Her phone was on silent because of her appointment with Nancy. Getting interrupted wouldn't have helped move things along. When she switched it on—she hadn't felt a buzz while in the store—she saw there were three calls from an unknown caller, making her glad for her earlier paranoia.
Sophia set the house alarm—something she seldom did during daylight hours—released Roxy from lock-up, and headed into the den and her laptop computer.
Facebook and normal activity beckoned. After a few clicks, her timeline appeared. The leading post under her authorship was a nasty comment about Franco and Melinda Silebi.
I reported these people to the state, accusing them of abusing her father. Just doing my job and getting my kicks and revenge in the process. Paybacks are a bitch, Bitch.
Thinking fast, Sophia deleted the post, which had been active for almost two hours, posted a comment about being hacked, and changed the password. Next she found the section on compromised accounts and worked through the process, following the directions.
She reasoned that anyone who knows her would regard the comment as out of character. Sophia posted to Facebook, but never wrote anything personal or inflammatory—doing her part to keep Fb a happy place to visit. The same for Twitter.
She signed onto Twitter next, deleted a nasty tweet, sent a disclaimer, then changed that password. Sophia didn't know what else to do short of deleting the accounts.
Pinterest appeared untouched, but she changed the sign-in there, too, completing a cyber cleanup.
Whoever made the posts had skills far exceeding Sophia's. Maybe Ray could get some help to deal with the problem. He knew a couple of computer sleuths.
Her phone erupted, signaling an incoming call from an unknown number. "Hello."
Silence, then heavy breathing. Sophia disconnected, deciding to ask Ray if she should block the calls. It would decrease the aggravation, but she would be in the dark about the calls continuing. Either option seemed like the wrong choice.
Then she called the first name on the lawyer list her manager supplied and made an appointment for Tuesday, her next day off, which was four days away.
Roxy was at the door asking to go out. Since Sophia didn't know when Ray would be home, she thought she needed to take her during the daylight, and it was already close to five. It was a good time to go, lots of neighbors walked their dogs right before the dinner hour. Sophia leashed Roxy up.
They greeted the across-the-street neighbor, and Roxy collected a good rubbing. Then they proceeded to the little girl a half-block down the street. The dog attended to business in between visits.
"Roxy," Sophia said, "We're only going to the corner and back. Sorry baby, but you're not a whole lot of protection. Maybe Ray will walk with us when he gets home later."
When they did an about-face at the end of the block, Roxy resisted, but then wagged her tiny tail and resumed her lead, this time heading toward home.
Sophia noticed a dark car—Camaro maybe—turning around in the cul-de-sac south of hers. It eased onto the main drive, then crept down the street behind them. Sophia wondered if it was the same vehicle from earlier in the day.
She stopped to talk to a neighbor and waited for the car to pass. Then they hurried home, locked up, and set the alarm. If the vehicle held her stalker, he knew where she lived.
CHAPTER 24
Sophia
Locked in her house, away from the threat of stalkers, Sophia waited for Ray to come home and pondered the situation.
She'd had her share of brushes with danger, usually the result of poking into one of Ray's investigations and attracting the attention of bad guys. She wondered if the same thing was happening here, but she hadn't actually interfered yet. In Millie's case, she'd surfed the Net and talked to a neighbor, thinking she found the body so had a right to look around. And, with Ralph, the investigation wasn't Ray's, and her involvement was professional. She didn't understand how either situation would provoke harassment and stalking.
Ralph's issue was resolved. He was headed toward alternate housing and would be away from the dangerous environment. True, his family—the daughter especially—would visit him, but the level of stress in the encounters would be lessened. Sophia had no doubt Franco would manage to have the whole matter hidden from public view, maybe even erased entirely, but it really didn't matter. Ralph would be in a safe place.
Sophia thought of her neighbor Poser's comments about his wife, then of Ralph's wife, Lorraine. Had Ralph gone over the line in frustration and given her a fatal shove? With his blindness, it could have happened with no intent of pushing her down the stairs. Or maybe, he'd run into her by accident, and she fell. Who knew? He did speak of her with love in his voice, but then he'd focused on her mental confusion.
Sophia retrieved a partial bottle of Pinot Grigio and the package of chicken from the fridge. Making an exception to her never-drink-alone rule—her father was an alcoholic—she poured a glass of wine fuller than was polite, took a sip, then proceeded to take out her frustrations on the boneless breasts, pounding them with a meat hammer until thin. A short while later, she had a pan of chicken parmigiana ready for the oven and one completely lacerated breast in the freezer for later use. She would pair the chicken parm with pasta, salad, and more vino.
When Ray came in around eight, Sophia was mellow but sober. Half a glass of wine sat on the counter getting warm while she sipped iced tea. She and Roxy met him halfway, then Sophia slid into his arms. "I don't know for sure, but maybe I have a stalker, too. Not just a cyberbully."
"Why do you think you have a stalker?" He kissed her, administered another warm hug, then guided her into the kitchen.
"Hang on a minute. I need to start at the beginning."
"If that makes you happy."
She put the chicken in the oven and the water on the burner to boil for the pasta. "Want a beer?"
