Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) (21 page)

Twenty

“Don’t get mad,” Kenna told me. “But I don’t know where to turn this thing on.”

She fiddled with Andy’s laptop, which was open, but off, on his desk. I took over and found the power button illogically placed on the side of the computer. I hoped the rest of our time would go more easily and boost Kenna’s confidence. Over the years, I’d enabled her by finding anything she needed online, and Andy did the same. We’d definitely done her a disservice.

“I wonder if his password is case sensitive,” I muttered as I typed in the mix of letters and numbers. I was honored he’d shared it with both of us.

“What does that mean?” Kenna asked.

I explained while I accessed my email. April’s message was simply titled
Beth
. It read:

Hi,

Thanks for the 800 number you gave me. The people there are really nice. I also want to say there’s rumors going around about Marcus. Since he got shot he’s kind of a hero, but I still hate him. Supposedly, Los Reyes still wants to get him because he’s a leader who’s taking a lot of their drug business. I thought you should know. Have you gotten any good information yet? I hope so. My mom wants to know too.

April

I looked up at Kenna.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I like her,” she said.

“Me too. I want to trust her. What do you think I should write back?”

“Hmm.” Kenna rubbed her eyes.

“Maybe we should get some sleep before we do anything,” I said. After all, there was nothing urgent in April’s message.

Kenna agreed. “Let’s look at Facebook though,” she suggested. “And then go to bed.”

We found Mrs. Rush, not Dr. Rush, on Facebook, but her full page wasn’t accessible unless we friended her, which I wasn’t sure we should try, certainly not as ourselves. All this was way too complicated for Kenna, who had never seen a Facebook page. Under different circumstances, we could have stayed up all night looking up former classmates and having fun, but no matter how much I wanted to cheer her up, we just didn’t have time.

Instead we read about Marcy Rush, including her location and interests. Apparently she was a fan of cooking shows. Her birthday was January twenty-first. She was a registered nurse. And she had a grand total of twenty-eight friends, one of whom was Beth. We clicked on relatives’ and friends’ pages, and then returned to Marcy’s page for a last look.

“This is so bizarre,” Kenna said. “This lady is the baby’s birth grandmother. I just never imagined seeing her. I wonder what Andy would think.” She moved closer to the screen and squinted. “It’s frustrating that her picture is so small though.”

“I know. We can’t see bigger pictures without friending her,” I said. “But I saw her in person. I can tell you anything you want to know.”

“Maybe later, I guess,” she said. “What should we do with all this online stuff?”

I tried to barrel through exhaustion and think. How could we learn more about Beth’s contacts without creating a new Facebook identity and trying to friend them? Two ideas came to mind. 1) Guess Beth’s password so we could see her friends’ postings. 2) Start a Facebook page in her honor, where friends could post whatever they wanted.

That woke me up. I knew there were cases in which online posts made a huge difference. In one kidnapping, the victim managed to post on a page dedicated to his recovery. I tried to explain the idea to Kenna.

“So if
anyone
can post on a page in her honor,” she said, “could I post on it?”

“I take it back,” I said. “I didn’t mean
anyone
. I meant anyone with an account.”

She nodded. That didn’t include her.

I wanted a caffeinated soda so badly I could almost taste it. I squeezed my eyes shut and reminded myself that I wanted to live a long, healthy life with my kids. Soda wouldn’t help. Neither would staying up all night.

“Kenna, I want to research this a little more, but you’ll be bored sitting here. You wanna go to bed?”

Her hesitation was an answer.

“Go,” I encouraged. “Please go to bed.” I rose to get a glass of water and prodded her ahead of me. “I’m getting a drink,” I told her. “Now off with you!”

She raised her hands in surrender.

“Where are you sleeping?” I whispered as we entered the hallway.

“Not with Andy,” she whispered back. “I don’t want to wake him up. I’ll be in the guest room. Don’t worry about waking me up, though. I better not find you on a couch in the morning.”

