"I'm sorry."
I tensed and swiveled around in the seat. With my heart pounding against sore ribs, my already fragile core was being pushed to the brink of anxiety.
Fifi stood at the counter, her shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry for upsetting you, sugah. I know you don't want the store for the money."
"I believe you. This has got us all crazy and disoriented." I chewed on my bottom lip. "I'm sorry I talked to you that way."
Fifi hurried to my side and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. "We'll figure this out, darlin'. It will be okay."
I wanted to flinch from the pain, but I didn't want to further damage our relationship by making her feel unwanted. I put my hands up to my face and sobbed.
It wasn't going to be okay. It just kept getting worse.
27
I WINCED AT THE STIFFNESS IN MY JOINTS AND WONDERED IF THIS WAS what being old felt like. Same pain, different game. The Advil was wearing off. I rummaged through the desk for more and downed a couple with a slug from my carbonated black cherry water. I shifted in the seat, trying to stretch my back as I waited for the Skype video call to be answered.
"Hey, Sloane! Speak to me, girlfriend. What it is?" The center of the screen filled with the smiling face of a thirty-year-old male of Chinese descent with shoulder-length black hair and heavy, black-rimmed glasses wearing a black Jimi Hendrix T-shirt. His given name was Jimmy Chen, but with his near-perfect ability of tracking a computer signal around the world, he had acquired the nickname in computer circles of Globe Trotter. To his close friends, it was Trotter for short.
I grinned back. "Hey, Trotter. How ya doin', dude? Long time no see."
He raised both hands. "Girlfriend, I'm still workin' it at NYU-Poly where you left me. How are you likin' the sticks?"
I laughed. "Brooklyn is not the sticks, bucko. And you'd be in Brooklyn to, if you hadn't been working on your doctorate at the Broad Street campus when they started the government program."
"R-O-F-L-O-L . . . That's true but Fort Greene is not Manhattan!"
"Yeah, whatever. You can roll on the floor and laugh out loud if you want to. Believe me I'd love nothing better than to be back in Manhattan, working in the Cyber Crimes lab. But after leaving Mr. Templeton, I needed a break."
"I hear ya. So, you keeping your skills up-to-date for a mega-comeback?"
"That, my friend, is the reason for my call. I've started getting e-mail death threats."
"Word!" Trotter leaned into the screen. "Who would dare try to hurt my warrior princess?"
"Don't know, dude." I shook my head. "I need your help. The real estate here doesn't have the juice to give me the four-one-one." I'd have given anything to be back in that lab, where I had him to mentor me through these kinds of processes. I had been the info guard dog while Trotter could run circles around any program made.
"I'm on it like white on rice. Whaddaya need me to do?"
"I have one of the hot e-mails on my machine. The police here aren't much help because they can't follow the bounces. Can you?" Sheesh. Already I had forgotten the routing steps to access the data. If I stayed in this book world much longer, my basic computer skills would be about as cutting edge as a rotary phone.
"BRB." Trotter flicked switches outside my field of vision, but I could hear them all the same. "Okay, back! Your wish is my command, O Warrior Princess. Wanna let me into your machine?"
"Sure. Hang on, and I'll create the link." I tapped out several commands. At least that hadn't eluded me. I would have been very embarrassed if I had had to ask him how. "I erased the e-mail attachment from my machine, but it's got to still be there somewhere. There haven't been any more e-mails, but I'm still getting messages. Maybe it's a time release."
Trotter tapped for a few minutes. "Here's the lab scan."
Several charts appeared beside the Skype screen. I watched the data scroll by and wondered how hard it would be to create my own IT setup, piecemeal, in my apartment office.
"To start with, it looks like you've got a rootkit on your machine. Very sweet."
"I wouldn't call this junk sweet."
"Au contraire, but it is." Trotter was tapping keys like a woodpecker drilling a tree. "It even has a built-in back door. Yesterday's e-mail triggered the next-level message."
