Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 03 - A Deadly Change of Heart (12 page)

Chapter Twelve

T
hat night
I slept like a mouse in a boa constrictor’s cage.  I woke up every hour, thinking I heard something or someone outside on the dock.  I’d sit up and peer through the porthole, but not see anything.  Then I’d worry and wonder why Sam hadn’t returned my call.  Was he punishing me for disobeying his orders?  Maybe he’d finally had enough of me and shoved my Explorer in front of that train to get rid of me. 
Now you’re really being paranoid, Devonie
, I thought to myself. 

When the sun finally peeked over the horizon, I decided it was useless to try for any more sleep.  It wasn’t going to happen.  I dragged myself out of bed and into the galley.  A note stuck to my refrigerator reminded me I was supposed to meet Pamela for lunch today.  She wanted to update me on all she’d accomplished with her wedding plans.

I plucked a banana from my fruit bowl and peeled it as I booted up my computer.  I logged into the eBay web site to check the status of a bid I had on a rare, out-of-print video.  I’d been trying to buy the video over the course of several weeks on three consecutive auctions, but someone managed to outbid me at the last minute every time.  So far, I hadn’t been outbid on this fourth auction, but that didn’t mean anything.  I didn’t have my hopes up.  While I was logged in, I decided to do a little snooping around.  You never know what kind of bargain you might find on the Internet. 

Pamela had actually made a lot of progress during the week.  She’d hired a photographer, made arrangements with a florist, and mailed all the invitations.  It looked like she was actually going to pull this wedding off, much to my dismay.  I felt horrible, like an animal control officer must feel when they deliver an innocent puppy to the pound.  How could I continue to help her down the path to a condemned life with Bradley Parker, a confirmed anti-husband and possible murderer?

I took the last bite of my sandwich and pushed my plate away.  “So, did you go out with Bradley last night?” I asked.

She frowned.  “We were supposed to go to the movies, but he called and cancelled at the last minute.  He had to go out of town for a couple days on business.”

Out of town.  I wonder
ed
if he took the train. 

“Are you still thinking of buying a wedding gift for him?” I asked.

She nodded.  “I’d like to, but I just don’t know what to get him.”

“I saw a credenza listed on eBay this morning.  It matches the furniture in his office.  You think he’d like something like that?”

Pamela’s eyes lit up.  “That’s perfect.  He’d love it.”

I scratched my head and gave her a troubled look.  “Only problem, it’s pretty big.  There might not be room.  We’d have to take some measurements of his office,” I said.

She smiled widely.  “This is perfect.  He’s out of town.  We can do it right now and he’ll never know.”

We stood in the center of Bradley Parker’s office.  I rummaged through my purse, feigning frustration.  “I
always
carry a tape measure with me.  I can’t understand why it’s not here.”

Pamela peered into my purse, hoping she could spot it.  She wouldn’t, of course.  The only tape measure I own is in my toolbox on the
Plan C
.  Pamela inquired with the office staff.  Luckily, no one had any sort of measuring device.

I dropped my shoulders in disappointment.  “I’ll just run home and get one.  It should only take about twenty minutes,” I offered.

“Nonsense.  I’ll run down to the hardware store.  I’ll be back in ten minutes, tops,” Pamela insisted.

I smiled at her as if she’d just offered to donate a kidney.  “Are you sure?  It’s really no problem.“

“I insist,” she said, halfway out the door.  “I’ll be right back.”

She wasn’t gone ten seconds before I was rummaging through Bradley’s files.  I wanted to find anything that showed he had a connection to SONGS.  I rifled through his drawers, checked his Rolodex, and scanned his calendar.  Nothing.  I bumped his computer mouse and his monitor lit up.  I rolled the chair up to the PC and searched his directories.  His files were poorly named
—
giving no clue to what they contained.  His directory structure was a mess, too.  How could a computer professional be so disorganized and illogical?  I tried an advanced search for any files containing the words “San Onofre” or “SONGS.”  I wasn’t getting any hits.

