Cold Betrayal (18 page)

“I know she came from a bad place,” Evangeline replied after a pause. “I don’t think she wants to be found.”

“What bad place?” Ali pressed.

“It used to be called Short Creek,” Evangeline answered. “That’s what the People called it long ago. Now it’s called Colorado City. Do you know it? Do you know about the people there?”

Ali did, because with those two words—Short Creek—everything about the Jane Doe puzzle seemed to click into place. Colorado City was the center of commerce for an isolated part of Arizona just to the north of the Grand Canyon. Although officially part of Mohave County, the area was hours away from even the most rudimentary law enforcement oversight. As a consequence, Colorado City and its environs had become a geographical magnet for any number of oddball communes and religious groups, many of which were suspected of practicing polygamy.

“Where exactly did you find her?” Ali asked.

“My husband and I were coming back from a selling trip, dropping off my blankets and his silver and turquoise jewelry at trading posts and gift shops before the summer tourist season starts. The man who owns the gas station in Colorado City is one of our customers. While Tsosie was talking to him, I went into the restroom. That’s where I found the girl, hiding in one of the stalls. She said she was going to Flagstaff and asked if we’d give her a ride.

“It was while we were driving south that she asked to use my phone. When I gave it to her, though, she didn’t know how to use it, so I dialed the number for her. It was to a friend of hers, someone named Irene. When Irene didn’t answer the call, the girl seemed very upset, but I didn’t ask what was wrong.”

“Where did you let her out?”

“At a junction north of Flagstaff where we turned off to go visit our daughter. The girl said she was hoping to catch a ride into Flag to see her mother, who was in the hospital.”

“Thank you,” Ali said. “You’ve been a big help.”

“Where is the girl?” Evangeline asked. “I mean, what hospital?”

“St. Jerome’s.”

“If you talk to her, please let her know that Tsosie and I will be praying for her.”

“I will,” Ali said. “Thank you.”

14

W
hen Betsy arrived home, Princess came to the door to greet her. After putting away her purchases and the container of carryout she’d brought home from the café, she went looking for Joe Friday. He was in her bedroom, tinkering with a computer on her small desk. He had stripped out of his flannel shirt. The short-sleeved T-shirt he wore underneath revealed more tattoos than Betsy could count. Or wanted to.

“Almost got ’er done,” he said. “I already captured the images I need of Princess. Once I finish with the computer and have all your passwords set, I’ll do your photo shoot. Then I’ll be able to get out of your hair.”

“You’ll have the whole thing installed tonight? Really? I thought you said it would take a couple of days.” Betsy was a little disappointed. She had rather liked the idea of having someone around the house to look out for her for a while. In fact, she had been fully prepared to offer putting him up in her guest room if for no other reason than to rattle Sandra’s chain.

“Up and running,” he answered. “The sight lines were less complicated than I thought. With all the angles covered, I’ll have a few cameras left over.”

“Well,” Betsy said. “Don’t feel obliged to rush. I had supper in town on the way home. I brought you a hot roast beef sandwich, unless you’re one of those vegan types who doesn’t eat meat.”

“Definitely a carnivore,” Joe said with a grin. “And a hot roast beef sandwich or even a warm roast beef sandwich sounds like just what the doctor ordered.”

“Come on, then,” she said. “We’ll deal with all that password business later. What would you like to drink?”

“Coffee if you’ve got it,” he said. “I need to drive back to Minneapolis tonight.”

Joe followed Betsy back toward the kitchen, stopping off to wash his hands in the powder room along the way. He settled down at the kitchen table and began eating while she stood by the counter waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. It bothered her to think that while she was just standing there in her own kitchen, someone a continent away could be watching her every move.

“My son and daughter-in-law made an appointment for me to see a doctor on Monday,” she said. “To have my mental faculties evaluated.” Betsy was astonished to hear the words coming out of her own mouth. How could she make such an admission to a complete stranger?

Joe was quiet as she set a coffee mug in front of him and then sat down with one of her own. When she looked up, he was studying her intently.

“Mrs. Peterson,” he said, “if you don’t mind my saying so, your son is a complete jackass!”

