advice. Looks like a busy afternoon ahead of us."
She made a face. "And I was having such a good day, too. Well, those are the breaks. Before we plunge in, is there any good news? Proposals accepted, serious leads, anything like that?"
I almost said no, but then I remembered Cliff. "Maybe. Something completely different. I'm not sure it's for us, though." I told her about my conversation with Cliff, and his suggestion that we consider trying a project for him. She listened thoughtfully, tapping her lip with her finger like she often did when she was thinking.
"I don't know, Thea. It might not be a bad idea. The principles are the same, if he could help us identify the client market. It might even be fun to try something new and see if we could make it work. After all, someday we might run out of schools."
I was surprised. "You mean you'd really consider it?"
"Why not? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know. There is one thing, though. This is the same man whose wife was just killed, right? He may just be trying to create a smoke screen of work to distract himself from his personal situation. We'd need to be sure he's serious about this."
"I'm seeing him on Wednesday. I can find out then." I picked up my list. "You want to go over this now?"
She made a face. "I'd rather talk about flower arrangements and rings, but I do understand about priorities. Where do we start?"
"You won't believe this," I said, "but the first thing we need is a bunch of those disposable plastic gloves, like you use for painting, to wear while we go through the files, to see if she's planted anything there. And whatever you do, don't touch those computer disks until you put on the gloves."
"You're kidding. We're worried about fingerprints? Our little old consulting firm?"
"What we're worried about is our reputation, partner. That and a quick and successful defense to an investigation. My father is sending us his paralegal, Karla Kaplan, to help out. She's done document searches like this before. She's bringing the gloves. And he wants me to call a computer specialist."
Suzanne rubbed her forehead wearily. "Casting out visions of sugar plums," she said with a wry smile, "or rather, orange blossoms. I'm beginning to see why you look so discouraged. This is more work than I thought."
"Should I have handled it differently?"
"I don't think so. It's obvious she knew she was in trouble and was already planning how she'd handle things when we fired her. She'd already looted the files and the supply closet. I wonder how she got the data on those disks? And why?"
"Sneaked in when we were out of the office briefly? Maybe the computer guy can tell us."
"It's so ugly," she said, shaking her head. "She seemed so nice. Had such fine recommendations...."
"And now we know how she got them."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, of course. I hadn't thought of that. I'm not usually so naive, am I?"
"No. Naive is not a word I would use to describe you." I handed her the list and stood up. "You might want to look this over. I've got to get a sandwich. You want anything?"
"No thanks," she said, "I had a big lunch."
"All right for you," I said, "but we've got a long night ahead, and I can't fight evil on an empty stomach."
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Chapter 7
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I stood in front of my closet, my eyes gritty and my brain working like it was buried in sludge, trying to find something solemn enough for a funeral. We'd worked until the wee hours of the morning, Suzanne, Magda, Karla Kaplan and I, finding the memos Valeria had referred to, as well as some other suggestive personal memos in both Suzanne's and my files, all of which were also on our personal correspondence disks. The disks I'd taken from Valeria turned out to be copies of our personal files, taken from our computers. Where an item had been taken from the paper files, Karla had inserted a pink form, indicating the identity of the document removed, the date it was removed, and that she had removed it.
She made a face. "And I was having such a good day, too. Well, those are the breaks. Before we plunge in, is there any good news? Proposals accepted, serious leads, anything like that?"
I almost said no, but then I remembered Cliff. "Maybe. Something completely different. I'm not sure it's for us, though." I told her about my conversation with Cliff, and his suggestion that we consider trying a project for him. She listened thoughtfully, tapping her lip with her finger like she often did when she was thinking.
"I don't know, Thea. It might not be a bad idea. The principles are the same, if he could help us identify the client market. It might even be fun to try something new and see if we could make it work. After all, someday we might run out of schools."
I was surprised. "You mean you'd really consider it?"
"Why not? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know. There is one thing, though. This is the same man whose wife was just killed, right? He may just be trying to create a smoke screen of work to distract himself from his personal situation. We'd need to be sure he's serious about this."
"I'm seeing him on Wednesday. I can find out then." I picked up my list. "You want to go over this now?"
She made a face. "I'd rather talk about flower arrangements and rings, but I do understand about priorities. Where do we start?"
"You won't believe this," I said, "but the first thing we need is a bunch of those disposable plastic gloves, like you use for painting, to wear while we go through the files, to see if she's planted anything there. And whatever you do, don't touch those computer disks until you put on the gloves."
"You're kidding. We're worried about fingerprints? Our little old consulting firm?"
"What we're worried about is our reputation, partner. That and a quick and successful defense to an investigation. My father is sending us his paralegal, Karla Kaplan, to help out. She's done document searches like this before. She's bringing the gloves. And he wants me to call a computer specialist."
Suzanne rubbed her forehead wearily. "Casting out visions of sugar plums," she said with a wry smile, "or rather, orange blossoms. I'm beginning to see why you look so discouraged. This is more work than I thought."
"Should I have handled it differently?"
"I don't think so. It's obvious she knew she was in trouble and was already planning how she'd handle things when we fired her. She'd already looted the files and the supply closet. I wonder how she got the data on those disks? And why?"
"Sneaked in when we were out of the office briefly? Maybe the computer guy can tell us."
"It's so ugly," she said, shaking her head. "She seemed so nice. Had such fine recommendations...."
"And now we know how she got them."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, of course. I hadn't thought of that. I'm not usually so naive, am I?"
"No. Naive is not a word I would use to describe you." I handed her the list and stood up. "You might want to look this over. I've got to get a sandwich. You want anything?"
"No thanks," she said, "I had a big lunch."
"All right for you," I said, "but we've got a long night ahead, and I can't fight evil on an empty stomach."
Â
Â
Â
Chapter 7
Â
I stood in front of my closet, my eyes gritty and my brain working like it was buried in sludge, trying to find something solemn enough for a funeral. We'd worked until the wee hours of the morning, Suzanne, Magda, Karla Kaplan and I, finding the memos Valeria had referred to, as well as some other suggestive personal memos in both Suzanne's and my files, all of which were also on our personal correspondence disks. The disks I'd taken from Valeria turned out to be copies of our personal files, taken from our computers. Where an item had been taken from the paper files, Karla had inserted a pink form, indicating the identity of the document removed, the date it was removed, and that she had removed it.
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