I nervously checked my watch.  Pamela would be back soon, and I didn’t want her to catch me with my hand in the cookie jar.  That’s when I noticed the small, ball-shaped device sitting on Bradley’s desk, next to his phone.  I recognized it as a video camera, used for video conferencing.  I’d also seen them used in conjunction with motion detectors for security purposes.  I swallowed hard.  If the device was recording, I could be in big trouble.

I heard Pamela’s voice in the outer office.  I hit the power button on the monitor and it went black. 

She walked in just in time to catch me admiring a photo of her and Bradley getting ready to board a cruise ship.  “Great picture,” I commented, nodding toward the frame on Bradley’s desk.  “Where was it taken?”

“We took a three-day cruise to Mexico a couple months ago.  That’s when he proposed,” she replied, almost giddy.

Mexico.  Memories of trips south of the border flashed through my mind.  Over the years, I’ve compiled a list of things not to do in Mexico.  Don’t drink the water.  Don’t eat the food washed with the water.  Don’t drive your own car there.  Don’t ride in a taxi
—
which is very unhandy considering the previous entry in the list.  I’d have to add another “don’t” to my list.  Do not accept proposals of marriage, especially from a man whose first wife died from a fall off a cliff.

We took measurements of the office and noted them down on a scratch pad.  I nodded toward Bradley’s computer.  “He probably has Internet access.  Let’s log into eBay and I’ll show you the credenza.  If you like it, we’ll submit a bid and cross our fingers.”

“Neat.  You just find something you want and bid on it?”

“That’s right.  But don’t assume it’s a sure thing.  I get outbid all the time,” I explained.  I powered the monitor on and clicked on the Internet Explorer icon.  Pamela pulled a chair up next to me and watched the pages paint on the screen like a gambler watching the wheels spin on a slot machine.  I found the credenza and submitted Pamela’s bid.  I used my account, so all notifications would come to my E-mail address.  That also meant that if the bid was successful, I was responsible for making sure the payment was made.  If Pamela miraculously recovered from her severe case of love-blindness and called off the wedding, I could be stuck with the credenza.  I decided it would be worth it and, in fact, almost hoped for it.

I arrived back at the
Plan C
and checked my answering machine.  No messages.  Why hadn’t Sam called?  Didn’t he care that someone tried to kill me last night? 

I’d struck out in Bradley’s office.  I couldn’t find anything that connected him with SONGS.  What’s worse, I may have given myself away snooping in his files if that camera was on.  I couldn’t wait for Sam to call.  I had to keep searching.

I dressed myself up in corporate attire once again and pranced up the dock in my navy-blue pumps, trying not to let the heels get caught between the planks.  The new tires on my Explorer squealed a little as I rushed out of the marina parking lot.

San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station is situated ten miles south of San Clemente.  It sits right on the coast and is cooled by Pacific Ocean water.  I pulled into the visitor center parking area and followed the directions the man in the guard shack gave me.  I walked into the learning center building as if I belonged there and strolled up to the receptionist desk.

“Hi.  I wonder if you can tell me the name of your IT manager?” I requested.

She smiled at me.  “Certainly.  His name is Wilbur Moore.”

I made a note in the day planner I’d carried in with me.  “I don’t have an appointment, but I wonder if it would be possible to see him?” I requested.

She frowned at me.  “He’s not expecting you?  He’s very busy.”

I flipped through pages in the planner and sighed.  “Oh, I’m sure he must be, what with all the commotion about Ralph Campbell.”  I noticed the name on her employee badge.  “Your name is Yvonne?” I asked, writing it down.

She eyed me suspiciously.  “Yes.  Ralph Campbell?  Has something happened to Ralph?”

I stopped writing and gawked at her.  “You mean you haven’t heard?”