Fortunately for Betsy, she had yet to take a sip of her coffee. Had she done so, it probably would have splattered all over the table. She found herself nodding and laughing at the same time.

“I’ve met a few dotty folks now and again,” Joe continued. “You don’t happen to be one of them. Do you know this doctor, the one they want you to see? Did you agree to go to the appointment?”

Betsy nodded yes to both questions.

“Do you have someone who could go to the appointment with you—to have your back if need be?”

“Not really,” she said. “There’s my granddaughter, of course, but she lives in Arizona. And she’s a teacher. I couldn’t ask her to come up here for something like this.”

“Find someone else to go with you, then,” Joe urged. “And don’t, whatever you do, mention a word of the security measures we’ve installed to anyone, including the doctor. Now then,” he added, standing up and pushing away from the table. “Let’s go deal with those passwords.”

She followed him into the bedroom and waited while he went to fetch her a chair. He placed it next to his so she had a full view of the screen.

“Here we go,” Joe said. He punched a button at the bottom of the screen, which came to life. A bouquet of begonias filled the screen, moving in and out of focus. In the middle of the colorful flowers was a small box asking for her user name and password. Before going any further, Joe adjusted the font so it was easier for her to read. That done, they established her user name as Betsy.

“If you give me a password,” she objected, “how will I ever remember it?”

Joe picked up a piece of black plastic that was lying next to the computer. “This is a mouse,” he said.

“What about it?”

“You use it to manipulate your cursor, but that’s not the whole reason why it’s here.” Placing the mouse on the table, he moved it until it was directly in front of Betsy. “I want you to put your thumb on it, right here in the bottom right-hand corner. Hold it like that for a moment.”

Betsy did as he asked.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s enough.” He waited for a moment, staring at the screen. “All right. Now we need to confirm it. Do that again.”

She did. After a second or two, the image on the computer screen changed from melting begonias into a seascape.

“The begonias are a screen saver,” he said. “The computer is running in the background, but the only way to access it will be with your thumbprint.”

“That’s my password, my thumbprint?”

“That’s right. All you have to do is put your thumb in the same spot long enough for the image to register. As you can see, it looks like the computer is calling for an ordinary password, the kind people type in. An unauthorized user typing in passwords won’t get anywhere, and I doubt it will occur to them that a woman your age, living out here in the sticks, would be using thumbprint recognition technology. Now, do you have either an e-mail or Facebook account?”

“Not Facebook,” Betsy said. “I used to have an e-mail address, on Gmail, I think, but I haven’t used it in years.”

“You’re going to start using it now.” Joe’s fingers flashed over the keyboard before pausing. “Yes, here it is. Now, what’s your password for that?”

For an answer, Betsy stood up, went over to the dresser, opened the bottom drawer, retrieved a jewelry box, and removed a tiny spiral notebook that she handed to him.

Joe thumbed through the ragged book, then looked at her in dismay. “Wait a minute; these are the passwords to all your accounts—your bank accounts, your checking accounts, your cell phone, everything.”

“Alton knew I’d never be able to remember all these. He’s the one who had me start keeping this book. As you can see, I write them in pencil in case I need to change one of them.”

Joe shook the book in her direction as though disciplining a child. “Don’t you understand? Anyone who gains access to your house and to this book would also have access to everything about you? Here’s your Gmail password. Go ahead and put it in. We’ll change it later.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out to the van to get my portable scanner,” he said. “We’re going to put all this information in a secure file inside the computer. Another copy will be stored elsewhere—at High Noon Enterprises most likely—and will be automatically updated if this one is updated. In the meantime, I recommend that you spend the next few days changing the passwords on all your accounts. As you’re doing that, is there anyone else you would like to have access to the passwords?”

“My granddaughter,” Betsy said. “Athena Reynolds. Her mother-in-law, Ali, and her husband own that company—the one you just mentioned, High Noon.”

“Now I get the connection,” Joe said. “All right, I’ll tell Stuart we’ll need Athena’s thumbprint, too. That way she can be added to both the computer and the account as a secondary user.”

