Death by Sudoku by Kaye Morgan Page A

Brezinski was on the phone, frantically scribbling away as Liza passed. She made her way through a crowded work space, desks pushed head-to-head, some empty, some with local reporters typing on computer keyboards or staring at their screens.
    Beyond was a fishbowl office, the domain of Ava Barnes, Liza’s childhood friend, managing editor of the Oregon Daily —and Liza’s boss.
    Knocking on the open door frame, Liza stuck her head into the office. “Oh, Chief,” she said, “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
    “Don’t call me Chief,” Ava growled, her long, thin face serious as she scanned the sheaf of papers in her hands.
    Liza got a little annoyed at being ignored. “I don’t mind oversight, but I think it’s a bit much when you go poking around in my account in the network.”
    The papers in Ava’s hand flopped down and her mobile features contracted as she stared up at Liza. “What are you talking about?”
    “I logged on last night to do a couple of things—got to be out of town again today—and found the account accessed. Figured the boss was looking over my shoulder.”
    Ava shook her head. “Not me. Jodie was running a temperature—that damned flu. I spent the night being a mommy.”
    “Then who would have the access?” Liza wanted to know.
    “Nobody.” Ava frowned, picking up her phone. “Hank, come in here a moment.”
    Liza stepped aside in the doorway. As Hank approached the boss’s office, he looked as if his breakfast was disagreeing even more violently with him. “Problems?” he asked with a slight quaver in his voice.
    Liza looked at him with new suspicion. Ava had just denied any cyberspace intruding. But what about the guy who ran the system?
    Maybe I’ll log on now and find the screen filled with hearts and flowers signed, “I love you—Hank,” she thought, wishing now that she’d brought the matter up with her wannabe stalker outside the café.
    But he frowned with genuine concern as Liza recounted what happened the previous evening. At least, Liza was reasonably convinced that it was genuine concern. Hank hadn’t been a good enough actor to hide his terror in front of Cal or his trepidation at being called to Ava’s office. It didn’t seem likely he’d be able to hide any computer peccadilloes behind the professional facade he now displayed.
    “You didn’t give your password to anybody?” His almost-jowls quivered in a dubious frown at Liza’s assurances, then he went off somewhere to check the hardware. Liza turned to discover she now had Ava’s complete attention. “So, is there a reason why someone would want to hack your files,” she asked, “and does it have anything to do with what happened in Santa Barbara?”
    After hearing the untold story—and Liza’s suspicions—Ava was back into managing editor mode. “And how do you intend to investigate this?”
    “From the sudoku end, basically,” Liza replied. “Checking the puzzles and trying to see if they actually connect with events—specifically fires—that happened in the real world.”
    “Okay—doesn’t sound all that dangerous.” Ava turned to her computer and began working the keyboard, nodding as she looked at the screen. “I’m downloading about three months of sudoku puzzles—surprise, surprise, the Prospect is trying to syndicate them. It will take longer to do a search through the archives for stories. How wide do you think we should go?”
    “Wide?” Liza echoed. In her world, that usually referred to how many theaters a film would open in.
    “Think about it,” Ava said. “Three months of fires on the West Coast . . .”
    Or even the Northwest. Liza imagined the pile of clippings she’d have to go through. “Let’s just start with Washington—in fact, the Greater Seattle area.”
    The search was quick, but the download would still take time. Ava obligingly routed the sudoku files to one of the system printers. When Liza went to pick them up, she encountered Hank. He