Authors: Clea Simon
‘The drama never stops here in the People’s Republic of Cambridge.’ Dulcie tried to make her voice light. She didn’t want to start distrusting her best friend. Not now. ‘And Lucy’s left a message, too. So I’m sure the spirit world is somehow involved.’
‘No doubt.’ Suze had been blessed by one of Lucy’s readings. ‘But what’s the new drama?’
Dulcie paused. She hated wondering, even for a moment, if something was going on with Suze. It was at times like this when Dulcie really missed Mr Grey. He couldn’t contribute much in the way of advice, but just his being there – the solid, warm bulk of him – had been a comfort. Without him, Dulcie feared she was turning into a weepy, whiney mess.
‘Dulce? It’s not more computer problems, is it?’
‘No, not really.’ Her fears were groundless. Suze wouldn’t get involved in something underhanded.
‘I do have your thesis files, now. I’ve put them on a disk, too, for backup.’
‘Thanks, Suze.’ Her friend was a rock. Dulcie had to believe that. ‘Each time I power up, I’m sort of nervous to see what’s going on. But did you hear—’
‘That the university has been hacked? Yeah. And I called it, didn’t I?’
‘You did?’ How did Suze know what was happening so fast? ‘I remember you talking about the Duke case.’
‘Oh, maybe I was talking to someone else. We were talking about systems security and I said, “You watch: Harvard is next”.’
Systems security? Suze? ‘I didn’t know you spoke computer.’
‘Well, I’ve been chatting with some of the systems guys here. I mean, I’m spending so much time in the computer lab anyway . . .’
‘You are?’ Something was off. ‘Well, maybe Chris stands a chance with you, then.’
‘I wouldn’t go
that
far!’ Suze sounded like herself again, and true to form, she followed up. ‘So come on, kiddo, what’s going on? I hear something in your voice.’
At times, a friend was as good as a cat. Dulcie lay back on the sofa and brought Suze up to date. From her new workstation at Priority to Luisa’s tumble down the Widener steps and the missing laptop, it all sounded so melodramatic.
‘This is just so crazy, Suze.’ She wound up with the face-off at the University Health Services, and her own rapid retreat. ‘I mean, what if she’s dead? What if someone pushed her? What if someone pushed her
because she was going to meet me
?’
Dulcie heard her voice start to rise. ‘What if—’
‘Dulcie! Take a breath. Think about it. She fell. She hit her head. When you talked to her she was woozy. Confused. And now they have her upstairs, where maybe she’s still vulnerable. And you go over late, after ten p.m., and you want to go right up. Of
course
they asked for ID! You could be anyone. You could be going around stealing patients’ wallets or something. I think, well, to be honest, I think you’re overreacting.’
She was about to protest, but something stopped the words. She’d known Suze for years and always looked to her as the voice of reason. ‘Suze?’ Her voice was softer now. ‘Do you think I’m paranoid?’
‘I think you’ve been under a lot of stress.’ Her old friend’s voice was measured. ‘You have a crappy job. You had a crappy room-mate. And then he was murdered and the police called you in for questioning. People are acting all freaked out around you. Someone you know had an accident – an accident, mind you – and now you might lose your job, too. I think it’s enough to unbalance anyone.’
‘Especially your artsy-fartsy room-mate, right?’ Dulcie kicked and a pillow went flying. The pillow that Mr Grey had been most fond of, she noted, with a sinking feeling. She glanced over and saw the red velvet plush on the floor. Against the aquarium-green of the carpet, it looked particularly hideous. She’d only kept it so long because her cat had liked it. Maybe it was time for a change. If only she had money for redecorating; for new cushions, or an entirely new sofa . . .
But she didn’t. ‘Dulcie?’ Suze sounded concerned, but Dulcie sank further back into the old sofa’s remaining cushions. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
Dulcie allowed herself the comfort of one more self-indulgent sigh.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, I’m OK, Suze.’ She was, really, and sat up to prove it to herself. ‘It’s just that I feel, well, picked on. But, you know what? It’s making me mad. I mean, why should I be running and hiding and making excuses? I’m sick of it! I’m not going to hide from my neighbors – or the police – anymore.
‘That’s my girl. You feeling better now?’
‘Yeah, I am. Thanks, Suze. Thanks so much. Tomorrow, I’m going in to talk to my boss at Priority. I won’t be a scapegoat.’
