needed then. He was gone three days then, and it’s been more than that now.”
Marya was perplexed. She didn’t know Denton that well, but she recognized his attention to detail and sense of duty, common to most journalists. Being irresponsibly absent just didn’t seem part of his nature.
“He’ll be back soon,” she said with conviction. “I’m sure of it.”
“Who are you trying to convince?” Ed said, eyeing her with a sideways glance. “You or me?”
She sighed and shrugged. “Both of us, I’m thinking.”
“I’m not convinced,” he answered with his own heavy sigh as he straightened his back. “If I don’t hear from him by the end of today, I am calling the police in the morning. I don’t care how much trouble it causes him.”
She nodded in accord. “I agree. Listen, I finished his proofreading on the A-front and I’ll jet it over to you as soon as I boot up.”
“Thanks, Marya. I don’t think we’d make a single deadline if not for your help.”
“No problem, Ed. Like you, I just want him back here.”
She left Ed and moseyed to Denton’s desk as she sipped her coffee and tried to dull her offended taste buds. If not for the caffeine content, she wouldn’t touch the stuff. She had dropped her backpack by the desk earlier. Now she switched on Denton’s work station. The computer desktop waited, blinking at her as if impatient. She was reminded of the robot, Number Five, in the film
Short Circuit
. The comical one who was always saying, “Need input!” Smiling to herself, she sat down and gave this machine input, typing in the generic
Schuyler Times
login.
She dug down into her bag and pulled out the bright blue thumb drive on which she had stored Denton’s proofreading files. Deluged at work, she had taken the A-front home last night to make sure she made deadline today. She plugged it in and waited for the machine to recognize it, then dragged the A-front file folder to the desktop. When no replacement window popped up, she leaned forward and examined the desktop. The original file was gone.
What the hell?
Everything else seemed to be there, even the silly folder of plant catalog orders she had brought over the day before. She used the search function to find the A-front, thinking she had erroneously placed it into another folder. Nope. The folder was gone.
A sudden chill rushed through her. She knew she had had the folder on the desktop when she left work yesterday. She distinctly remembered checking for it after copying it to the thumb drive. Very weird. Had someone been in Denton’s computer?
She glanced around to see if anyone was watching. She keenly remembered the Dorry interview episode and knew her co-workers weren’t beyond a good practical joke. Was she being punked again? No one seemed to be giving her undue attention.
Had there been some sort of server failure? She checked other files and folders again, making sure all the regular desktop shortcuts were still directing properly.
Everything seemed to be okay, but worried, she tapped the waste bin icon and scrolled through the items there by date. A folder called “Private” was the next to last one deleted, just before the A-front folder. Following a hunch, she dragged the “Private”folder back to the desktop and then onto the thumb drive. She also copied it to her personal file that was kept on the
Schuyler Times’s
server before deleting it again. There was no real reason she could cite for feeling like it was important to do this, rather she was following her gut—something that had helped her before in her journalism career.
Putting the folder from her mind, she put the final touches on the A-front files and then sent them over to Ed via interoffice e-mail. She stretched, leaned back in her chair and glanced around the office. Marvin had come in and was talking on his phone, one hand idly twirling a pencil as he studied the loafer-clad feet he had propped up on his desk. Dallas was at her desk as
Marya was perplexed. She didn’t know Denton that well, but she recognized his attention to detail and sense of duty, common to most journalists. Being irresponsibly absent just didn’t seem part of his nature.
“He’ll be back soon,” she said with conviction. “I’m sure of it.”
“Who are you trying to convince?” Ed said, eyeing her with a sideways glance. “You or me?”
She sighed and shrugged. “Both of us, I’m thinking.”
“I’m not convinced,” he answered with his own heavy sigh as he straightened his back. “If I don’t hear from him by the end of today, I am calling the police in the morning. I don’t care how much trouble it causes him.”
She nodded in accord. “I agree. Listen, I finished his proofreading on the A-front and I’ll jet it over to you as soon as I boot up.”
“Thanks, Marya. I don’t think we’d make a single deadline if not for your help.”
“No problem, Ed. Like you, I just want him back here.”
She left Ed and moseyed to Denton’s desk as she sipped her coffee and tried to dull her offended taste buds. If not for the caffeine content, she wouldn’t touch the stuff. She had dropped her backpack by the desk earlier. Now she switched on Denton’s work station. The computer desktop waited, blinking at her as if impatient. She was reminded of the robot, Number Five, in the film
Short Circuit
. The comical one who was always saying, “Need input!” Smiling to herself, she sat down and gave this machine input, typing in the generic
Schuyler Times
login.
She dug down into her bag and pulled out the bright blue thumb drive on which she had stored Denton’s proofreading files. Deluged at work, she had taken the A-front home last night to make sure she made deadline today. She plugged it in and waited for the machine to recognize it, then dragged the A-front file folder to the desktop. When no replacement window popped up, she leaned forward and examined the desktop. The original file was gone.
What the hell?
Everything else seemed to be there, even the silly folder of plant catalog orders she had brought over the day before. She used the search function to find the A-front, thinking she had erroneously placed it into another folder. Nope. The folder was gone.
A sudden chill rushed through her. She knew she had had the folder on the desktop when she left work yesterday. She distinctly remembered checking for it after copying it to the thumb drive. Very weird. Had someone been in Denton’s computer?
She glanced around to see if anyone was watching. She keenly remembered the Dorry interview episode and knew her co-workers weren’t beyond a good practical joke. Was she being punked again? No one seemed to be giving her undue attention.
Had there been some sort of server failure? She checked other files and folders again, making sure all the regular desktop shortcuts were still directing properly.
Everything seemed to be okay, but worried, she tapped the waste bin icon and scrolled through the items there by date. A folder called “Private” was the next to last one deleted, just before the A-front folder. Following a hunch, she dragged the “Private”folder back to the desktop and then onto the thumb drive. She also copied it to her personal file that was kept on the
Schuyler Times’s
server before deleting it again. There was no real reason she could cite for feeling like it was important to do this, rather she was following her gut—something that had helped her before in her journalism career.
Putting the folder from her mind, she put the final touches on the A-front files and then sent them over to Ed via interoffice e-mail. She stretched, leaned back in her chair and glanced around the office. Marvin had come in and was talking on his phone, one hand idly twirling a pencil as he studied the loafer-clad feet he had propped up on his desk. Dallas was at her desk as
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