“Which might turn this maternity ward into a war zone.”
“Believe me,” Sister Anselm replied, “if either Baby Ann or Enid were ready to be transferred to some other facility, I would have done so already. I’m afraid we don’t have any choice but to wait for someone to show up. When he does, I trust that, between the two of us, we’ll give him more than he bargained for.”
“Then why not draw them out on our terms?” Ali asked.
“How?”
For an answer, Ali picked up her phone and called Cami. “Is there a Colorado City listing for the Mohave County Sheriff’s Office?”
“Just a sec,” Cami said. “Let me look.” Ali heard Cami’s computer keys clicking in the background. “Okay, I’ve got it.”
“Message me the number,” Ali said.
“Will do.”
“You’re calling a cop?” Sister Anselm asked. “Why?”
“I’m going to bring a little disinformation into play. This particular cop happens to be a member in good standing of The Family,” Ali explained. “That means he’ll want to keep Enid quiet, too.”
When the message came through, Ali located the number and pressed it. After four rings, there was a click as though the call was being forwarded, then someone picked up. “Deputy Sellers.”
“My name’s Lisa Goodson,” Ali said, plucking a name out of thin air and shifting the phone to speaker. “I’m a reporter for the Flagstaff Record. I’ve just come from a briefing with the Coconino County Sheriff’s Department. They’re investigating a motor vehicle accident that involves someone from up around your way. A young woman was injured. Since she’s a juvenile, they’re not releasing her name. They did say that an unidentified light-colored pickup was seen leaving the scene. I’m wondering if they’ve requested any assistance from your department in this matter?”
“Not that I know of,” Deputy Sellers said. “Someone might have called the office in Kingman, but this is the first I’ve heard about it.”
Ali’s truth meter registered a little ping. Of course Amos Sellers would have known about it. One of The Family’s inmates had gone AWOL. The resident cop would have been the first person Gordon Tower would have called, maybe not on an official basis, but certainly on an unofficial one. Deputy Sellers would have known everything about it.
“I tried going by the hospital,” Ali continued breathlessly, not giving him a chance to respond. “I was able to learn that the accident victim is being cared for on the maternity ward, so there must be a baby involved in all this. The problem is there’s this impossibly bossy nun running the show, Sister Anselm. She sent me packing. Fortunately for me, I have a friend who works at the hospital. Thanks to her, I managed pick up a tidbit or two. They’re expecting to transfer both mother and baby to a new hospital early tomorrow morning, to ‘an undisclosed location,’ like this was some kind of Secret Service mission or something. But no one’s told you anything about it?”
“Not one thing,” Deputy Sellers replied.
“Oh, well then,” Ali said. “Sorry to be a bother. Thanks for your time.”
When she ended the call, Sister Anselm was grinning at her. “Since you just lit the fuse on what may turn into a keg of dynamite, perhaps I’d better speak to the hospital administrator and see if there’s a way to transfer the maternity patients to some other floor.”
“You’ll be able to do that?” Ali asked.
“I believe so,” Sister Anselm said. “This is a Catholic hospital after all. When I drop Bishop Gillespie’s name, people tend to listen.”
22
With all the unexpected messing about with Joe Friday on Wednesday, Betsy had completely forgotten that she had agreed to spend most of Thursday working with the planning committee on the Women’s Retreat due to happen in early April. Had Grace Hunter, her ride for the day, not called to remind her, she would have been caught completely flat-footed. As it was, Betsy barely had time to get herself pulled together before Grace showed up in the driveway.
“I heard you had some trouble the other night and that a deputy dropped by,” Grace commented, once Betsy was belted in. “Hope it wasn’t anything too serious.”
That was the problem with living in a small town. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. Since the cops hadn’t believed Betsy’s version of events, and since Jimmy and Sandra didn’t believe her, either, Betsy decided that the less said about the gas burner issue, the better.
“Just a little misunderstanding,” she said. “It’s straightened out now.”
“And the workman? I heard someone was here most of the day yesterday. I worried that you might be having plumbing issues. There’s a lot of that going around.”
“Electrical,” Betsy muttered, resenting this whole third-degree interrogation. “And I had the guy install a new computer.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake?” Grace said. “You haven’t been online since Athena left. You’ll have to give me your new e-mail address.”
“It’s the old one,” Betsy said. “It turns out that one still works.”
The planning meeting took all morning. Betsy hated being on committees. All the wrangling back and forth drove her nuts, but if someone didn’t volunteer to handle things here and there, nothing got done. The Women’s Retreat had been going on for more than forty years, and Betsy had more experience than anyone else about putting the annual program together. She worried about who would take charge of it once she was gone, but right now, she was still the one running the show.
When the meeting was over, she and Grace stopped by the diner for lunch, so it was mid-afternoon before she got home. Exhausted by three days of seemingly nonstop activity, Betsy let Princess out and then decided a nap was in order. She and Princess went to the bedroom, curled up under her down-filled duvet, and slept for the next three hours. It wasn’t until close to six when she got up, fed the dog, and fixed a sandwich to have for supper. She couldn’t shake the idea that everything she did was visible to someone sitting at a computer monitor somewhere far away. Joe Friday had assured her that her own image wouldn’t be tracked or recorded or set off any alarms, but she wasn’t sure she believed all that.
She had assured Joe that she’d get right after the password thing, but so far she hadn’t. The day had been too busy and time had gotten away from her. Tomorrow, she’d call Marcia to come pick her up early so she could go to the bank before her hair appointment and before the fish fry. That way it would all be handled before Monday when she had her so-called evaluation.
Before she went to bed for the night, Betsy sat down at the table and forced herself to face her computer. It looked like it was on, but it wasn’t until she put her thumbprint on the mouse that she was able to access the hidden computer screen where her files and e-mail account were kept. Once there, she was surprised to find two new e-mails—one from Grace and the other from Athena.
Grace’s said only,
Welcome back to the world of e-mail. I hope you’ll sign up for Facebook, too.
Athena’s said,
Stu has my thumbprint and image. We’ll talk tomorrow.
It was only nine when Betsy shut down the hidden screen, leaving just the original begonia-covered screen saver—the fake one—still visible. Yes, she told herself as she crawled back into bed. Tomorrow will be plenty of time to talk.