there once to see if she could fix their computer. Turned out the hard drive was damaged, but Demi had been able to recover most of the data—why did people never back up their stuff?—using Linux. It was a tedious job, but nothing special, though Jamie and Craig had made a fuss about it. That was her youngest kid’s name, Craig. Craig usually ignored “Danny Stone,” but that night he’d been impressed. He and Jamie had acted like she was some kind of tech wizard.
Well, she was, but not because she could build a bootable Linux system on a USB stick. Anyone could do that. You just had to be able to follow instructions. But Jamie had been happy that she hadn’t lost all her photos and had insisted that Demi stay for supper, which had been fried chicken, which of course she didn’t eat, but there’d been mashed potatoes and corn on the cob, too, and a salad with cucumbers and red onions. When Demi went back a few days later to install the new hard drive (which she’d ordered for them so they wouldn’t get soaked), Jamie had paid her for the drive and given her a whole pan of peach cobbler to take home. Really good peach cobbler.
The deputies left just as Demi’s pancakes were ready, so while Demi ate, Jamie hung around and talked, mostly about Craig and Lisa—Lisa was her married daughter—and her son Roger, who was in the Army. Their father was dead. He’d died in a car crash fourteen years ago, leaving Jamie a small insurance policy and three kids to raise. Which she’d done, though Craig was worrying her. Demi wasn’t sure why, but it had something to do with the crowd he was hanging out with, plus he hadn’t gotten a summer job the way Jamie wanted. That’s why he was staying with his sister, Lisa, this summer, to keep him out of trouble. Mr. Hawthorne even chimed in at one point with advice.
Then it was time for Demi to leave for work, so she counted out $7.52 and told Jamie she’d see her Wednesday for those beans. And hoped she was telling the truth. She nodded at Mr. Hawthorne and headed out.
The gas station where she worked was only a hop and a skip away. It was a boring job. People pumped the gas themselves, so she was mostly there to sell them cigarettes and candy and sodas. Now and then someone wanted a tire or their oil changed, or their battery or wiper blades replaced. Demi could do that sort of thing because of Nicky. His dad being a mechanic, he thought everyone should know how to do basic stuff like that, so he’d taught her.
A pang shot through her, so sharp she stopped walking. She hadn’t thought of Nicky for days. She’d thought about Mr. Smith a lot, but not about Nicky and the others. She was so comfortable here in Whistle, and it hurt to think of him. Of them.
But he was the reason she was here. It won’t be long now, she told him fiercely as she started moving again. While Jamie had been telling Demi about her son Roger’s overdue promotion, the first packet of data had gone out. One lucky reporter was getting a fantastic scoop. She wouldn’t get everything, not yet, but enough to make Mr. Smith wish he hadn’t ignored her. Enough that he’d see he had to make a deal to let Nicky and the rest of them go.
If he didn’t, another file would go out—to two reporters this time, in case Mr. Smith had somehow silenced her first choice. Then the third file, to three reporters. They’d get get everything she had except for the Lodan files. She didn’t dare let anyone know about them. But she didn’t have to. The financial data should put Mr. Smith in prison for a long, long time.
He had to know that. It was going to work, she promised herself. She just wished she knew what he was up to.
NINE
AS it turned out, Charles wasn’t much company. Mostly he slept. He did wake up when they pulled into a drive-through in Cumberland for lunch, where he demonstrated that being in the process of dying hadn’t hurt his appetite. He skipped the fries and ate six
Well, she was, but not because she could build a bootable Linux system on a USB stick. Anyone could do that. You just had to be able to follow instructions. But Jamie had been happy that she hadn’t lost all her photos and had insisted that Demi stay for supper, which had been fried chicken, which of course she didn’t eat, but there’d been mashed potatoes and corn on the cob, too, and a salad with cucumbers and red onions. When Demi went back a few days later to install the new hard drive (which she’d ordered for them so they wouldn’t get soaked), Jamie had paid her for the drive and given her a whole pan of peach cobbler to take home. Really good peach cobbler.
The deputies left just as Demi’s pancakes were ready, so while Demi ate, Jamie hung around and talked, mostly about Craig and Lisa—Lisa was her married daughter—and her son Roger, who was in the Army. Their father was dead. He’d died in a car crash fourteen years ago, leaving Jamie a small insurance policy and three kids to raise. Which she’d done, though Craig was worrying her. Demi wasn’t sure why, but it had something to do with the crowd he was hanging out with, plus he hadn’t gotten a summer job the way Jamie wanted. That’s why he was staying with his sister, Lisa, this summer, to keep him out of trouble. Mr. Hawthorne even chimed in at one point with advice.
Then it was time for Demi to leave for work, so she counted out $7.52 and told Jamie she’d see her Wednesday for those beans. And hoped she was telling the truth. She nodded at Mr. Hawthorne and headed out.
The gas station where she worked was only a hop and a skip away. It was a boring job. People pumped the gas themselves, so she was mostly there to sell them cigarettes and candy and sodas. Now and then someone wanted a tire or their oil changed, or their battery or wiper blades replaced. Demi could do that sort of thing because of Nicky. His dad being a mechanic, he thought everyone should know how to do basic stuff like that, so he’d taught her.
A pang shot through her, so sharp she stopped walking. She hadn’t thought of Nicky for days. She’d thought about Mr. Smith a lot, but not about Nicky and the others. She was so comfortable here in Whistle, and it hurt to think of him. Of them.
But he was the reason she was here. It won’t be long now, she told him fiercely as she started moving again. While Jamie had been telling Demi about her son Roger’s overdue promotion, the first packet of data had gone out. One lucky reporter was getting a fantastic scoop. She wouldn’t get everything, not yet, but enough to make Mr. Smith wish he hadn’t ignored her. Enough that he’d see he had to make a deal to let Nicky and the rest of them go.
If he didn’t, another file would go out—to two reporters this time, in case Mr. Smith had somehow silenced her first choice. Then the third file, to three reporters. They’d get get everything she had except for the Lodan files. She didn’t dare let anyone know about them. But she didn’t have to. The financial data should put Mr. Smith in prison for a long, long time.
He had to know that. It was going to work, she promised herself. She just wished she knew what he was up to.
NINE
AS it turned out, Charles wasn’t much company. Mostly he slept. He did wake up when they pulled into a drive-through in Cumberland for lunch, where he demonstrated that being in the process of dying hadn’t hurt his appetite. He skipped the fries and ate six
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