one.
"I've seen this picture before, at Charlene's," Helen said. "Do you have another one? Angie's not looking at the camera."
Ralph laughed fondly. "That's Angie for you. She saw a woman with sneakers with more shiny stuff on them than she had on hers. First thing she did when we got home was to make an even more impressive pair, to take on her next trip."
"Did she take them with her this time?"
Ralph blinked. "You know, I didn't look. I assume so."
Helen didn't have time for him to search his wife's closet. If she was going to the casino today, she needed to leave soon. "I'd better get going. Is this the best picture you have?"
"It's the only recent one I have," Ralph said apologetically, spreading out the pile of pictures to reveal that they were all prints of the same image. "Angie doesn't like being photographed."
Helen could see why she wouldn't. Angie wanted to be the center of attention, and it was her personality, not her appearance, that made that happen. Even in this picture, with Angie front and center, it was easy to overlook her and go straight to the taller, more photogenic subjects. Helen knew that experience too well; she herself had always faded into the background when the press photographers surrounded her husband. She hadn't realized how invisible she'd been until recently when she'd gone through a pile of pictures from her days in the governor's mansion, intending to put them into a scrapbook, and couldn't find any of herself. At least Angie hadn't actually been cropped out of the image like Helen had been.
"This is fine," she assured Ralph. "I'll have it cut down to just her face when I make copies to show at the casino. I've got a lot of experience with cropping."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Instead of heading straight to the casino, Helen asked Jack to take her home so she could scan the picture of Angie and print some flyers to take with them. While they were printing, she could make some calls to see what she could find out about SLP.
In the meantime, Jack was better than a wiki when it came to the people and businesses of Wharton and the surrounding communities. "Do you know anything about a company called SLP?"
"It's not local," Jack said. "Is it related to Angie's disappearance?"
"Maybe. Angie received some money from them, and no one knows why. She's never worked outside the home as far as anyone knows, and the money was a whole lot more than what she could have earned at some secret minimum wage job, even if she could have squeezed in a part-time job in between her home-making duties and all her various charitable activities. So where else could she have gotten seventy-five thousand dollars?"
"An investment?"
"That's what Ralph thinks," Helen said, "but does SLP sound like an investing company to you? Don't they usually have 'financial' or 'fund' or 'get rich quick' in the name somewhere?"
"It could be just about anything. For computer guys, SLP stands for Service Location Protocol." Jack was silent for a couple miles. "What if she signed up for one of those work-at-home deals? I've seen ads for them all over the place. You know: make a thousand dollars a day from your home computer."
"Most of them are scams, though," Helen said. "My ex-husband was always getting complaints about them from constituents. There wasn't anything he could do except refer them to the state Attorney General for investigation by the Consumer Protection Division. I can check with them. They might have heard of SLP, if it is a scam."
"What about a private pyramid scheme?" Jack turned into the cottage's driveway and slowed to a crawl so as not to damage the expensive car's suspension on the rutted surface. "People who get in on the ground floor supposedly make good money. Not that I know anyone who has. Everyone I know who's invested in them ended up in the red."
"Angie is supposed to be good with money," Helen said. "She must have known that only the people at the top of a pyramid scheme ever make any money. The
"I've seen this picture before, at Charlene's," Helen said. "Do you have another one? Angie's not looking at the camera."
Ralph laughed fondly. "That's Angie for you. She saw a woman with sneakers with more shiny stuff on them than she had on hers. First thing she did when we got home was to make an even more impressive pair, to take on her next trip."
"Did she take them with her this time?"
Ralph blinked. "You know, I didn't look. I assume so."
Helen didn't have time for him to search his wife's closet. If she was going to the casino today, she needed to leave soon. "I'd better get going. Is this the best picture you have?"
"It's the only recent one I have," Ralph said apologetically, spreading out the pile of pictures to reveal that they were all prints of the same image. "Angie doesn't like being photographed."
Helen could see why she wouldn't. Angie wanted to be the center of attention, and it was her personality, not her appearance, that made that happen. Even in this picture, with Angie front and center, it was easy to overlook her and go straight to the taller, more photogenic subjects. Helen knew that experience too well; she herself had always faded into the background when the press photographers surrounded her husband. She hadn't realized how invisible she'd been until recently when she'd gone through a pile of pictures from her days in the governor's mansion, intending to put them into a scrapbook, and couldn't find any of herself. At least Angie hadn't actually been cropped out of the image like Helen had been.
"This is fine," she assured Ralph. "I'll have it cut down to just her face when I make copies to show at the casino. I've got a lot of experience with cropping."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Instead of heading straight to the casino, Helen asked Jack to take her home so she could scan the picture of Angie and print some flyers to take with them. While they were printing, she could make some calls to see what she could find out about SLP.
In the meantime, Jack was better than a wiki when it came to the people and businesses of Wharton and the surrounding communities. "Do you know anything about a company called SLP?"
"It's not local," Jack said. "Is it related to Angie's disappearance?"
"Maybe. Angie received some money from them, and no one knows why. She's never worked outside the home as far as anyone knows, and the money was a whole lot more than what she could have earned at some secret minimum wage job, even if she could have squeezed in a part-time job in between her home-making duties and all her various charitable activities. So where else could she have gotten seventy-five thousand dollars?"
"An investment?"
"That's what Ralph thinks," Helen said, "but does SLP sound like an investing company to you? Don't they usually have 'financial' or 'fund' or 'get rich quick' in the name somewhere?"
"It could be just about anything. For computer guys, SLP stands for Service Location Protocol." Jack was silent for a couple miles. "What if she signed up for one of those work-at-home deals? I've seen ads for them all over the place. You know: make a thousand dollars a day from your home computer."
"Most of them are scams, though," Helen said. "My ex-husband was always getting complaints about them from constituents. There wasn't anything he could do except refer them to the state Attorney General for investigation by the Consumer Protection Division. I can check with them. They might have heard of SLP, if it is a scam."
"What about a private pyramid scheme?" Jack turned into the cottage's driveway and slowed to a crawl so as not to damage the expensive car's suspension on the rutted surface. "People who get in on the ground floor supposedly make good money. Not that I know anyone who has. Everyone I know who's invested in them ended up in the red."
"Angie is supposed to be good with money," Helen said. "She must have known that only the people at the top of a pyramid scheme ever make any money. The
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