"A backdoor? How long has it been there?" I'd missed the signs. I hadn't been paying attention to the symptoms of the messages. Who would hack a bookstore? I was getting way rusty.
"Looks like a couple months. I'll clean it out when we're done here. Now for the route . . ." He continued the furious keystrokes. "OMG, girlfriend, whoever this person is really knows their way around cybercrime. I was thinking you had a script kiddie but this looks like a real black hat."
I rubbed my chin. "I had a bad feeling that it wasn't a kid just messin' 'round."
A few more keystrokes and his smile trailed off. He began his Slow and Serious Nod, like when a Zen master is bested by his student. "This, my warrior princess, classifies as a gen-u-ine cyberstalking."
"Why do you say that?" That didn't fit anyone I knew. But then again, I had been pretty sure that no one wanted to kill me, either.
"They're using Creeper to bounce the signal."
My chest tightened. "But that distribution system of relays is manned by volunteers all around the world. Ordinary people wouldn't know about it."
"Here, I'll give you the graphics too." Trotter tapped on his keyboard.
Several more charts popped up alongside the Skype video screen. The largest frame labeled Hub showed a flattened world map with a straight-lined signal bouncing to nine points in the United States, South America, England, Sicily, Australia, Indonesia, and three spots on the continent of Africa.
Trotter clicked out more taps on his keyboard. "Thing is, it's getting more and more popular. Bloggers, journalists, human rights workers, freedom fighters, and even ordinary people are using it now."
"So where's that leave us?"
"It leaves us . . ." He had lapsed into concentration on deciphering the signal. I knew that run-off pause well. "Hah! It leaves us with the answer."
I sat forward.
"Whoa, girlfriend! The signal is coming from your own ISP." He tapped some more.
"There's a lot of real estate involved with my ISP. It covers most of Brooklyn."
More tapping from Trotter. "I'm on it like a rat on a Cheeto."
A shiver radiated from my core, causing my head to quiver. "Please don't say rat."
"Uh . . . okay." He click-click-clicked a wireless mouse, then blew out a breath. "All right, you have fifty-six zip codes, but only three area codes. Newer landlines are on nine-one-seven or three-four-seven. So the winner is . . ." Trotter drummed a measure on his keyboard. "Seven-one-eight area code! That includes your neighborhood."
A chill ran up my back and across the top of my head. The killer could be a neighbor. "Wait a minute. You said it's been there a couple of months. I haven't been running the store that long. My mom owned it a couple months ago."
"Is that right? So maybe this isn't about you personally. How is Miz Camille doing?"
An invisible fist squeezed my heart. "She's passed on."
28
I SAT AT THE COMPUTER FOR ANOTHER TEN MINUTES, ELBOWS ON THE DESK, and head in my hands. I kept repeating, "Mom didn't have an enemy in the world," as though saying it enough times would bring a lightning bolt of an epiphany.
Why would someone want to hurt Mom? My hands trembled.
Mom, I need you to tell me what to do here.
Other than Fifi , the only person I trusted was Andreas. But if I told him about everything, what if he thought I had too much baggage and left me? Tears formed in the corners of my eyes.
A hand touched my shoulder. I jumped, nearly tipping the chair.
"Sorry, sugah." Fifi motioned behind me. "The men are here from Brinks to install the security system."
Fifi lowered her head to come in line with my face. "What's the matter? Are you havi
ng pain somewhere?"
"No, I just . . ." I looked up at the men standing behind Fifi and waved her off. "Get them started on the job, and I'll tell you later."
Fifi glanced at me again. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, later. Tell them to give me control panels at the front and back doors to my apartment," I grabbed my keys from the tray on the desk and tossed them to Fifi . "And tell those guys to put captured-key dead bolts on the apartment doors, and a new lock on the outside door that goes up the front. They might as well put a new lock on the basement door too."
"Yes, ma'am," Fifi swiped the keys from the air and led the two men to the phone line access panel in the storeroom.
The bell jingled on the front door.
Rob Landry and another man entered. Tension radiated from the back of my neck, down through my arms, and snatched at the pit of my stomach. I closed my eyes for a second to collect my thoughts, grabbed a gulp of my water, and then rose from the seat.