Don’t worry
, I thought.
I’m too scared to sleep alone.

I stayed online for a while testing various ideas. If someone, maybe April, set up a social networking page in Beth’s honor, what would it look like? Similar pages had meaningful posts from all kinds of people. But they didn’t list the members. We’d have no idea who’d been there unless they posted something. Creating a simple web page dedicated to Beth, on the other hand, would probably be time consuming and expensive. But at least it would allow us to track visitors. I wished I could talk to Dean’s computer-expert colleague.

While I kept brainstorming, I absentmindedly typed possible passwords into Beth’s Facebook account. I used the email address I had from April as the logon name, but not surprisingly, none of my password guesses worked. I took paper from Andy’s desk and jotted a reminder to myself:
Ask April about passwords and accounts.
She denied having direct access to Beth’s email or social networking pages, but I wanted to double check anyway.

I checked my email again and saw something from Joe Shaw. He’d finally sent the convenience store video. Apparently he was up late—or early—too. I felt bad about downloading it to Andy’s computer, just in case it had a virus or took up too much space, but I had to see it again. Nothing stood out except the sinking feeling it gave me. Maybe it was because I’d spent the evening in fear, but everyone looked suspicious to me now, even Joe, who had also attached a two-minute clip of Beth working at the store. In it, he showed her how to use the cash register. She was looking down, clearly pregnant, and just as beautiful as I expected. Seeing her on video, right there, just inches from my face, was surreal. I wanted to reach back in time and stop the clock. Change everything.

I gave all the video to the police
, Joe wrote,
and they’re reviewing it
. I’d turn it in too, just in case Joe wasn’t being upfront. I wiped away a tear and responded with thanks.

In that state of hopelessness, a wonderful thought occurred to me. I was spending the night at Kenna’s and using Andy’s computer. Beth had spent a lot of nights at April’s, and maybe she’d used a computer there—and logged onto personal accounts. Could her passwords be stored at April’s house?

I replied to April’s email and sent Dean one too.

Hi April,

Thank you for your email. I’m glad you called that number and got help. I absolutely know you’re not alone in how you feel.

And thanks for keeping me updated about Marcus. Every bit of information helps, even if it seems really minor. You’re being a great friend to Beth.

I’ll give your mom a call, and I want to talk to you, too. Call me anytime that’s good for you.

All the best,

Nicki

Hi Dean,

Thanks for all your help lately regarding Beth. There have been some developments I should tell you about. Also, I remember you have a colleague in computer forensics. Any chance you could ask him a question on my behalf? I’m sorry to ask another favor. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.

Thanks again,

Nicki

It took me a few minutes to review the email to Dean. Communicating with him still made me nervous, but less than it had in the past. Finally I pressed send, shut down the computer, and went to bed.

There was an alarm clock in Kenna’s guest room, but she hadn’t set it, I realized as warm sunlight penetrated my eyelids. According to my cell phone, it was 8:15.

Someone was showering, I could hear, so I pulled on yesterday’s extra-wrinkled outfit, made the bed, and crept down the hall to the guest bathroom. I didn’t want to be seen yet.

I did the best I could with what was there, including my reflection in the mirror. Washed my face. Ran fingers through my hair. Swished mouthwash longer than recommended. Used a tissue to de-smudge my eyeliner. I still preferred not to run into Andy like this.

I returned to the bedroom and hoped Kenna would check on me. When that didn’t happen, I called her from my cell phone.

“Hey,” she said. “Are you still in the guest room?”

“Yeah. And I look like crap.”

“Andy left for work already.” She read my mind. “Don’t worry.”

“Where are
you?
” I asked her.

“Getting dressed in my room. I’m hanging up. Come in.”

Kenna had never been modest about getting dressed—or undressed—in front of others. She didn’t parade around naked in locker rooms, thank heaven, but she didn’t hide her body, either, the way I had since puberty. The exception was during breastfeeding, when I was so tired and desperate to meet Jack and Sophie’s needs that sometimes I forgot to think before releasing a boob.

