“The begonias are a screen saver,” he said. “The computer is running in the background, but the only way to access it will be with your thumbprint.”
“That’s my password, my thumbprint?”
“That’s right. All you have to do is put your thumb in the same spot long enough for the image to register. As you can see, it looks like the computer is calling for an ordinary password, the kind people type in. An unauthorized user typing in passwords won’t get anywhere, and I doubt it will occur to them that a woman your age, living out here in the sticks, would be using thumbprint recognition technology. Now, do you have either an e-mail or Facebook account?”
“Not Facebook,” Betsy said. “I used to have an e-mail address, on Gmail, I think, but I haven’t used it in years.”
“You’re going to start using it now.” Joe’s fingers flashed over the keyboard before pausing. “Yes, here it is. Now, what’s your password for that?”
For an answer, Betsy stood up, went over to the dresser, opened the bottom drawer, retrieved a jewelry box, and removed a tiny spiral notebook that she handed to him.
Joe thumbed through the ragged book, then looked at her in dismay. “Wait a minute; these are the passwords to all your accounts—your bank accounts, your checking accounts, your cell phone, everything.”
“Alton knew I’d never be able to remember all these. He’s the one who had me start keeping this book. As you can see, I write them in pencil in case I need to change one of them.”
Joe shook the book in her direction as though disciplining a child. “Don’t you understand? Anyone who gains access to your house and to this book would also have access to everything about you? Here’s your Gmail password. Go ahead and put it in. We’ll change it later.”
“Where are you going?”
“Out to the van to get my portable scanner,” he said. “We’re going to put all this information in a secure file inside the computer. Another copy will be stored elsewhere—at High Noon Enterprises most likely—and will be automatically updated if this one is updated. In the meantime, I recommend that you spend the next few days changing the passwords on all your accounts. As you’re doing that, is there anyone else you would like to have access to the passwords?”
“My granddaughter,” Betsy said. “Athena Reynolds. Her mother-in-law, Ali, and her husband own that company—the one you just mentioned, High Noon.”
“Now I get the connection,” Joe said. “All right, I’ll tell Stuart we’ll need Athena’s thumbprint, too. That way she can be added to both the computer and the account as a secondary user.”
While Joe headed for his van, Betsy found herself still fuming at his offhand and entirely too dismissive remark—“a woman your age.” Even at what Joe seemed to regard as terribly advanced years, Betsy was determined to show him that she could still do a thing or two on her own.
Thumbing through the notebook, Betsy used the magnifying glass she kept in her pocket to locate the listing for Athena’s e-mail address. Not knowing if it was still good, she tried it anyway. Before Joe returned, she had typed and sent a message to Athena, letting her know her computer was up and running.
Another hour and a half sped by before Joe had scanned all the pages of the notebook, shown her how to access them in the cloud, and then deemed Betsy work wise in terms of running the computer. That was when they finally did the photo shoot, even though at that hour of the night, Betsy was sure she didn’t look her best.
The last thing before Joe left, he went out to the backyard, uncovered Alton’s long-unused Weber grill, tossed Betsy’s password notebook onto it and set the notebook on fire.
“Remember,” he cautioned. “All your existing passwords need to be reset because we have to assume that any numbers in the notebook are most likely already compromised. From now on, all passwords go in your cyber safety-deposit file and nowhere else. You don’t have to make the changes tonight, but make them soon.”
“Right.” Betsy nodded. “I’ll be sure to do that right away.”
For Betsy, though, it wasn’t just about the passwords. There was more at stake here, and she wanted all of it settled and in place long before there was ever any question of Elmer Munson declaring her incompetent.
Just after ten, Joe loaded his tools and boxes into his van and drove away. As soon as he was gone, Betsy returned to the kitchen. It was late, but not that late. She had been thinking about this all during the password debacle, and she wanted to do it now, before she lost her nerve.
She had to use the phone book and the magnifying glass to locate the number, but once she had it, she dialed immediately. It took several rings before someone answered at Sundowner’s Assisted Living Center. She almost hung up while she waited to be put through to Howard Hansen’s unit, but she didn’t.
“Hello.” She heard the wariness in Howard’s voice. Calls in the middle of the night often mean bad news, especially at our age, Betsy thought, then she chided herself for being as bad as Joe Friday.
“It’s Betsy,” she reassured Howard quickly. “No, there’s nothing wrong. I mean, there’s no emergency. But I do need your help. My son, Jimmy, thinks I’m losing my marbles. He and Sandra have made an evaluation appointment for me with Elmer Munson for Monday afternoon. I was wondering if you’d go with me.”
It wasn’t such an odd request. For the folks who socialized over bingo and at the VFW, it was often an “us or them” mentality, with members of the older generation duking it out with the younger ones. Howard Hansen may have been Betsy’s boyfriend long ago, but he had also been a GP in Bemidji long before Elmer Munson graduated from high school much less medical school.
“I’d like to help out,” Howard began, “but I don’t drive anymore.”
“I’ll get us a ride,” Betsy said. “I want you with me during the appointment.”
“In the examining room? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“That’s rather irregular.”
“Look,” she said. “Sandra and Jimmy are trying to sell me down the river, and they’re bringing in Elmer Munson as a hired gun to pull it off. I’m sure you remember what happened to Elmer’s mother.”
Howard sighed. “Well, yes,” he agreed. “There is that. But if I go to the appointment with you, people are going to talk, especially if I accompany you into that exam room. We won’t even be out of Munson’s office before word will spread all over town.”
“So?” Betsy returned. “In the past few days, any number of people have gone out of their way to remind me about how old I am. And they’re right. I’m so old right now that I don’t give a tinker’s damn about what they say. Now, are you in or out?”
Howard didn’t hesitate. “In,” he said. “Definitely in.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know later when Marcia and I will pick you up. We might even have some supper after the appointment.”
“Sounds good,” Howard said.
Betsy was smiling when she returned the phone to its hook. “Come on, Princess,” she said. “Let’s go for one last walk before we go to bed. When Sandra and Jimmy find out what I’ve done today, they are going to be fit to be tied.”
15
Returning to St. Jerome’s after her visit with Andrea, Ali paused in the parking lot long enough to take a call from Stuart Ramey.
“Things are moving,” he said. “Joe Friday is on the job, and his state-of-the-art monitoring system is being installed as we speak.”
“Good,” Ali said. “Athena will be relieved to hear that.” Stuart went on to say something else, but Ali had stopped listening. Instead, she was watching a man and woman walk past her SUV, heading for the hospital’s main entrance. The man, dressed in a sheepskin jacket, jeans, and boots, strode ahead of a pregnant woman who followed him at a distance of several paces. She wore an ankle-length checked print skirt over a pair of worn oxfords as well as a light cloth jacket. Her purse was a cloth drawstring pouch. But what Ali noticed most was her fading blond hair. Shot with gray, it was braided and then fastened into a crown that encircled the top of her head.