Derbent sat in his chair, a volume in his lap. His hand gently ran over the book’s leather cover in the way others might have caressed a loved one.
“Looking back, I suppose it was a mistake to take part in Mr. Saunders’s little mystery. But I was eager to put to use what I had learned from years of reading. I had tried my hand at writing some tales of deduction”—his lips pursed in disgust—“but publishers are no longer interested in that sort of story. Bah!”
The hand resting on the book clenched into a fist, then relaxed. “The chance to step into the skin of my hero was most seductive. I enjoyed the experience.”
Derbent glanced at Matt. “Despite your youth, you showed a definite flair for extracting information. Quite…passable.”
Matt couldn’t hide his smile at hearing Lucullus Marten’s watchword when he praised Monty Newman’s efforts.
Derbent’s hand tightened again. “And then this nonsense.”
“Yes,” Father Flannery said. “It only seems to get worse.” He hesitated. “Your suggestions about Mr. Saunders’s death—”
Derbent smiled. “Were they a ploy to get you and the others to agree to my proposal, or were they motivated by a justified suspicion?” He shrugged. “It may just be the fear of a man who rarely leaves his house. On the other hand, even a paranoid could have enemies. How have the others reacted to being unmasked?”
“We haven’t caught up with Milo Krantz,” Matt said. “Apparently, he’s a long-distance trucker.”
“A trucker.” Derbent shook his head mournfully.
“The Slimms turned out to be a pair of college students,” Father Flannery reported.
“A fair match to the giddiness of the characters.” Derbent nodded to the priest. “As Spike Spanner, Father, you personify the golden age principle of the least likely suspect.”
“The students — at least the young man, he did the talking — refuse to take part in any effort to find the hacker.” Matt took out the list of the sleuths and their alter egos. “I’ll leave this with you, no matter what you decide. I already left it with the students.”
Oswald Derbent reached for the paper. “I’ll join you in your search, although I don’t know how useful my support will be.”
“It will mean half of us are interested in the truth,” Father Flannery said.
“A fine sentiment,” Derbent said, “as long as you don’t examine the motives behind it. Mine are simple. The six of us will either be the investigators or the investigated.” The little man shook his head. “We face a mystery, but no data — a word I prefer to the traditional clues. That means we — and perhaps our truck-driving associate, if he throws in with us — will have to keep digging in one another’s pasts until we turn up the telltale fact — or flaw.”
Oswald Derbent’s dark, shiny eyes had a bitter expression. “One thing I’m sure of — this mystery will be much less enjoyable than the one we signed up for.”
“That Derbent really has a way of putting things,” Father Flannery said as they drove deeper into the Virginia countryside.
Matt nodded. “For him to play a reclusive genius — maybe it was typecasting.”
“What he said about the three of us having to dig — I don’t know that I can do it,” the priest said.
“Are you going over to Kerry Jones and Suze Kellerman’s side — the one that favors ignoring trouble until it goes away?” Matt asked.
“About having someone else do the investigating? It’s tempting,” Flannery admitted. “But I don’t know if anything will be done — or how. Derbent made it clear that he’s not leaving his house to pound the pavement for clues. I’m frankly doubtful as to what I can do.”
“I think I hear an and coming,” Matt said.
“That leaves you — and whatever your friends can do — to clear up this mess.”
Matt shifted in his seat. “Do you think I’m up to the job?”
“I don’t think you should be expected to do it alone,” the priest replied. “Perhaps if this Knox fellow goes in with us — giving us a majority of the people involved — we could approach the lawyers, agree to cooperate in an investigation…”
Sounds like he thinks Kerry and Suze are the real hackers, Matt thought. If the real hacker is one of the others, will they agree? He glanced over at the man driving the car. How do I know I’m not riding with the hacker right now? I just don’t buy it, though, and I have to trust my instincts. They’re all I’ve got on this case.
He sighed. “Well, first I guess we’d better see what Knox has to say.”
They didn’t have many problems finding O’Dell’s. There were signs giving the turnoff for miles ahead on the road. Big rigs were parked all around the complex of small buildings. This wasn’t just some sort of greasy spoon. The place had pretty much everything a trucker could need — food, a motel setup, gas pumps, even a combination pharmacy and convenience store. O’Dell’s was obviously more than the joint in the old joke — the place with the sign that said EAT HERE AND GET GAS.
Matt and Father Flannery stopped by the sleeping accommodations first. They were told the boss was in the restaurant, and nobody at O’Dell’s gave out any information without the boss’s say-so.
Reaching for the door to the diner, Matt had to jump back as a big, swag-bellied guy came pushing out. The flying door just missed Matt, and the big guy’s shoulder brushed Father Flannery aside. Maybe the cloud of beer fumes explained why the guy had to turn making an exit into a pickup game of tackle football.
Matt shook his head as he caught the door on the rebound. He and the priest stepped into the glorified diner and were assaulted by a collection of delicious smells — coffee, pie, bacon, steak…
All of a sudden Matt was reminded that it had been a long time since his after-school glass of milk. They asked the counterman if the boss was around, and he replied that she was in the back. “Be with you in a minute.”
Father Flannery immediately grabbed a stool and asked for a cup of coffee. After a moment’s thought Matt ordered a chocolate shake. A round-faced, heavyset woman brought their orders over. “I’m Della O’Dell,” she said. “What can I do for you fellas?”
“Della O’Dell,” Matt echoed.
The woman grinned, transforming her face into a thing of beauty. “Great, isn’t it? Sometimes I really have to wonder what my parents were thinking.”
“I understand you let truckers use your place as a convenience address,” Father Flannery said.
“Some, Padre,” Della said guardedly.
“It’s important that we get in touch with a fellow named Harry Knox—”
“Hard Knocks Harry? He was here just a minute ago.” Della turned to the counterman. “Wilbur, where did he go?”
The man held up a bill. “I dunno, but he left a twenty.”
“Maybe he went to get something from his rig,” Della said. “Hard to miss. It’s got a huge red stripe running around the top—”
“Like that truck pulling out there?” Matt pointed to the window. A big rig roared onto the highway, the rumble of its engine making the whole diner shake.
“What in perdition is his trouble?” Della O’Dell wanted to know. “Harry said he was turning down that Florida run. What’s he doing now?”
“About fifty-five, I’d say,” Wilbur said, watching the truck rapidly disappear.
Matt looked at Father Flannery. “What do you say, Spike?” he murmured. “You up for a high-speed chase?”
The priest shook his head. Instead, he turned to Della. “Is that pie over there as good as it smells?”
A while afterward they were heading back to Washington. “I wouldn’t say that was a complete loss,” Flannery said, patting his stomach.