He pointed to her glass. "Wine."
She poured his, threw her old portion down the drain and replaced it, then joined him on the sofa. While she told him about the trip to the hospital, the report to the nursing board, her visit to Ralph, and the posts to her social media accounts, she cuddled Roxy, who'd made herself comfortable on Sophia's lap.
"It doesn't make sense the Silebis would post those things to your account and potentially keep public focus on the issue with Melinda's dad," Ray said.
"Agreed. Unless they intend to sue me for making the report maliciously. I mean, even though they retracted their complaints at the hospital, they did report me to the Board of Nursing."
He rubbed his face. "It sounds like you've done what you can to secure your accounts."
"Short of deleting them, which I can do if it happens again."
"It's hard to get a handle on their reactions and their motivations," Ray said, rubbing his chin whiskers.
"Franco could use his power to make it all disappear, at least publicly."
"Very possible," he said. "The state won't ignore the issue, but they could be convinced by the powers above not to talk about it." He sipped his wine, then ran his lips over her forehead. "Now, tell me why you think someone followed you."
She told him about the car at the hospital parking lot, then about the dark Camaro. "I didn't get a good look at the first car, but it was newer and sporty. The other one was dusty and not old. Maybe dark blue under all the dirt. It could have been the same car."
"Did you get a look at the driver?"
"No. I think it was a guy, based on size and shoulder width. He turned his face away when he went by."
"License number?"
"I tried. The plate was dirty. I think the first letters were PRB, but parts of each letter were obscured, as were the numbers. It looked as if mud was smeared across them in a deliberate way."
"You saw something, at least." He pulled a notebook out of his shirt pocket and made a note. "I'll see what I can come up with tomorrow." His narrowed eyes marked his concern.
"I have a solid security system." A couple of
years earlier when her house was invaded, she'd improved the outside lighting, thinned the hedges, and installed a good alarm.
"Yes, I know."
"I have an escort to work, to my car, and a cop in the house, by the way." She got up and dumped the pasta into the boiling water. "Eight minutes until dinner."
"Where are you going with this?"
"Well, about everything that should be done to keep me safe has been done. I carry my cell phone and behave carefully."
"But you go up and down the damn street with the dog."
"In daylight."
"Whenever." He looked thoughtful. "I think you need to carry a weapon until this is over."
"Like a knife or a small bat?"
While he sputtered and stewed, she served dinner. The aroma interrupted the conversation, and they dug in, but not for long.
"A knife or bat is not what I mean. Those things are useless until an attacker gets close."
"You mean weapon—as in a gun?" Sophia hated guns.
"Yes, Sophie. A gun. You know how to use one."
"Don't go there. I'm still mad you made me get a concealed carry permit."
"Baby, you live with a cop. You're a trouble magnet. Sometimes it would be prudent for you to be better prepared. Where is the small pistol I gave you?"
"Um." She rolled her eyes, then looked away. "I turned it in at the police station."
"Holy shit, woman."
"I told you I wouldn't use a gun again. Why would I want one around?"
He shook his head. "I have a new small Sig over at the condo. Still in the box. I ordered it a couple of months ago. We'll pick it up, then hit a range so you can get in some practice. Review."
"I . . . Ah . . . Um." Her side pulsed at the memory of the slugs that had shattered her hip and femur.
"Spit it out, girl. We're talking about the life of the woman I love here. I want you protected and safe. The Sig P238 is small, light, and you can carry it in your pocket or in your purse. It'll be perfect to take along when you're with Roxy or going to the store."
"I can't take it to work." She hoped that would change his opinion.
"Keep it in the car while you're working."
"I hate the thought of a gun."
"When this is over, you'll either keep it around or give it back to me. Your choice."
She glared at him. "Finish your damn dinner."
***
Ray took her to work on Saturday morning. He kissed her. "I'll be waiting here a little after seven. I'd like to go to the casino tonight, maybe have dinner in the Dollars Steakhouse, then hang around the place until the early hours of the morning."
"Ray, you don't gamble and neither do I. Why would I want to go to the casino?"
"Well." He rolled his eyes, mimicking her habit. "We can eat, dance a little, play the slots, maybe play a little blackjack, and check on Rodney Dyer's gambling habits as related to Millie's case."
"Since you put it that way, I'd love to." Dinner, dancing, and poking around in his case. Yes! She grinned and slid out of the car.
Thirty seconds later, she was through the door and in another safe place, this one with security cameras, alarms, guards, and lots of people. Of course, there was always the chance someone could talk their way inside and find her. She pushed the thought away.
The hospital was filled to capacity, and the ED's holding area provided temporary routine care beds. Since it was her turn to float, the charge nurse assigned Sophia those patients. It wasn't a terrible assignment. Sophia had worked the same area a few days earlier when she was late for work.
She thought of Ralph and hoped the influx of sick and wounded wouldn't prompt his early transfer to rehab. It had only been five days since his surgery and four since he came off the ventilator.
Approaching her first patient's bedside, she said, "Hey, Mr. Wilson, what did you eat this time?" George Wilson was a frequent flyer in the ED, often transitioning to an upstairs room where he would be pumped full of diuretics until his breathing cleared. As a long-term congestive heart failure patient, he often ignored his sodium restrictions. The current episode was because of a lunch he'd prepared for his buddy.
