CHAPTER THREE

 

The next day, after a reassuring follow-up call with Dr. Svenson confirming that the bloodwork was all coming up healthy, Martine sheepishly asked to be passed over to Ruby, the only other young woman she really knew.

“You know, I haven’t had to go out regularly in a long time, so all of my clothes are pretty old, and I just noticed that you and I are about the same age and that your clothes are pretty nice, and maybe you could tell me where some good places to go are?” Martine rambled sheepishly.

“Oh, absolutely. Are you free at four o’clock today?”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Dr. Svenson told me that it was our highest priority to make sure that transplant patients had a healthy mental and physical transition after the operation, and I’m pretty sure that includes wardrobe emergencies.”

“I don’t know that I would call it an emergency.”

Ruby thought for a moment about Martine’s baggy, comfortable, blandly neutral, and slightly threadbare items. “Maybe we should get started at three o’clock.”

Ruby wasn’t Oyster Cove’s biggest fashionista, but she was a very helpful guide nonetheless. She knew were all the affordable boutiques were, and she was a pretty good judge of what was most flattering for Martine, who hadn’t been clothes shopping in almost a decade.

Through the changing room door, Ruby asked nonchalantly, “So, how have you been feeling since the operation? Everything going okay?”

“It’s perfect. My legs are working perfectly. The pain is gone. It’s like a long nightmare finally ended. I mean seriously long. I can’t ever remember a time when I wasn’t at least a little sick. And now, look at me.”

“Well. Why don’t you come out here so I can do just that?”

Martine made her shy appearance in a bright pink flirty party dress, not entirely comfortable with how downright cute she was looking. She was a hacker, for heaven’s sake, not a model.

“Very nice. I’m going to have to insist that you buy that outfit. I mean, I know you work at home and don’t need a lot of dressy things, but every once in a while, we all have special occasions, right?”

“I guess.”

“So, I was just wondering . . . have you noticed anything strange lately? Have you seen anything strange, felt anything strange, or has anything weird happened that was hard to explain? Anything?”

“Strange, like how?”

Ruby really wanted to know whether any of Lilith Hazelwood’s formidable powers had passed on to Martine, but she didn’t wish to alarm her. “People or things, doing things, saying things, feeling things that you wouldn’t have expected. Any hard to explain phenomenon?”

Martine looked away, embarrassed. “Actually . . .”

“Yes?”

“I did get asked out on a date.”

This wasn’t the supernatural occurrence that Ruby had been fishing for, but it was almost an even bigger surprise, and certainly an exciting development.

“Sweet. What does he look like?”

“This is gonna sound pretty ridiculous, but . . . you know those Greek mythology pictures? Poseidon, the god of the sea with his huge beard and his broad shoulders. That’s what he looks like.”

“You met a Greek god. In Oyster Cove. You step out of your apartment for one week, and you meet a Greek god! I’ve been signed up with a dating service for two years, and I never met anything approximating a Greek god. Okay, now I’m starting to see the inspiration for getting some new clothes. Bikini next.”

Martine had been feeling a little silly about her wardrobe quest. It was a relief to be around someone who understood her dilemma. And someone she could talk to about Morgan. They became so absorbed in their clothes hunt and girl chat that she forgot Ruby’s very odd line of questioning.

*****

Back at home, surrounded by a mountain of new purchases, she quickly turned her computer on to check any email messages and to tie up loose ends for her latest clients.

Now, Martine had herself once or twice been the target of another hacker. It was a strange and infuriating experience. And it looked as if today was going to be another one of those occasions. Her email screen of messages dissolved to a blank screen, which then transformed into a local news broadcast. It was a very jarring experience.

“Tragic news coming out of the Fourth of July weekend. The owner of a popular yacht rental company, Theodore Kingston, was found dead in his home this morning from a single gunshot wound to the head. It is believed that the wound was self-inflicted, and there appears to have been a suicide note written on the computer in front of him. In other news . . .”

Interesting. The Destroyer was dead. The man who’d caused so much misery and aggravation with all of his negative online reviews had killed himself. But why? He had an extremely successful business. He had to be profoundly unhappy about something, but what? Well, that was a shame, but she had bigger personal problems to wrestle with right now. Such as, what had just happened her computer? Who had put a bug in her computer, and how was she going to get the bug out?