“All I know is he didn’t show up for work today.  No one has been able to get in touch with him or his wife.  Is he okay?” she asked, concerned.

I closed the planner and slipped it under my arm.  “I better not say any more until I’ve spoken with Mr. Moore.  Can you tell him that Lillian Schockley is here to see him?”

Yvonne punched some keys on her switchboard and greeted Wilbur Moore.  “Wilbur?  There’s a Lillian Schockley here to see you.  She has information about Ralph Campbell.”

I smiled as I listened to her end of the conversation.

“I don’t know,” she whispered into the headset.  “She didn’t tell me.  She’ll only talk to you,” she explained.  “Okay.  I’ll have Donna bring her to your office.”

Wilbur Moore stood when I entered his office and reached out to shake my hand.  “I’m Wilbur Moore.  And you’re Lillian…?” he checked a note he’d written on his desk.

“Schockley.  Lillian Schockley,” I said, gripping his hand and nearly shaking his arm out of its socket.  “Thank you so much for seeing me.”

Wilbur was a short, stocky man.  His wiry hair formed clumps of curly gray over each ear.  The top of his head was smooth and shiny and reminded me of one of the two containment domes I’d seen outside, used to house the reactor vessels and steam generators.  At least that’s what Donna told me they were as she gave me a very brief plant tour on our way to Wilbur’s office.  He’d developed the typical potbelly so common among men his age who sit behind a desk all day.

“You have information about Ralph Campbell?” he asked, anxious to hear what I had to say.

“You haven’t heard?” I replied, sounding astonished that word hadn’t gotten around yet.

“No.  What?”

I leaned forward in my chair and spoke quietly, as if the walls might have ears.  “Bradley Parker hasn’t contacted you?”

He gave me a confused look.  “Bradley Parker?”

“About the lawsuit?” I added.

“Lawsuit?”  He was in the dark.

I opened my day planner and flipped through pages.  “You do run a software package called Voltage, don’t you?” I asked, skimming pages of unrelated notes about sailboat maintenance schedules and caterer’s menus.

“Yes.  But what does that have to do with Ralph?” he asked, nervously pulling at the bushy eyebrow hairs over his left eye.

I clicked for more lead from my mechanical pencil and started scribbling.  “You did purchase the Voltage package from Business Solutions, didn’t you?” I said, more of a statement than a question.

“Business Solutions?  Is that a local company?” he asked.

I stopped writing.  “How long have you worked here?” I asked.

“Five years.  But what does that have to do with
—
“

“So you didn’t buy Voltage from Bradley Parker’s company?” I interrupted.

“We purchased it directly from the vendor.”  Wilbur’s voice raised an octave and his frustration showed.  “Who are you?  What’s happened to Ralph?” he demanded.

I slipped my pencil back in its slot and closed the planner.  “I’m investigating the death of a friend.  My search led me to Ralph Campbell.  Did he tell you about a problem with the Voltage software?  Something about a rounding error with the inventory balances?”

Wheels began turning inside Wilbur’s head.  I could see him trying to piece together events from the past.  “Rounding?  Gosh.  That’s been a couple years ago,” he recalled.

“And you resolved it?” I asked.

“I told Ralph to take care of it.  I’d assumed he did.”

“So you’re not involved in a lawsuit with the Voltage vendor?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he insisted.

I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs.  “You are aware that the Voltage inventory module loses as much as a quarter pound per transaction due to a rounding bug?”

Wilbur gaped at me.  He didn’t speak.

“Ralph Campbell tried to explain this to you.  Remember?” I added.

Wilbur nodded, dumbly.  “Where’s Ralph?” he managed to ask.

I stood up.  “I think I’d better let the police handle that discussion.  I’m surprised they haven’t already contacted you.”

“Police?” he mumbled.

“You might want to contact your legal department.”  I reached for the door, stopped and turned.  “Do you have a lawyer, Mr. Moore?”

His pale face nodded.  “We have a whole team of lawyers.”