Part 11 (2/2)
”What a spread. I couldn't see anything last night between the late hour and drinking too much. I had no idea you had a place like this.”
”It's my father's. Just caretaking for him.” Sophie busied herself with organic sprouted wheat toast and homemade pa.s.sion fruit jam from the housekeeper.
”I'd never leave if I had a place like this. It's amazing.”
Sophie didn't reply, thinking of the irony. She hated being home now that her network was down. Waxman was right; she needed some other interests.
Marcella returned, sat down at the modern, brushed-steel table. ”Oh, thank G.o.d for coffee. You're an angel.”
Her phone rang and she looked down. Sophie could tell by the color that rose in her cheeks that the caller was Kamuela. ”I have to take this.” She got up and walked away across the expanse of hardwood, the phone cupped like a sh.e.l.l against her ear.
Sophie got up, mixed honey in her tea, picked up her toast, and carried it back into the bedroom, turning on Kamala, her home computer, and pulling a cord so the blackout drapes folded open on another glorious Honolulu day.
She sat down and logged in, sipping her tea and munching the toast as Marcella came to the door. ”Hey.” The other woman carried her coffee in. ”Mind if I get dressed? I've got to get on the road.”
”No problem,” Sophie said.
Marcella dropped her towel, picked up her clothes from the night before. ”Ugh, I hate wearing dirty clothes.”
”Look through my closet.” Sophie kept her eyes on her computer, but a reflection in the corner showed Marcella's lush outline as her friend opened her closet and riffled through.
”Do you mind if I grab some underwear too?”
”You won't fit into my bra.”
”No, just bottoms. These yoga pants and s.h.i.+rt are fine.”
”Take anything.” Sophie watched the reflection as Marcella dressed, feeling guilty and aroused at the same time. She remembered how angry she'd been when Alika suggested she was gay-she didn't think so. She was just lonely and miserable, not getting action of any kind nor likely to at the rate she was going. She logged into her e-mail as Marcella unwound the towel from her long hair, combing it out with her fingers.
”What are you working on?”
”Still hoping to lure out the system admin from the DyingFriends site.” Sophie scanned the e-mails as Marcella sat on the bed behind her, picking up the half of papaya and digging into it.
”Mmm. This is good. The lime makes all the difference. Thanks for letting me crash.”
”Anytime. What are you and Marcus up to today?”
”Oh, you guessed that was him. Yeah, he wants to take me to the zoo.” Marcella blew a little raspberry. ”I've never been. He wants me to see all the major Oahu sights. We made a list and we're checking them off. I didn't realize until we started going out how little I had seen of Oahu.”
”That sounds fun.” Sophie knew her voice was wooden. She'd been exactly three places in Honolulu on a regular basis: Fight Club, work, and the apartment.
Marcella finished the papaya, sipped the coffee. ”Mind if I take the toast to go?”
”Not at all.”
”My hangover's getting better by the minute. There must be something magical in papaya and aspirin. So, I'll see you Monday?” Marcella got up, toast in her hand, plainly eager to leave.
”I'll be there.” Sophie got up, walked her friend to the door. ”See you Monday.”
Sophie shut the door behind Marcella, shot the bolt, and turned back to pick up the small traces of their breakfast. She made the bed, and the usual silence descended over the apartment. She tried to ignore the heaviness that came with it.
She went back into her e-mail, where she'd spotted something from DyingFriends. She opened it. Another invitation, to the ”next level of deeper sharing and support.” She read the disclosures, hit ”agree.”
Now what? There was no DAVID to work on, no network to extend her work to, and the system admin had responded to her challenge with one of his own, a sensible precaution on his side. He probably had IP address tracking software too. She wasn't worried-she had a blocker on her computer's location, the most effective one government contract money could buy.
Sophie could disappear, become ShastaM, and see what she would see in the forums. Work on her DAVID software, at least check through it some more. Or she could get outside this apartment and do like her boss had told her: find some other interests. Life was short. DyingFriends was a potent reminder of that.
Sophie'd never hiked Diamond Head, that famous volcanic landmark visible from her windows. She didn't need a boyfriend to make the plan to do one new thing a week a good idea. She should experience the beautiful place she lived in. She'd heard the hike up the famous crater was fairly rigorous and uphill-she might even get some cardio in.
Feeling the first antic.i.p.ation she had all day, Sophie put Kamala to sleep and got into running clothes. Maybe she wasn't capable of finding another interest outside of exercising, but at least she'd be doing it outdoors in a new place.
There might even be other people there.
Chapter 18.
Lei got into the office early on Monday morning after dropping Stevens off at the airport for the earliest flight out to Maui. He'd ended up changing his reservation so they could spend one more night together, and not only was her hair disorderly this morning, but her eyes and lips were puffy from tears and kissing.
The loss of goodbye felt like a flu coming on, heaviness in her very bones..
Lei reached into her desk for her emergency Visine, dosed her eyes, and wound her rebellious curls into the FBI Twist, which her hair was finally long enough to do. Smoothing lip gloss on, she booted up her computer just as Ken stuck his head in the door. ”Got another suicide. Let's go.”
Lei felt the hit of adrenaline that made law enforcement so addicting light up her body. ”Who? Anyone we know?”
”Yeah. Betsy Brown.”
”Oh no,” Lei said as adrenaline turned to the nausea of dread. She reached for her crime kit, freshly restocked after the s.h.i.+maoka death. ”Dammit.”
Betsy's body was dressed in a silky white nightgown, and she was laid out in a pose that was eerily familiar. Head on the pillow, hands crossed on the chest, hair curled and brushed. She even had makeup on. Other than her pallid face, she looked like she'd wake up at any moment, pretty and young.
Lei exchanged a glance with Ken as he got out the Canon and began photographing. ”What made you call us?” Lei asked Detective Reyes, a midfifties Portuguese man with a weathered face and a basketball midsection. She took out her pencil and spiral notebook.
”We have a general alert on all suicides right now. We're supposed to look for inconsistencies and call you guys in, especially if there is an a.s.sociation with a site called DyingFriends. When Betsy's mother told me she was an active member, I called Dispatch.”
”Thank you; you did right. Were there any other inconsistencies besides the connection to DyingFriends?” Lei tried to ignore the flash of the Canon as Ken moved in close to the body.
”Well, Betsy couldn't get out of bed, and she was dressed in a nightgown she'd never worn.” Reyes gestured to the body. ”Her mother said she'd ordered it online a few weeks ago, and it was still in the box over there.” He pointed to an ornate clothing box. ”It's wedding lingerie. Sad.”
”Her illness was especially sad. ALS-amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. Debilitation, paralysis, then death,” Lei said. She'd Googled the neurological nightmare after their first visit to Betsy. She walked over to the garment box, lifting the lid to peek inside with her pen. ”Did you dust for prints? Don't see any powder.”
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