While Joe headed for his van, Betsy found herself still fuming at his offhand and entirely too dismissive remark—“a woman your age.” Even at what Joe seemed to regard as terribly advanced years, Betsy was determined to show him that she could still do a thing or two on her own.

Thumbing through the notebook, Betsy used the magnifying glass she kept in her pocket to locate the listing for Athena’s e-mail address. Not knowing if it was still good, she tried it anyway. Before Joe returned, she had typed and sent a message to Athena, letting her know her computer was up and running.

Another hour and a half sped by before Joe had scanned all the pages of the notebook, shown her how to access them in the cloud, and then deemed Betsy work wise in terms of running the computer. That was when they finally did the photo shoot, even though at that hour of the night, Betsy was sure she didn’t look her best.

The last thing before Joe left, he went out to the backyard, uncovered Alton’s long-unused Weber grill, tossed Betsy’s password notebook onto it and set the notebook on fire.

“Remember,” he cautioned. “All your existing passwords need to be reset because we have to assume that any numbers in the notebook are most likely already compromised. From now on, all passwords go in your cyber safety-deposit file and nowhere else. You don’t have to make the changes tonight, but make them soon.”

“Right.” Betsy nodded. “I’ll be sure to do that right away.”

For Betsy, though, it wasn’t just about the passwords. There was more at stake here, and she wanted all of it settled and in place long before there was ever any question of Elmer Munson declaring her incompetent.

Just after ten, Joe loaded his tools and boxes into his van and drove away. As soon as he was gone, Betsy returned to the kitchen. It was late, but not that late. She had been thinking about this all during the password debacle, and she wanted to do it now, before she lost her nerve.

She had to use the phone book and the magnifying glass to locate the number, but once she had it, she dialed immediately. It took several rings before someone answered at Sundowner’s Assisted Living Center. She almost hung up while she waited to be put through to Howard Hansen’s unit, but she didn’t.

“Hello.” She heard the wariness in Howard’s voice.
Calls in the middle of the night often mean bad news, especially at our age,
Betsy thought, then she chided herself for being as bad as Joe Friday.

“It’s Betsy,” she reassured Howard quickly. “No, there’s nothing wrong. I mean, there’s no emergency. But I do need your help. My son, Jimmy, thinks I’m losing my marbles. He and Sandra have made an evaluation appointment for me with Elmer Munson for Monday afternoon. I was wondering if you’d go with me.”

It wasn’t such an odd request. For the folks who socialized over bingo and at the VFW, it was often an “us or them” mentality, with members of the older generation duking it out with the younger ones. Howard Hansen may have been Betsy’s boyfriend long ago, but he had also been a GP in Bemidji long before Elmer Munson graduated from high school much less medical school.

“I’d like to help out,” Howard began, “but I don’t drive anymore.”

“I’ll get us a ride,” Betsy said. “I want you with me during the appointment.”

“In the examining room? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“That’s rather irregular.”

“Look,” she said. “Sandra and Jimmy are trying to sell me down the river, and they’re bringing in Elmer Munson as a hired gun to pull it off. I’m sure you remember what happened to Elmer’s mother.”

Howard sighed. “Well, yes,” he agreed. “There is that. But if I go to the appointment with you, people are going to talk, especially if I accompany you into that exam room. We won’t even be out of Munson’s office before word will spread all over town.”

“So?” Betsy returned. “In the past few days, any number of people have gone out of their way to remind me about how old I am. And they’re right. I’m so old right now that I don’t give a tinker’s damn about what they say. Now, are you in or out?”

Howard didn’t hesitate. “In,” he said. “Definitely in.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know later when Marcia and I will pick you up. We might even have some supper after the appointment.”

“Sounds good,” Howard said.

Betsy was smiling when she returned the phone to its hook. “Come on, Princess,” she said. “Let’s go for one last walk before we go to bed. When Sandra and Jimmy find out what I’ve done today, they are going to be fit to be tied.”

15

R
eturning to St. Jerome’s after her visit with Andrea, Ali paused in the parking lot long enough to take a call from Stuart Ramey.