Thankfully, the screen soon faded back to her email account. And it never reoccurred for the remainder of the evening. Still, it was worrisome, as she couldn’t locate the cause of the problem. Or the motivation. What a lame hack.

While she bustled around her apartment putting the new things away, and trying on a few of them again, she reflected that hanging out with other people wasn’t as unpleasant as she had remembered it to be. Morgan and Ruby were both pretty interesting company. Admittedly, she was probably overly influenced by an emotional reaction to regaining her health and her legs. It wouldn’t do to lose sight of how truly annoying most people actually were.

Still, the future was looking rather bright.

Except for Theodore Kingston.

*****

Millionaire suicides don’t happen all that often in Oyster Cove. Martine was fully expecting the story to be front-page news in the local papers, and probably the Boston paper as well. No doubt, it would be the talk of the town.

But nothing could’ve been further from the truth. The front-page headlines were all about Fourth of July events. That was to be expected. But there was no mention of Mr. Kingston. Not at the bottom of the page. Not on the second page or the third page or anywhere in the paper. Nothing in the Boston paper. But there had been news coverage of this yesterday morning. Certainly, it would’ve reached the papers by now.

She knew someone who would know all about the story, someone she owed a visit to, in addition to a whole bunch of gratitude. She dropped in on a very surprised, very delighted Jeremy Todd at his legal office.

“Martine! You look wonderful. I dropped in on Dr. Svenson to ask him how things had gone, and he said that it couldn’t have gone better, which I can now see for myself.”

“Jeremy, if it hadn’t been for you . . . if you hadn’t helped me out—”

“My pleasure. My very great pleasure. So, is everything going well? Any problems? Strange side effects? Unforeseen weird side effects?

Martine wrinkled her brow. “No. Things couldn’t be better. Except I also wanted to express my condolences for the death of one of your clients, Mr. Theodore Kingston.”

“Theodore Kingston? Theodore Kingston is dead? How? When? How did you know he was one of my clients?”

“The same way that I know everything that I know. I just had my eye on him for a while.”

Jeremy had already grabbed his phone and was dialing a number. “Can’t imagine what your eye was doing on my client. Where did you hear about this? Oh, hello, Mr. Kingston. So happy to hear your voice. Yeah, yeah, I know it was me who called you. I just wanted to double-check with you about . . . about . . . that whole arcade deal. Just wanted to make sure that you hadn’t changed your mind about that.”

All the while, Jeremy was giving Martine the evil eye as he tried to make it through this awkward conversation. “Yeah, I don’t think it would’ve gotten much tourist business. They really do want to spend their holidays indoors. So . . . good call. Talk to you soon. Bye-bye.”

Martine was seriously confused. “So, what you’re trying to say is, that your client is alive.”

“Very much alive. And thinking that his attorney is a bit of a loon. If I weren’t so happy to see you on your feet, I’d be ready to wring your neck.”

“I guess it could’ve been a prank. But I know those broadcasters. It was a real, actual broadcast. Anyway, I guess I just need to take a closer look at my computer. Something has gone screwy.”

“Well, now that you’re on your feet, you’re going to have to have lunch with me and the mayor one of these days.”

“Oh, I forgot—just one degree of separation away from the mayor! Anyway, I’ll let you get back to work, and have a good Fourth.”

“You too, kiddo.”

Just as Martine made her exit, Jeremy’s words floated back to her—unforeseen weird side effects. Hadn’t Ruby been blathering on about something to that effect? What on earth were they getting at? It was a bone marrow transplant, not electroshock therapy.

*****

On the Fourth of July, apparently, Greek gods like to tone down their allure with T-shirts and cargo shorts. It wasn’t really working. Morgan looked even yummier than the treats he had brought. Those included homemade guacamole, tasty turkey meatballs, tiny little teriyaki drumsticks, potato salad, and some peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, possibly the best cookies Martine had ever tasted.

“Are you claiming that you cooked all of this?” she asked skeptically.

“I confess—the drumsticks are from my sister. And that’s my mother’s potato salad. But the guacamole, the meatballs, and the cookies are all me. Which is more of a feat than you might think, given the size of my kitchen.”

“Oh, do you live in one of those small studios?”

“No, I actually live on a boat. Yeah. I’m a boat guy. Why pay rent, right? When you can live in a house that lets you float away, travel up and down the seaboard, and rock asleep at night like a baby. Do you . . . like boats?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been on one. Not that I can remember. My parents . . . died.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. How did they die?”