"Nice to see you, too." He grinned, then laughed, though he was visibly short of breath and a bit blue around the lips.
She took his vital signs, then listened to his chest. "Lots of fluid in there. So, my friend, what did you eat?"
"Sugarfoot." He called all the nurses that endearment. "I heard what you told me last time. But I shouldn't be sick. I boiled the ham first."
"Mr. Wilson, that doesn't do it." She laughed, but she'd heard it from him before. "You need to stay away from those salty foods."
"I don't have a lot of time left. Let me enjoy."
Sophia smiled although she knew that one day they wouldn't be able to rescue him from his appetite.
Returning to the details of her interview, she asked the basic questions. He told her it was Friday, instead of Saturday. Afternoon, not morning. But he recited his birthdate and address and the president's name. She noted his mental status in the record and gave him his scheduled dose of intravenous diuretic. She thought it would help his lungs, his oxygen levels, and his brain.
A couple of hours later, he was better oriented and breathing easily.
Sophia had a few minutes, so she pulled a rolling stool over to the stretcher.
He looked at her with suspicion. "Sugarfoot, is this where you display the food chart and tell me what not to eat?"
"No, what I want to do is pick your brain."
"Hope you find something in there."
"I'm sure I will." She paused. "I remember you telling me a couple of times in the past that you did very well in business and are well set. In fact, I think you said you relocated to your current residence for companionship after your wife died."
He nodded.
She ran her teeth over her bottom lip, gathering her thoughts, then continued. "Do you use an investment counselor to help you with your funds?"
"I do."
"How did you find someone you can trust? I mean, there are so many just waiting to take advantage of people."
"It was a problem. I'm aware I'm a target both because of my age and my physical condition. Bobby, my son, came down to visit a few years back and went with me to the various offices. He helped me select a reputable firm."
"Have you had any issues with them?"
"No. Again, Bobby helps. He has my sign-in information and regularly checks. I've given them written permission to discuss my business with him if there is an issue that requires a conversation."
"That sounds smart."
"Why are you asking? Do you have a family member that needs help?"
"No, a friend. She got involved with South Florida Secure Financials and didn't like the service. She told me she had problems getting information about her money."
"That was one of the firms we selected. Met with a man named Dyer, who sounded very knowledgeable."
Dyer? That was the name of the man Ray wanted to spy on and had talked about over pizza earlier in the week. "Did you like the firm?"
"I did, For a while."
"What happened to change your mind?"
"I guess Dyer—he acts like he's a busy man—forgot my requirement that the companies I deal with have online access for my son. He recommended a small outfit. I forget the name. My son was concerned because the website provided no information, and he couldn't find it on any of the exchanges. Bobby smelled a rat, so we stuck with the annuities we'd bought with major firms and bypassed Dyer to manage them ourselves. He still gets his fees, but we won't add more money to those funds."
Mr. Wilson looked tired, so Sophia thanked him for the information, rechecked his vitals, and left his bedside.
She wondered if Mr. Wilson had avoided falling into the same trap as Millie. That led her to wonder how many other seniors did business with Dyer and bought into his shady investments. She remembered Ray mentioning Silebi didn't appear aw
are of that particular investment.
It was a bit more information, but she didn't have anything to connect it to. She presumed Ray was aware of Dyer's business practices. If she asked him questions, he'd shut down, tell her to mind her own business, then push her further away from the investigation.
She was still pondering Mr. Wilson's comments when Ray picked her up at seven-ten. From her conversations with Mr. Poser and Mr. Wilson, she'd learned things about how older people manage safely in a dangerous world. She didn't know if or how the information related to either Millie's death or Ralph's circumstance. One thing was obvious; Mr. Wilson hadn't met with the young man from Dyer's firm who angered Millie.
CHAPTER 25
Sophia
Ray crowded into the shower with Sophia, causing the water to run cool before she managed to rinse the shampoo out of her hair. If nothing else, she felt energized and ready for a night out. She wished they were going clubbing and not going to the casino to spy on Dyer.
They dressed for the evening, even though they knew half of the people gambling would look like they'd stopped on the way home from the beach.
Her skinny black dress covered all the essential parts. She styled her hair, added sparkly earrings, and high-high heels, which brought her about to Ray's nose.
For his part, he wore the new suit he'd bought for a friend's wedding. It looked good. Ray liked nice clothes and always had them tailored for a good fit. His tie, red silk with a subtle background print, was a gift from Sophia for his recent birthday.
"You look yummy." She slipped into his arms.
"Umm . . ." He nuzzled her hair, then kissed her with nefarious intent. "You, too. But later."
She pushed him away. "Let's get this done, then. Sooner gone. Sooner home."
She put Roxy in her crate, offered an extra treat because she looked so cute, grabbed a useless evening bag, and let Ray usher her to the door and into the Honda.
He managed to time every traffic light to turn green as they approached and pulled into the parking lot at the casino in good time. Ray's usual luck assured him a parking space thirty feet from the west entrance.
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