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Chapter 7

If these organizing steps come naturally to you, consider reaching out to become involved in emergency preparedness programs in your neighborhood, community, school, or workplace, particularly to assist people with disabilities who may need extra help adapting in a crisis.

From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald

Simplicity Itself Organizing Services

Sunday, August 6, Evening

Intrigued by the stranger’s suggestion that Patrick’s death was more complicated than it appeared on the surface, I pointed him toward Stephen. Stephen wasn’t an official member of the Orchard View Police Force, but he’d know how to handle the man’s information while Jason was dealing with the dreadful Pauline out on the front lawn.

I quickly lost track of the man, and didn’t have a chance to follow up with Stephen. At quarter to ten, as though a gong had gone off, guests started to leave one by one, and then in a flood. A few stayed behind to tidy up the kitchen, take out the garbage, and leave Tess’s kitchen and backyard spotless. The dishwasher sloshed and hummed with a first load while other dishes were set, rinsed and stacked, on the counter. Bulkier items had been washed, dried, and put away.

Orchard View people aren’t perfect. Some, like Pauline, I could barely stomach. But the town took care of its own. Neighbors looked after neighbors. Those connections of kindness, even between people who didn’t otherwise like one another, made Patrick’s death exceptionally shocking.

It seemed like hours later when Max and I unfolded Tess’s sofa and climbed into bed. Tess had insisted we stay, saying that it made her feel safe to have us close by.

“This whole situation is overwhelming,” Tess said. “I’m preoccupied and certain I shouldn’t be driving. Tomorrow morning I’ll need your help with issues that haven’t even occurred to me yet.” She’d sighed and hugged me. “Please stay. There’s that fire too. I can’t let you go out there. I need to know you’re safe. I can’t worry about you and Teddy and hang on to my sanity. It’s too much.”

“Of course. Do you want us to sit up with you, or do you think you can get some sleep? What about Teddy?”

“All three boys are curled up on my bed watching some movie full of car chases and explosions. When it’s over, I’ll kick them out. Your boys can crash with Teddy if they want. Or...they may want to stick close to you two. They’re looking pretty shell-shocked themselves.”

In the end, all three boys decided to bunk together in Teddy’s room. But it wasn’t long before David and Brian dragged their sleeping bags into the living room and plopped them down on the floor near us. Belle launched herself from the sofa bed and somehow managed to land on the midsections of both boys at once. Their joint “ooof!” set us into gales of much-needed stress-relieving laughter. As our snorts and giggles trailed off and Max’s soft snores began, I heard a shuffling sound at the end of the hallway and imagined Teddy was dragging his own blanket or sleeping bag toward his mother’s bedroom. Teenaged boys are mostly grown-up, but when they’re hurting, they still need their parents. And there was no question Teddy was hurting.

“Mom?” David whispered.

“Yes?” At first, I thought he was looking for reassurance that I was close by, but David’s sleeping bag rustled as he sat up. I leaned over the side of the bed where I could almost make out his expression in the light cast by the streetlights through the sheer curtains. David’s hair was already tousled from his brief attempt at sleep. He rubbed the back of his neck and squinted at me.

“Something happened when we were all outside. By the fire, in back.”

“Okay,” I said, to let him know I was still listening.

“Well, um.” David cleared his throat and stared into the distance, avoiding my face. “That Mrs. Windsor. Bratty Rebecca’s mom.”

“Right.”

“She’s distributing a petition that says Rancho San Antonio, where Teddy’s dad was found, isn’t safe. She says his murder proves it, and it should be sold for development. She says she has hundreds of signatures already. Can she do that?”

My blood pressure must have skyrocketed. I could hear my pulse pounding. I took a beat or two to get my temper under control before answering.

“Mom?”

“Draw up a petition? Of course, she can. Close Rancho San Antonio? I doubt it. It’s too busy a park. Too cherished by the entire community. Could she develop it? She’s wanted to for years. Her daddy owns the biggest home-and-office-building construction company on the Peninsula. I expect it’s greed that’s driving her, rather than a desire for increased safety. My guess is that if she goes public with her petition, she’ll be hit with an enormous backlash from all the folks who value it as a nature preserve and recreational area.”

David, biting his lip, still seemed troubled, so I continued to reassure him.

“And those hundreds of signatures she mentioned...she probably doesn’t have any yet. Maybe she hasn’t even drawn up a petition. I’ve only worked with her a few times, but she’s one of those people who talks a good game, but has trouble completing her vision.”

David snuggled closer to my side of the bed, and I patted his back. “It will be okay, hon. I promise.”

“But murder? She’s saying it was murder. Who would hurt Teddy’s dad?”

Unsaid, but as audible as if the words had been spoken aloud, was David’s fear that anything that happened to Patrick could just as easily bring harm to Max.