"Miss Templeton . . . ?" Just hearing his voice set my teeth on edge, like fingernails on a chalkboard
I bit my lip. Remain civil. "Mr. Landry, why have you graced my doorway today?"
"I came to acquaint you with the new associate who will be taking over—"
"Taking over what? Harassing me?" So much for civility.
Rob's face turned crimson and he lowered his eyes.
My new victim wore a black suit that, judging by the way it hung on his bony frame, I'd have guessed that at one time he was about fifty pounds heavier. He appeared to be forty-ish, balding, with a beak-like nose, close-set beady eyes, and skinny lips. The perfect picture of a carrion-eating bird.
The new man moved in front of Rob. "I'm sure it is not necessary to have that tone with one of our procurement associates. He is only doing his job."
I almost called him Mr. Vulture, but managed to keep myself in check. I leaned forward with my fingers on the counter spot where Mom had worn a groove. "Excuse me, you are in my store, and if you don't care for my tone," I motioned with a hitch of my thumb, "there's the door."
"My name is David Bar—"
"I don't care what your name is. I'll tell you what I've told Mr. Landry repeatedly: no! I do not want to sell this building. I will not sell this building."
"Considering the monetary remuneration Coltrane Realty is offering, that is a foolhardy decision."
I bristled. Heat crept into my cheeks, and my voice rose. I was headed for an Exorcist movie moment. "What part of N-O do you not understand?"
Rob Landry touched the man's arm. "I've told you that Miss Templeton is adamant about retaining her property rights."
"No, playtime is over." Vulture Man shook off Rob's touch and stared at me.
I pulled back at his aggressive posture.
"Let's face it, this is more money than most of you people will ever see. Quit stalling, and take it. Buy another building in a cheaper neighborhood."
"You people?" My voice rose an octave. "Oh no, you did not just say you people to me." I started around the counter. "This conversation is over."
The storeroom curtains parted and Fifi rushed out. "What in the world is going on out here? It's loud enough to raise the dead." She glanced at Landry. "What's going on, Robby?"
Landry turned in Fifi's direction. Relief washed over his face. "I'm afraid Ms. Templeton misunderstood my associate's intentions."
"I didn't misunderstand anything this cretin said." I stabbed a finger in Vulture Man's direction. "Get him out of my store. Or do I need to tattoo N-O on his forehead with my stapler?"
"No, ma'am, that will not be necessary." Landry touched the other man's arm again.
The man jerked from his grasp. "Listen . . . this project is considerably larger than your one little building, and this will end satisfactorily for Coltrane Realty. I was just trying to save you the time and heartache involved in litigation."
Fifi stormed to my side. I held out my hand to keep the redhot redhead in check.
"You threatening me with court?"
Vulture smirked. "Since the state and federal government are involved in the neighborhood revitalization, this property can be claimed by eminent domain."
"Eminent domain was taken off the table at the Concerned Citizens meeting," I said. "We proved that the Historical Registry is interested in a lot of these buildings and the feds didn't want to get involved."
"There's a resolution to restore it."
My newfound bravery resisted the urge to slap his smirk into next week. "You seem to forget there is a neighborhood alliance against this urban renewal. We'll keep you in court till I have grandchildren."
Vulture's smirk disappeared.
"Now. Get. Out. Of. My. Store."
Rob Landry touched the man's arm again. "Dave, I think we should leave."
Vulture brushed off Rob's hand and stormed out the door, leaving it open.
Rob had the decency to look chagrined. "I'm sorry, Ms. Templeton. You won't see me again. I've taken another assignment in the company. And I truly regret any agitation that I have caused you. It was not my intention." With that, he smiled at me, nodded at Fifi , and left.
I turned to Fifi . "Can you believe that? The jerk threatened me with litigation. I'm done being pushed around by them too."