Of course, her work situation was the least of her problems, Dulcie thought as she and Suze said goodnight. But she was smart, wasn’t she? She was Dulcie Schwartz, survivor of the Oregon forest, possibly psychic grad student, and just a whisper away from finding her thesis topic. Maybe, if she could straighten out her work situation, she could also make some headway on her bigger problems. She would not interfere with the police, though. Dulcie had enough sense not to do that. But, hey, the police seemed to be on the wrong track, whereas she had inside knowledge. She’d tried to pass along leads, but that had only gotten her in trouble. Maybe this time she should follow some of those leads herself. Tim wasn’t much of a room-mate, but he deserved justice – and so did she. What was the use of a Harvard education, if it wouldn’t help one girl solve a murder?
Twenty-Three
Dulcie woke from a troubled night to the realization that she hadn’t called her mother back. In her dream, she’d been watching Mr Grey. He, however, had not been watching her. He’d been faced toward a crack in the siding, a tiny gap between radiator and wall, his entire body tense with anticipation.
The key is to stay close.
Even though he wasn’t facing her, she heard that voice in her ear and knew that the concentrating cat was communicating with her.
That’s how you get them.
Listen!
His large ears twitched.
And be careful.
The nature of the dream left her dissatisfied and anxious, perhaps because she hadn’t been able to see her beloved pet’s face. It also left her wanting to go over the kitchen with a flashlight. Now that there wasn’t a feline on the premises, mice were a definite possibility.
But first, she should call her mother. She looked over at the clock. Lucy had sounded frantic, not that this was unusual. But even torn up with her own crazy fears, Dulcie doubted her mother would be up at five a.m., West Coast time. She’d just have to call during her lunch break. Which she would take today, come hell or high water.
Rather to her surprise, Dulcie encountered neither on her way in to Priority. The day was bordering on cool, one of those early August surprises that presage fall in New England. The sky was even blue, instead of its usual washed-out summer white, and the security guard smiled at her when she opened her bag. Of course, her desk was still in the office equivalent of Siberia. But Dulcie had come prepared: she’d brought earplugs to block out the noise of the message center.
This must be what most of the country feels like, she told herself, as she settled in, logged on, and started typing up the day’s forms. This kind of brainless work was hypnotic, actually, the earplugs magnifying the sound of her breathing. She might be a drone, but she was an effective drone. Her productivity had never been higher.
Two hours and forty-six forms later, Dulcie’s outlook had faded a bit. The unrelieved tedium of the codes had progressed from numbing to painful, and the loud rasp of her breathing had begun to make her think of an iron lung. She pushed back from her terminal and popped the earplugs from her ears. Maybe, the thought hit her, her parents had had a good reason to drop out of the corporate rat race.
‘Wow, where did that come from?’
Only when she looked up at the large circular desk did she realize she’d spoken out loud. Too many hours in her own head had almost made her forget the phone bank, and now four pairs of eyes turned toward her. ‘Sorry!’ She waved and smiled at the four women, a mismatched set of two very large and two rather short, but still round, women. ‘Just talking to myself!’
Two sets of eyes blinked, but they all turned away. After her hours in relative silence, their voices sounded abnormally loud to Dulcie. And they weren’t, she noticed, answering calls.
‘
Her
? Are you sure? That little thing?’
‘Uh-huh, that’s what Billy – the cute guard? – told me he’d heard from Wallace.’
Keeping her face forward, Dulcie leaned slightly toward the message center. Maybe it was just gossip. But maybe she could learn something to salvage her wreck of a week.
‘So, are they going to make an arrest?’ Time on the switchboard must have made the larger of the big women deaf. Her whisper was as loud as a shout.
‘I think so. Maybe even today.’ One of the short women drummed her finger on the desk for emphasis.
‘Maybe they’ll take her out in handcuffs.’ The other woman could have been her twin.
‘That would be something, wouldn’t it?’ The big woman wasn’t even trying to whisper now. ‘Serve her right though. Endangering all of us here.’
Dulcie leaned too far and her chair began to tilt. Reaching out, she caught herself, but not before all the eyes had turned on her again. Who were they talking about? Could it be Joanie? Could it be
her
? She looked up at the message center ladies, but they’d dispersed to their posts. With a few glances between them, they’d resumed their duties, and Dulcie couldn’t tell if it was because she’d made them aware that they could be overheard – or because she was the object of their mean-spirited chat.