“I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt him, can you?” I said softly. “He was too nice.” Earlier in the day, when I’d heard the description of Patrick’s injuries and Teddy’s protests that his father would never have fallen, my thoughts had shifted immediately to homicide. But now, upon reflection, it seemed impossible. Patrick was beloved in all his circles of influence, including coaching, work, his athletic clubs, and around the neighborhood. If there was a contest for Least Likely to be Violently Attacked, Patrick would have won it, every time.

“But...there’s something else, Mom.” David scrambled out of his sleeping bag and rummaged through the pile of our belongings that oozed outward from the front wall. He came back with his laptop, stepping over Belle and Brian, who both snorted and rolled over without waking. He fired up the computer and clicked open a website. Holmes peered over David’s left shoulder while tickling my son’s ear with his tail. David pulled Holmes into his lap and handed me the computer. “There,” he said.

I gasped. Someone, with obvious malicious intent, had created a web page that appeared disturbingly official. Titled “On the Trail of a Murderer” with an entry that screamed in giant font: “It’s Always the Wife.”

Photos followed that must have been lifted from Internet obscurity. They showed bunny-suited CSI teams scouring wooded hillsides. Hiking-boot-clad legs were buried in leaf litter unlike anything you’d see in the Bay Area’s dry oak chaparral and grassland. Unflattering and overexposed photographs of Tess, Patrick, and Teddy resembled mug shots, and were missing only the blank stares found in FBI Wanted posters.

The page was fake, but convincing. It would deliver its messages in a blink: Patrick was murdered; Tess had killed him, brutally; and she’d left his body to be consumed by fire on a burning hillside. I dropped the laptop on the bed and scooted away from it, as if that would allow me to escape its malicious message.

I took a deep breath. “Well, I can see why that would upset you, David. It bothers me. We need to let Jason and Paolo know about this right away.” I searched the side table for my backpack before giving up. “Do you have your phone?”

David reached under his sleeping bag. I should have known. Both boys had long ago given up their attachment to stuffed animals, but now they slept with their electronic devices close by, ready to check their texts upon waking. We had a charging station at home on the first floor, where phones were supposed to be put to bed for the night. It was a rule most often observed in the breach, and we probably needed to revisit it before school started. But right now I was grateful David had his at hand.

Every member of our family had long ago put Jason, Stephen, and Paolo’s numbers into their phones. Following our disastrous introduction to Orchard View nearly a year earlier, all three men had become as close as family. Along with Tess, they served as emergency contacts for both boys on school forms.

While we waited for the line to connect and for Jason to answer, Belle nudged my hand, offering reassurance. Watson and Holmes perched on the back of the couch, tails twitching in response to our growing tension. I reached out a hand and gripped David’s.

The call went directly to voice mail, with instructions for reaching an emergency contact. I decided the problem could wait until morning, and left a message. “Jason. It’s Maggie. Give me a call as soon as you’re awake. David’s shown me a web page you should take a look at. It’s probably as illegal as it is disturbing. It’s called ‘On the Trail of a Murderer,’ and it’s ghastly.” I paused, thinking there was surely more I could say to bring home the brutal and scurrilous message. I decided to let the page speak for itself. “I’ll text you the link. I’m sure it’s breaking all sorts of laws. I’ll leave a message for Forrest Doucett too.”

I ended the call and glanced at David. I hunted through the phone’s contact list for Forrest Doucett’s number before remembering that I held David’s cell, not mine, and there was no reason for him to have the lawyer’s number. David retrieved my phone from where it had fallen between the sofa and the side table and handed it to me. I unlocked the screen and dialed the number.

All of my electronic devices had numerous ways to reach Forrest, who’d been Max’s college roommate. In addition to our long-standing relationship as close friends, in recent months, we’d consulted him as a lawyer, asking for help unsnarling several dicey situations.

Using some electronic magic, my call had been routed to Forrest’s direct line. He answered in a sleepy voice.

“’Lo?”

“It’s Maggie. We’re in trouble.”

“You personally, or a friend? Let me get a pad and pencil.” Forrest seldom indulged in chitchat, particularly if there was a legal knot that needed to be untangled.

“It’s Tess. And a horrid web page accusing her of murder.”

“The URL? Web address?”

I gave it to him and waited while he pulled it up.

“What are you doing answering your phone at this time of night, anyway?” I asked. “I’d planned to leave a message.”

“I can hang up now so you can do that, if you’d like.”

“No, no. I prefer the real you.”

Forrest sucked in a breath, which told me he’d reached the site. “Whoa. This is nasty. Is any of it true? Is Patrick dead?”

“I’m afraid so. But we haven’t heard anything from the medical examiner about the cause or manner of death. And Tess is certainly not responsible. Even if anyone seriously suspected her, I’m sure she has an alibi. Can we get that trash taken down? Right away? The last thing Tess or Teddy needs is to see something that hateful right now. It’s a personal attack, and they’re really vulnerable at the moment.”

David batted at my leg with his hand. He frowned and shook his head. “Teddy’s already seen it. That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

“It seems the kids have already shared it widely,” I said. “Teddy’s seen it.”