“That’s cute,” I said while she pulled on skintight navy shorts and a matching sports-bra-passing-as-a-shirt. She was so thin her stomach was concave.
How many new moms actually need to
gain
weight?
I thought. “Why are you working on your day off?” I asked instead. She rarely worked on Sundays.

“We’re short-staffed, so I’m teaching step and boot camp.” She smoothed her wet hair into a ponytail. “And I’m interviewing new teachers. I’ll definitely call you though. I want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

“Me?” I said. “I’m fine. I’m worried about
you
.”

“Stop. I could do these classes in my sleep.” She put on ankle socks and did a final mirror check.

“No need to rub it in,” I teased. We both knew I couldn’t watch a class without feeling winded.

“Listen, I have to go, but stay as long as you want. Andy won’t be home ’til tonight.” She grabbed a CD off the dresser and led the way out.

As tempting as her offer was, the kids were at Mom’s, and I had to make the most of it.

Light streamed through the windows of my house too, giving it less of a crime scene—and more of a homey—feel as I locked the door behind me and slipped off my shoes. Before showering, I took a quick tour, looking for evidence again, straightening up, and wiping down surfaces as I went. Fueled by disgust, I also mopped and vacuumed. An intruder had been in my home. I wanted every trace of him out.

Freshly showered and fortified with a bowl of whole grain cereal and chopped banana, I sat at my empty desk and took a deep breath. Without my computer, I wasn’t sure where to start.

I recalled copying and printing critical Facebook pages when Kenna first told me about Beth. They were the only case-related information anyone could have found on my computer. But I had an entire paper file devoted to her. Where was it? I opened and closed desk drawers frantically until I remembered that I’d left it, along with my PI class materials, in the car. Kenna had called me over to her house before I ever came inside. Phew.

The more I thought about it, the more creeped out I was that someone had used my computer. In seconds, they could have copied every file, including family photos, tax records, and letters, onto a thumb drive. When I got the computer back, I’d protect it with a password. And a backup hard drive. And anything else I could find. I also needed to install new locks and an alarm system in the house.

My immediate priorities, however, were talking with April, Edith, and Dean. I looked at the phone reluctantly. I was nervous to call them.
I’m not capable
, I worried. My eyes floated up to my father’s model airplane, gliding above my desk. I knew what he’d tell me. The same thing he said after I lost Jason. “Life is what you make it.” He was right. I could choose to give up, or I could go on, and I believed he was there to help—even from afar.

As I reached for the phone, the image of an intruder doing exactly the same thing flashed through my mind. What if he’d called someone? I stopped myself from dialing and pressed redial instead. I should do this on every phone in the house, I thought. It was unlikely, but possible, that one of them had been used.

My office phone displayed the last number called and started dialing before I hung up. It was Kenna’s number. Dang. She’d called Andy before we could see if anyone else had used it. I got up and walked to each phone, pressing redial and noting the number dialed. Everything was familiar. I checked caller ID to see if any strangers had called, too, just in case someone checked to see if I was home before breaking in. Nothing suspicious there.

It was a little early on a Sunday to call Dean, I decided, especially since someone like him had a good chance of enjoying Saturday nights. So I started with Mom, with whom I chatted while collecting trash around the house for Monday’s pickup. While listening to an adorable story about Sophie getting a tour of the restaurant where they’d eaten dinner—simply because she was brave enough to ask—I noticed the recycling can in the garage smelled good. That was odd. Curiosity got the best of me, and I poked around to find a donut box dotted with powdered sugar and frosting, left over from my mom’s visit. Inside it was a beer can. Normally I’d think it was Kenna’s, but neither of us buy malt liquor. Mom confirmed—with a slightly offended chuckle—that it wasn’t hers. I left a message on Kenna’s cell to see if it could be Andy’s.