somewhere along the coast up here. You know everything we’ve discovered from the puzzles, and Kevin Shepard knows the area. Can the two of you work together to find Jenny?”

Michael’s face hardened at the mention of Kevin’s name, but Liza went on.

“If you’re right about the bad guys using her to throw me off their trail—or scare me off—Jenny is in terrible danger. And if Ava and I find anything at Grauman’s Chinese—and stop it—Jenny’s usefulness as a hostage drops to zero.”

Her words evidently took all the wind out of Michael’s prepared argument. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then he looked away. “Damn, damn, damn,” Michael muttered. “I hate it when you’re right. We do need to find Jenny, and I need someone who knows the area.”

He gave Liza a lopsided smile. “If this were a movie, that would be the cue for self-sacrificing music to start playing.”

“So, we’re ready to go?” Ava said.

But Michael held up a hand. “Maybe I’ve worked on too many cheesy movies, but there’s something else to consider. The bad guys probably had a tap on us, but they may actually have somebody in town keeping an eye on you—after all, Liza’s house got broken into. Here’s what I suggest . . .”

 
Liza’s skin crawled at the thought of hidden eyes watching her as she and Ava came down the outside stairs from the
Daily
offices. They got into Ava’s car and got on the highway for an exit, getting off to go to a restaurant called the Famished Farmer.

Growing up in town, she had really only known two places to go out and get a meal. For breakfast, lunch, or a burger and shake before going to the movies, there was Ma’s Café. For serious dining—birthdays, anniversaries, going steady—the locals went to Fruit of the Sea in the harbor, a restaurant with seafood fresh off the boat served with an Italian flavor that was exotic enough for Maiden’s Bay.

Like everywhere else, the town had moved with the times. A chain coffee palace had opened on the other end of Main Street, and a couple of new restaurants had sprouted up to feed the growing population. This place apparently had a theme. The building was done up with red clapboard to look like a barn, and its sign featured a neon-lit cartoon farmer, knife and fork in hand, licking his lips.

“Michael should be here by now,” Ava said. He had left the offices five minutes before they had, heading in the opposite direction as if he were off to the library again.

“The Famished Farmer—is this one of those food by the pound places?” Liza asked, looking around as they entered. The rustic décor continued on the inside, with rough-hewn beams and bales of hay set out for waiting patrons to sit on.

“Actually, it’s not too bad,” Ava told her. She turned as the hostess came up to them. “We’re meeting a friend. Could we just take a quick look in the dining room?”

They went inside to find Michael waiting in a booth that looked remarkably like a cow stall.

Well, at least there’s nothing unpleasant underfoot
, Liza thought, poking a toe at the straw-covered floor.

Michael scooted over as the women were seated and exchanged drink orders for oversized menus. As soon as the hostess left, he and Ava passed their car keys.

“Okay,” Ava said, looking at Liza. “Want to check out the ladies’ room?”

“With décor like this, I’m thinking something along the lines of an American Gothic outhouse,” Liza said.

“Typical L.A. snobbery,” Ava said, leading the way. “I guess you’d rather eat in a restaurant shaped like a derby hat.”

They reached a door marked with the international sign for females.
At least it doesn’t say something like “Heifers,”
Liza thought. Inside, she found fairly generic tile and plumbing fixtures, although the makeup area had some rustic-looking mirrors.
At least the management didn’t expect us to sit on more hay bales.

Ava quickly checked the stalls and announced, “No-body here.” Then she went to the window at the rear of the room and began levering it up.

“How did you know—?” Liza began.

“Personal experience,” Ava replied. “The food here is decent if undistinguished, perfect for blind dates—and it comes complete with an escape route if necessary.”

They scrambled through the window, ending up at the side of the faux barn, out of sight from the parking lot. Ava jingled Michael’s keys. “Okay. He said he parked about a block and a half away.”

The restaurant backed on a residential area, and they faced only a brief walk before they found Michael’s rental Lexus. “Well, nobody’s trying to stop us.” Ava got in and started the car. “Next stop, PDX.”

Liza thought of Michael sitting in that ridiculous booth with three drinks scattered on the table. Hopefully, that little deception would keep any watcher hanging around until they were well on their way.

She dug in her bag to bring out Michael’s cell phone—something he’d passed over before they even left the office. Luckily, she’d pretty well memorized two of the numbers she intended to call and had a card for the other. No need for speed-dial or memory chips.

Liza dug out Kevin Shepard’s card and punched in the number. “Killamook Inn,” a perky voice answered.

“Liza Kelly for Kevin Shepard,” she said.

Kevin was on almost immediately. “Everything okay, Liza?”

“I need a big favor from you, Kevin,” Liza said. “Can you get over to Mrs. Halvorsen’s as soon as possible—no questions asked.”

“Let me just clear my desk, and I’ll be on my way.” Kevin rang off.

Liza swiveled round in her seat for a moment to scan the highway behind them, trying to see if anyone was following the car. Ava must have had the same idea in mind. She kept in the right-hand lane, doing a stolid forty-five miles per hour, and every vehicle in sight came zooming past them. Liza turned back to the phone. Her next call was to Mrs. H.
I hope she’s not out in the garden
—

Liza’s neighbor answered the phone and said she’d be delighted to host the meeting Liza needed. By now, Michael was already on his way there.

The final call was long distance, down to L.A. “Markson Associates,” an unfamiliar voice greeted her. Perhaps this voice, too, had once been perky. From the undertone of terror, Liza felt sure she was dealing with another temp fronting Michelle’s office.