‘Priority. Can I help you? Please hold.’
That was it, Dulcie needed air. Besides, she was entitled to one fifteen-minute break every two hours. The elevator was closing as she heard someone calling, ‘Dulcie! Dulcie!’ After a moment’s hesitation, she hit ‘open’ and Joanie slammed in.
‘Glad I caught you! This place is crazy.’ Joanie slumped back against the elevator wall, out of breath. In her black eyeliner, black-lined lips, and tight striped top, she looked like the same Goth girl Dulcie had befriended weeks before. Still, Dulcie waited. ‘What?’
‘I saw you talking to the Snake.’ It sounded so much like an accusation that Dulcie felt embarrassed. ‘I mean, back in my old cubicle. And, well, they moved me . . .’
‘And you think I’m some kind of corporate spy?’ The conclusion was so obvious that all Dulcie could do was shrug. ‘Hey, I know they wanted to separate us, but as far as I know, they’re looking at me for this, too.’
‘Really?’ Dulcie wanted to believe her, but too much was at stake. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, they know that I’ve been hanging out by the business side of things – Accounting is right next to Computer Services – and I gather they were grilling Ricky, poor boy.’ Dulcie remembered the redhead. With his fresh face and freckles, he and Joanie must make quite a couple. ‘And, well, I may have said something about breaking through firewalls at some point.’
Her dark lipstick set off a stunning smile. Dulcie found herself smiling back. Just then, the door opened and three men in suits entered, effectively shutting down the conversation. Dulcie was grateful for the break. Joanie sounded reasonable – and the spunky Goth had been her only ally in this corporate prison. But she couldn’t deny what she’d seen: Joanie and Sally Putnam talking. And if she wasn’t completely bonkers, Mr Grey had meant to show her something. That conversation had to be important.
The elevator opened on to the ground floor, and the two followed the suits out. ‘So, what was the Snake talking about?’ She had to be proactive. Plus, it was her butt on the line. ‘Was she asking about me?’
‘Yeah, she was. She wanted to know how often you emailed and whether you were secretive about stuff you were typing; did you use other computers? Stuff like that. I kept telling her it was ridiculous. I mean, you’re clueless around computers.’ Dulcie opened her mouth to protest, but Joanie was right. And, besides, it was a good defense. The two lined up for the guards.
‘Did she believe you?’ Dulcie asked, as soon as they were out of the door. And can
I
believe you? she added, silently.
They were about ten feet from the main entrance, standing in the sun alongside the opaque glass front of the building. The day had heated up while they’d been chilling inside.
‘I can’t tell.’ Joanie bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry. She’s an odd duck, all right. She seems to have it in for you.’
‘Great.’ Dulcie leaned back against the building. The heat bounced her back up, and she turned to look at the wall. Dark glass. Maybe they were watching her, even now, whoever ‘they’ were.
‘Creepy, huh?’ She turned and saw that Joanie was staring at the building, too. ‘So Darth Vader.’
‘Tell me about it. I think they’ve isolated me for a reason.’
‘Why don’t you just quit?’ Joanie pulled a cigarette from her bag and offered one to Dulcie, who waved it away. ‘Oh, yeah, sorry.’ She lit up. ‘But why don’t you? There are other jobs out there.’
Dulcie sighed. Joanie was younger – and a preppie. Her family had money. Maybe to her things were as simple as that. ‘I need this job, Joanie. I owe money and I really can’t afford to miss even one pay check. If I walk out of this assignment with a cloud over me, the agency is going to want to know why. And besides,’ she felt something stir, ‘why should I quit? Why should I be hounded out like – like some kind of scapegoat? I didn’t do anything.’
‘Because they’re evil corporate bastards?’ Joanie took a deep drag. ‘It’s a definite possibility.’
The idea was settling in. ‘I was thinking that, in a way, I would be an obvious candidate for a suspect.’ Her paranoia from the day before now recurred in a new light. ‘You know, I’m broke, I’m new, and I’m smart enough to break into their system.’ Joanie snorted, and Dulcie held up a hand for silence. ‘I mean, theoretically, I’m a great suspect. But what if someone knows that? What if someone chose me as a fall guy? Fall girl.’
Joanie looked at her and exhaled. With the smoke coming from her nostrils and her latest piercing – a nose ring – she looked like a petite and determined bull. ‘Or you could just be talking yourself into staying in a shit job.’