Читать книгу The Plague Doctor - E. Joan Sims - Страница 9

Chapter Seven

After bracing ourselves with several cups of Queen Anne tea and a slice or two of Lady Baltimore cake, we took our full tummies back to the library—the gracious room that had provided the comfortable headquarters for our previous sleuthing. I loved the big brick fireplace, the soft jewel tones of the oriental rug, and the twin comfort of overstuffed sofas. The many photographs of family and friends lining the walls never failed to remind me of where I belonged in the grand scheme of things.

Fortified by the aforementioned ladies Baltimore and Queen Anne, we sat around Dad’s desk with yellow legal pads in hand and waited for some monumental inspiration.

“This is ridiculous,” protested Mother. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be considering. Paisley, give us a starting point, dear. And don’t ask for any more cake.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I asked with feigned innocence.

“You have that look in your eye.”

“Please, you two. Let’s get serious,” begged Cassie.

“Okay, okay. But Gran’s right. We don’t know diddley. For instance, when and where did Brandy, or Brittany meet Ethan? Was he really at the Hayes’s place that night? And if not, how did he get those scratches? And, I think, most important of all, what is Ethan doing in Rowan Springs in the first place?”

“He told us the other night, Mom. He’s trying to find out why so many

unborn babies are dying.”

“Yeah, but is he really investigating the environment or the medical establishment?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Well, I think that’s where we need to focus.”

“I could call Ed Baxter.”

“I don’t think so, Mother, not just yet, anyway. I think we have a good starting place right here in this room.”

“You mean Ethan’s laptop?”

“Yes, Cassie, that’s exactly what I do mean. If he won’t talk to us, maybe his computer will.”

“But that’s so indiscreet, Paisley. It’s like snooping in someone’s closet. Dreadful manners.”

Mother looked so prim and proper I almost laughed. “But isn’t that just what we are? Snoops?”

“Gran, you can’t argue with that. You’re the one who loves this detective stuff.”

Cassie tapped her fingernail on the top of the closed computer case. “You are forgetting one thing though, Mom. We couldn’t read that disc. How are we going to let the computer do the talking if we can’t gain access?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. Remember the other night when Horatio was here? He was telling us about Ethan’s work in Africa and his search for the host of the Ebola virus.”

“Yes.”

“Remember the word he used?”

“I do. Dear Horatio was quite informative. The word was ‘vector.’”

“Well, Mother, I think that our young doctor is very intelligent, but not so creative. He probably uses words that are very common and familiar to him like ‘vector’ for encrypting all of his medical research. I imagine he is annoyed that he has to do it at all. Most doctors I know feel a little superior to the general public. And, excuse me for saying so Cassie, but Ethan is probably no different from the rest of the genus ‘white-coatis superiorus.’”

“Most people, myself included, wouldn’t understand any medical terminology at all. Why would he take it one step further and bother encrypting his work in the first place, dear?”

“As I explained to Cassie earlier, the government probably has rules for everyone across the board, from the Department of Defense to the CIA. I’m sure there are generic mandates to protect information.”

“Okay, Mom, if you’re so much smarter than Ethan, let’s see you try.”

“Not me—Leonard. If I’m going to waste the remaining little grey cells in my cerebrum on this, then Leonard and I get a story out of it. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Now, what’s Ethan’s password?”

“He changed it to ‘Cassie’ when we met.”

“I rest my case.”

I plugged away on Dr. McHenry’s computer for three hours. Cassie fell asleep on the sofa, and Mother kept the teapot full of Queen Anne. I tried everything I could think of from “vector,” to “Ebola,” to “Kinshasa,” to “Tarzan,” with no luck.

And it took forever. Every time I tried a new word and got kicked out I had to log on again. To say it was frustrating was definitely an understatement.

“I could have sworn it would be ‘vector.’”

“You had me convinced, dear. It was a good thought. Very creative and…”

“Stop it, Mother. You’re just saying that to bug me. Bug! Bug! Maybe that’s it.”

And so it was.

When I got in, I yelled, “whoopee” loud enough to awaken Cassie. She inadvertently kicked Aggie, who nipped her hard on the foot.

“Ouch! Damn dog! Ouch! Did you really do it, Mom, uh, Leonard?”

“Look for yourself.”

They both came to peer over my shoulder at the columns of medical data whizzing across the little screen of the laptop.

“Shouldn’t we stop it, or print something, or something?” asked Cassie.

“Beat’s the hell out’a me.”

“Language, Paisley, dear.”

“Sorry, Mother. But I don’t know what all this means.”

“Maybe I could ask ‘white-coatis superiorus.’”

“Very funny, Cassie. No, I don’t think we should let the good doctor know we have breached his security until we manage to save his butt.”

“Paisley!”

“Oh, Mother, for heaven’s sake.”

“Exactly.”

It was getting late in a long hard day. My afternoon nap had given me a false sense of energy. After the initial euphoria of finding my way into Ethan’s computer wore off, so did my vim and vigor. I slumped over the desk and watched the bytes of information I did not understand speed past. My eyes watered with the strain of my efforts and the screen blurred in front of me.

“Sleep, I need sleep.”

“I think we all do, dear.”

“But, Mom, poor Ethan.”

“Sorry, Cassie, I can’t think anymore. I’ve shot my wad.”

“Common and vulgar pronouncements not withstanding, Cassandra, think of your poor Mother for a change. You’ve had her up and going since one o’clock this morning. That’s almost twenty-four hours. Let her go to bed, dear. She’ll function much better in the morning.”

They made me sound like a machine.

But Mother was right, as usual. Early the next morning I was back at the desk trying to puzzle out Ethan’s discs.

Cassie brought me tea and toast, which she nervously devoured while watching me flip through the screens of data.

“Understand anything, yet?”

“Don’t get crumbs on the keyboard!” I responded testily, “And I’m hungry. Where’s my toast?”

“Gran will probably bring you some.”

“I may have to go on strike if…”

“Anyone for some more toast and jam?”

Mother came in with a tray of lovely looking dishes of jam and butter and two racks of warm toast. She sat down on the sofa next to Cassie and they served themselves breakfast.

“And me?”

“Oh sorry, Paisley, dear. Here, have a slice.”

She extended the plate of buttered toast but Aggie got there before me. With a beautifully executed leap that would have put the Flying Wallendas to shame, she took the toast from the plate and was out of the room before we could say a word.

“Never mind. I’ll wait until lunch,” I grumped.

“Umm, you want this last half of mine, Mom?” asked my gluttonous child with her mouth full.

“And lunch had better be good!”