Fifi grimaced and rubbed her forehead. She opened then closed her mouth with a sigh. "I hate to bring it up, sugah, but their court-talk reminded me about your ex-husband's lawsuit. Did you call the lawyer?"
"This is the last straw." I paced the length of the counter. The added adrenaline had overcome the stiffness in my joints. "You have to leave me alone about that. I've got enough problems at the moment to last a lifetime."
Fifi backed out of my way.
"Who do they think they are? All these men, especially Templeton. Just because they're bigger and stronger, they think they can push me around."
"Uh, Sloane, I don't think—"
"That's the problem. Everybody thinks I'm a pushover. Well, no more!" With a violent sweep of my arm, I cleared the top of the desk. Pens, pencils, ordering spreadsheets, and folders full of paper rained to the floor as organized chaos. The momentary rage abated. I slumped to the chair, pounded a fist on the desk, and began to cry.
Fifi gingerly stepped over the paper carnage and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. "Sugah, what's the matter? I've never seen you like this."
I shook my head, sinking into her shoulder. "There's too many things in my head."
Fifi used her foot to push a path in the mess, pulled the chair over from the desk, and slid onto the seat in front of me. "What things?"
"My lack of a real career for one thing. I didn't realize how far behind I was getting until I talked to Trotter."
"That set you off like this?"
"No . . . there's Trey, Andreas, Mom dying, the building, Templeton, Verlene, Barbara, and now this." I gestured at the computer.
Fifi looked bewildered. "Am I missing something?"
"This computer thing isn't a random joke. It's some hightech, serious stuff, and it's been going on for at least three months."
"Three months?" Fifi pulled back her chin. "So you're saying this was active when your momma was here."
I sniffed back the tears. "And now Mom's dead. You don't think there could be a connection do you? They said she died of a heart attack. Right?"
"I don't think this had anything to do with your mom, other than them trying to worry her to death."
I lifted my head. "You may have something. This Coltrane Realty thing started about three months ago. And that guy that came with your Robby today was certainly a piece o' work." I pointed toward the front door. "He . . . that was a real threat."
"Did your friend figure out who sent the e-mail?"
"Nah, he pinpointed it to this neighborhood, but that's as close as he could get."
"What about the e-mail address? You can't use that to find them?"
"They used a mask. That's why you thought it was the bank. There's only
a Gmail address behind that."
Fifi clapped her hands. "Well, then you have them, right?"
"No . . . it's not that easy. You don't need your real name to create an account."
"But, sugah, they track people down all the time on TV."
"Yeah, and that's the only place you would. You'd need a subpoena and a ton of evidence and a ton of time. I could walk to Google headquarters in California faster than they'd even think about telling us where that account originated."
Fifi glanced down at the floor as I talked. Her head shifted to the side to read the page lying under her feet. She bent over and picked up the page. "Uh, Sloane . . . did you read this?"
29
NO, I'VE BEEN CARRYING IT AROUND FOR WEEKS BUT COULDN'T BRING myself to go through it. It's like that will somehow make her more gone than she already is." My glance traveled across the mess of papers strewn on the floor with my focus coming to rest on the open green folder. I averted my eyes. It mocked me. It looked as though it had belched out the estate paperwork, just to spite me.
Fifi frowned as she read the page. "This page says that your mom wanted some guy named Bakari Ahmed to get a cut of the profits from selling Histoire de la Magie."
My head snapped around. "What are you talking about? Who's bakery?"
"Baa-kari . . ." Fifi said it phonetically like a sheep sound. "I remember that name." She scanned the page and flipped it over. "That's the guy who talked Camille into going to Europe to buy the book. I thought she was nuts because she didn't even know him."
"That just doesn't sound like her." I reached down and swept the papers together into an unorganized heap, depositing the mess back on the desk.
"He was the son of a friend of your grandfather's or something like that. I tried to talk her out of it, sugah, but you know how your ma was when she had an idea in her head." Fifi held out the page. "This looks like contact information. He's the one who started this book thing, so maybe he knows something about those two professors."
Cooking the Books: A Sloane Templeton Novel (2012) Page 18
