[13] Dark Tort by Diane Mott Davidson

Author:Diane Mott Davidson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780061807565
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-08-25T15:36:48.401000+00:00

“Tom,” I said after I’d closed the door, “do you trust Vic?”

He cocked his head and gave me his patented half smile. “I don’t trust anybody until we’ve got a strong case against a suspect in custody.”

“Right. Well, in the meantime, would you be willing to have a look at Dusty’s computer?”

“In the morning, Miss G. It’ll keep. Meanwhile, you look exhausted.”

I peered into the antique gilded mirror that Tom had hung in our front hall. The light shining through the crystal drops of our small overhead chandelier—another antique find of Tom’s—cast a prism across the front hall. My dark-circled eyes, pallid face, and head of flattened blond curls did not look too good.

“Exhausted, nothing. I look like hell.” I glanced back at the kitchen. “You go on up. I’ll be with you in five minutes.”

“I need to take care of the animals first. Miss G., do not try to mess with that computer tonight. If you do, I’m going to carry you up to bed myself.”

“Yeah, yeah, tough guy,” I muttered as Tom moved quickly into the pet-care area adjoining the kitchen, where he was greeted by Jake and Scout. Instead of following him, I veered into the dining room. Fatigue or no fatigue, I was consumed with curiosity regarding Dusty’s computer.

I frowned at the big plastic-encased box with its small moss-colored screen. The thing was not just a dinosaur, it was a Tyrannosaurus rex that had fallen off a cliff. I didn’t recognize the brand, but that didn’t mean anything. Like most kids of his generation, Arch was the technological wizard of the household. And he was away, spending the night with his half brother. Since the next day was Saturday, he wouldn’t be home before Tom carted the thing off to the department. Dammit.

The plastic housing was dented and the screen scratched where Vic had slammed into the car on our curb. Probably won’t even boot, I thought as I plugged in the cord. To my surprise, when I pressed what I thought was the on button, the box started humming. But the screen remained dark. I checked the wires for a loose connection and tapped every button I could think of that might bring the thing to life, with no result.

Of course, I was desperate to know what Dusty had recorded, if anything. Perhaps she’d fingered someone she hadn’t been getting along with, even said how scared of him she was. Yeah, right. Maybe her hopes and dreams were recorded in a separate file. There might even be love letters. I imagined myself reading the inner workings of Dusty’s mind. A knot of grief formed in my chest and I rubbed my face. From the entry to the dining room, Tom cleared his throat. He held out his hand. I grasped it and followed him up to bed.

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