“Unfortunate,” Forrest said with a tsk. “But probably unavoidable. I swear kids find this stuff as if they’ve got an army of bots hunting it down and they had social media feeds hard-wired into their elbows. I’ll have to hire middle school students to keep up.”

Max rolled over in bed, grunted, then sat bolt upright with questions etched in his sleep-wrinkled skin. “Wha—”

I shifted in bed and mouthed the words, “Hang on” to Max. To Forrest, I said, “Look, David knows more about this than I do. He’s the one who showed it to me. I’ll put him on.”

David looked nervous and hesitant, but took the phone, pausing before he lifted it to his face. “What do I say?”

“Tell him what you told me. And answer his questions the best you can. You know Forrest. You can trust him.”

David swallowed. “Forrest is cool,” he said, mostly to himself.

He walked out into the hall while I woke up my sleeping computer to show Max the website. He grimaced as he scrolled.

“Teddy saw this? Has Tess? Seriously...this is terrible stuff. Poor kid. Can Forrest get rid of it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard that Facebook is more responsive to cyberbullying these days, but that’s just a rumor, nothing official. And I don’t know about other platforms, or whether this site is built on one.”

“But this is worse than cyberbullying, isn’t it? Doesn’t it count as libel or something criminal?”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I called Forrest. I didn’t expect him to actually answer. Does the man ever sleep?”

“He’s like an air fern—or at least he was in college. A quick catnap and he’s sharp for hours. He used to take twenty-four credits and have more free time than those of us who struggled with sixteen.”

“I hate people like that. I mean, except for Forrest, of course.”

“Why is David talking to him? Why are our teenagers handling our legal affairs?”

“David’s the one who showed me the site. I figured he could tell Forrest directly how long ago he first saw it, whether it has changed, and if he knows anyone who might have created it. It has to be a kid, right? A kid who has it in for Teddy?”

Max shook his head. “I could probably figure it out, but Paolo needs to know about this.”

Paolo had joined the police department almost two years earlier, hoping to specialize in cyberbullying and other offenses, particularly those in which adults victimized minors. He’d wanted to work locally, giving back to the community that had nurtured him as a kid who was outside the mainstream. In choosing Orchard View, however, he’d selected one of the few local police departments in which specialization was seldom possible. Each officer had areas of preference and expertise, but in Orchard View the law enforcement staff was so small that everyone did everything, from patrol to detective work and public relations. Still, Paolo was typically consulted whenever a suspected crime involved online privacy, bullying, software, hardware, or data storage.

David returned, holding the phone out in front of him and passing it to me. He debriefed Max while I listened to Forrest summarize the legal issues.

“Is there anything you can do?” I plugged one ear with my finger to avoid going insane from listening to two conversations at once.

“Yes and no. We can call the web host’s legal team, explain the problem, and hope they’ll tell us who the page owner is and take the site down. The site violates copyright laws because they don’t have permission to use the likenesses of Tess, Teddy, or Patrick. Probably not for the other shots, either, because some still have the protective watermarks.”

“Watermarks?”

“Stock photo companies do it to protect the copyrights of their artists. You can use images for design purposes at no charge, but to display them without a blurred logo marring the image, you need to pay the artist and the stock house. Check the onscreen picture of the crime-scene guys in bunny suits. No way they paid for that image. I doubt any of the federal agencies will pursue it, but Orchard View and Santa Clara County will be interested. Both have cyber-safety teams that protect kids online.”

“Will that work?”

“Probably. As awful as it is that the web page targets Teddy, it may help us kill it. Web hosting services are responsive to shutting down sites that bully children, but the interpretation of free speech is broad online when it comes to adults. That’s changing, but any shift in the law would be too slow to help your friends.”

“But you’ve got a plan, right?” My voice caught, revealing my desperation. Max and David stopped talking and turned toward me, brows furrowed with concern. I smiled and waved my hand, trying to reassure them. Both seemed skeptical.

“We’ve had success with stern letters on legal letterhead,” Forrest said. “I’ll alert the law enforcement offices too.”

“Thank you. Teddy and Tess don’t need this right now. Or ever.”

Forrest sighed. “Modern bullying may have moved into the cyber realm, but some things don’t change. The best protection against this kind of stuff is friends. You look after Tess and Teddy, and I’ll do my best to make this problem go away. Tell Teddy to let me know if any other sites crop up. If he’s in charge of calling me, it may give him a greater sense of control.”

“When did you become the teen whisperer?”

Forrest laughed. “And tell Tess to call me when she’s ready. We can help her with all the paperwork that follows any death. It can be almost as big a nightmare as the death itself, and the pain of it drags on for ages.” I started to thank him, but the sounds coming from the phone changed enough to let me know he’d ended the call. Forrest could be abrupt, but he was one of the good guys.

Little did I know how quickly we’d be calling him for more help.