That was bad enough, but there was worse news ahead. “I’m sorry, Ms. Markson is not available at this time.” The voice took on the parrot quality of someone inexpertly reading from a note. “She’s in-in—I can’t make out the next word.”

“Incommunicado,” Liza sighed. She knew her partner’s style. After laying out the plans for a big event, Michelle often took some time off, leaving her underlings to sweat the details. Her cell would definitely be turned off.

“Communicado?” the voice on the other end asked. “Is that up past Malibu?”

Sighing, Liza left a message for Michelle to call her ASAP and left Michael’s cell number.

From the stumbling responses, she wasn’t really sure how well the temp was doing taking it down.

I really have to talk to Michelle—and Ysabel
, Liza thought.
After we get past this.

After one last look for pursuers, she settled herself as best she could for the ride to Portland and the airport.

PART FOUR: Solution Set

Even the most difficult sudoku, the ones that require the most advanced techniques, yield their final spaces through application of the simplest methods. That’s why, at any point in solving, you want to keep running through the whole hierarchy of techniques that you know.

 
—Excerpt from
Sudo-cues
by Liza K

As soon as they were off the plane at LAX, Ava led the way across the terminal to the desk for the car rental company where the
Oregon Daily
had an account. Liza stood outside the rental office for the reception while Ava worked on the receptionist inside, getting them a car. At the moment, Liza wasn’t talking but glaring at Michael’s cell phone. No, the battery hadn’t gone dead—just the brains of the person on the other end.

“What’s going on here, Detective Vasquez?” she finally burst out in frustration. “The last time we spoke, you told me I’d have to predict something based on one of the coded messages before I could convince you that there was any connection to those puzzles. Now I’ve explained what’s going to happen and how I figured it out—”

“And you haven’t convinced me,” Detective Vasquez’s brusque voice broke in. “That’s a great prediction you made—very exciting, with bombs and everything. Although you didn’t mention whether the crime would be committed by a tall, dark, and handsome man—”

“Dammit, Vasquez, this is nothing at all like that, and you know it!”

“How is it different?” Vasquez demanded. “What you’re telling me might as well be fortune-telling unless you can show me some solid proof that I can work with.”

“That’s why I’m coming to you, to try to
get
some proof!” Liza realized people were looking at her and lowered her voice. “What will it take before you admit I was right? A whole theater full of people getting blown up and killed?”

“Hey, I’m listening to you,” Vasquez replied. “That’s more than anybody on the LAPD would do if you came to them with this story. I’m not going to be the guy they’ll make jokes about for believing a bunch of bull.”

“But if it’s not a bunch of bull, you’ll be the guy who got advance warning about a tragedy and did nothing about it.”

The detective took a long breath, then let it out—loudly. “You don’t get to guilt me, lady. Not till your warning has something more solid than your imagination and wishful thinking.”

His cutoff sounded sharp in Liza’s ear. A moment later, Ava emerged, car keys in one hand, a bunch of papers in the other. “We now officially have wheels.” She paused for a second, taking in Liza’s expression. “I’m guessing your call didn’t go as well as we hoped.”

“He just blew me off, Ava,” Liza burst out. “I had the facts down cold and gave it my best shot, and what does he say? That he needs solid proof before he’ll do a damned thing.”

“That’s what we need the police for.” Ava rattled her new car keys in annoyance. “I still think we should have gone with plan A.”

They’d come up with four plans on the flight to Los Angeles. Plan A, Ava had argued, had the greatest chance of success. They’d just call in a bomb threat for Grauman’s Chinese. The police would have to check it out, and when they found confirmation, the
Oregon Daily
could still get a scoop.

Liza had vetoed the idea. Maybe Michael’s ideas of taps and spying had made her paranoid, but she feared that the police response to a phoned threat would be too public. The bad guys would be sure to hear about it, either through the news or through their own sources. And then where would Jenny stand?

Liza had felt reasonably confident that after hearing what she had to say, Detective Vasquez would at least unbend enough to have a quiet word with some of his colleagues in L.A. They could institute a discreet search and find proof of the plot with nobody—especially the bad guys—being the wiser. Unfortunately, plan B had not proceeded as she’d hoped.

That led them to plan C, a more unofficial approach to the LAPD. Liza went into the car rental office to see if they had a local telephone directory. They did, and she quickly emerged with the number for Buck Foreman’s office.

Buck had a head at least as hard as Detective Vasquez. He certainly hadn’t had much to say when Liza brought up the subject of messages in sudoku when she first talked with him and Michelle. Liza wasn’t sure how Buck would react at being hit out of the blue with her theory and everything she had to back it up.

Still worse, she was uncomfortably sure that Buck would be reluctant to contact his former colleagues. When he did investigations for Michelle, Liza had often seen Buck put a lot more work into getting information because he refused to plug into the LAPD old-boy system—the old buddies who’d generally turned their backs on him.

I’ll just have to convince him. At least he’s in town. Maybe if I show him the proof in person, Liza told herself as she punched in the number.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered as her call went for three, then four rings. When she finally got her connection, she gave out a louder “Crap!”

“You’ve gotten the voice mail for Foreman Investigative Services,” Buck’s recorded voice came over the phone. “Please leave a brief message, including your name and phone number. And remember, even if you don’t, I can find you.”

“Buck, it’s Liza Kelly.” Liza then left Michael’s cell phone number. “Looks like Derrick was right about those messages in the puzzles. We’ve connected them with a whole lot of bad stuff that’s already gone down, and now we’ve got a hint of something that’s due to happen—at Grauman’s Chinese. We’re going to be there, so please get in touch with us as soon as possible.”