“It was a propane explosion.”

It didn’t take long for Morgan to figure this one out. “On a boat.”

Martine nodded.

“Well, I sure have a special talent for a putting my foot in it. I should have been a contortionist. Or . . . what’s another job that pays you for blurting out idiotic things?”

“I don’t think there’s actually a big market for that skill.”

“So, I guess I have to stick with my current job.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well, why don’t you take a guess?”

“Disdain for rules and authority. Haven’t shaved in three years. And lives on a boat. I’m going to have to go with . . . pirate.”

Morgan’s hearty laugh caused several nearby beachgoers to swivel around in their direction.

“My family is going to love that one. Maybe they’ll feel a little bit better about my actual career when I explain to them I could’ve done much worse. At least from the perspective of a fishing family. Yes, I brought shame and disappointment to the Beaumonts by not taking up the fishing net. I am the producer of a very small local cable news show.

“We cover all the mile-a-minute excitement that Oyster Cove has to offer, from potholes to parades. From lobster bakes to St. Patrick’s Day Parades. I know more about Oyster Cove than any human being would ever want to know.”

“You sound like you may be ready to cover something a little bit bigger. Boston. Philly. New York.”

“I think if I set foot outside state lines, my family would hire a handler to come and kidnap me, drag me back, and then chain me to my bedpost and weaken me with starvation until I promise never to do such a heinous thing again. Leaving was never really an option.”

“That sounds . . . very confining. I mean, you have your own interests, your own dreams. And they didn’t include fishing. Maybe they don’t include Oyster Cove. That should be your call, not anyone else’s. Of course, I don’t have a family. But it doesn’t seem right that they should hold you back. Your career is probably very important to you.”

“It is. Important career. Okay, important-to-me career. Versus important-to-me family. What’s a fellow to do? Although, I gotta say, if I’m in Oyster Cove right this moment only because of my family, then I’m in their debt.” Clearly, he was referring to the happy coincidence of having met Martine. “And might I ask, what is it that you spend your days doing?”

“I’m a computer consultant. I own my own business.”

“Hey, that’s great. What kind of consulting do you do?”

“Lots of things. Some of my clients hire me for security. I look at their systems, locate the security vulnerabilities, and design software security to help protect them.”

Morgan was both impressed and amazed. “You’re a hacker!”

“That’s about the size of it. But not of the thieving, ransoming variety. I’m an ethical hacker.”

“What else do you do besides plugging security leaks?”

“Some stuff I probably would need to plead the fifth on.”

“Oh, ho. Now who’s the pirate?”

Martine hadn’t been exactly sure how he would respond to her chosen profession. He wasn’t fazed by it at all. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a black Labrador that looked a lot like Ahab. Less and less of a coincidence, he was with a large family group that included baby Crew.

Morgan’s eyes followed in the same direction. “Yes, it’s a little bit creepy. Yes, that’s my family. That is my horribly intrusive older sister whom you glimpsed just two days ago, and she was the one who put an all-points bulletin out to the family that I was having a date here tonight. So, naturally, this is where they chose for their Fourth of July picnic. The nosy Beaumonts.”

Morgan’s older sister waved at them. And then, the rest of the family waved at them, about nine people in all. And then Crew wobbled to his feet and started running in their direction.

“Simultaneously one of the best dates I’ve ever been on and one of the most troubling,” Morgan said as his family continued to peer at them curiously. “Hopefully, you are one tough pirate.”

It seemed the Greek God wasn’t so all-powerful. Martine had to feel a little bit sorry for him. So much of his life was governed by the smothering burden of family obligations. That was one thing she was thankful she had never been encumbered by.

*****

The fireworks had been impressive. The evening had been lovely, weird family chaperones notwithstanding. Morgan was starting to get under Martine’s skin. He was a pretty interesting guy. Hmm. She wondered if she’d ever see the inside of his boat. Hopefully, it was too small to contain his entire family.

Most days now, Martine was out of the house early. Some people take a long walk for exercise. Martine took a long walk because she could, and that still felt like a miracle to her. Besides, she could take her computer with her, grab some coffee in a café, and get some work done. It was just nice to no longer be confined to her apartment. Of course, that had been her own choice. Nonetheless, it now felt like a prison sentence.

She stopped and glanced at the local paper. And the headline stopped her in her tracks.

LOCAL BUSINESSMAN, THEODORE KINGSTON, COMMITS SUICIDE.