It was shadowy inside, the only interior fight an eerie glow emanating from the half-open door of a back bedroom. The living room was tidy. So was the kitchen. No sign of foul play. In fact, everything was just as it ought to be except for that back doorway and its ghostly glow. Evelyn walked through the kitchen and pushed the bedroom door all the way open, and there on a small desk sat Dianne’s computer faintly whirring, its screen building intricate designs out of colored dots, then going blank and starting over again.
“So that’s the famous calculator, is it?” Mrs. Aird peered over Evelyn’s shoulder.
“That’s it,” replied Evelyn.
“Big deal,” Mrs. Aird said. She opened the closet and glanced inside. “So where’s Dianne, then?”
“That’s a good question.”
“Why not ask the calculator, if the damn thing’s so smart?”
She was right. It was the only thing they could do. Seated before the glowing screen, Evelyn couldn’t rid herself of the sense that the machine was an agent of evil. Not dangerous by itself, perhaps; not any one computer in particular. But a whole worldwide network of them gossiping over long-distance circuits was a scenario that was truly menacing. This one didn’t seem to be engaged in anything particularly sinister at the moment — only staring back at her with its cyclopean eye. But it seemed capable of a fiendish nastiness, an evil raised to a very high order.
Still, she would brave the thing if it helped track down Dianne.
She spoke into the phone to her nephew: “Now what?”
When it came to computers, Robert was good. In addition to that, he was exceptionally patient. More patient than a formal instructor when it came to teaching an old dog a new trick. He couldn’t be there in person, and so she had to take his instructions over the telephone, his calm, unruffled voice making her feel like a tourist preparing to land a stricken airliner under directions from an airport control tower.
He guided her into Dianne’s “browser” software as he called it. “Do you have the main screen now?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Fine. Click on the word Bookmark.”
She slid the mouse across its pad unsteadily, bringing the pointer over the Bookmark icon after some zigzags and a muttered, “Where’d it go, where’d it go?” When she clicked the button, a list of addresses dropped down the screen. The topmost of these said Lonelyheart’s, with some other gibberish trailing after the words. She felt a surge of excitement.
“I see it! I see it!”
“Great. That’s the most recent address she’s accessed. You should be in business.”
Mrs. Aird wandered in from the kitchen with a fridge magnet in her hand.
“When you get through with that thing,” she said from the doorway, “you better come in here and take a boo at this.”
“Not now!” Evelyn snapped irritably.
“What’s the matter?” asked Robert.
“Oh, it’s a friend of mine. She’s wandering around here with a magnet in her hand.”
“Did you say a magnet? Good lord, keep her away from things. Magnets and electronic media don’t mix. She could wipe out a diskette, make total gibberish of it.”
“Keep away from me with that thing!” Evelyn ordered Mrs. Aird.
“I’ll leave you to it now,” said Robert. “If you need me, call me later.”
“You’ve been great. I’ll remember this on your next birthday.”
He told her a small Porsche would make a suitable thank you gift and with a chuckle hung up the phone.
She clicked the mouse button. The screen blinked, refreshed itself a couple of times; moments later words appeared like scripted dialogue. It appeared to be a discussion regarding prime holiday resorts for affluent singles. Well and good, she thought, I’ll just have to break in. Hesitantly she typed “Timothy,” and with a suddenness that startled her, a reply came back at her:
— Lady Di?
It must mean Dianne! What else could it mean? Excitedly, she typed:
— I’m not Lady Di. I’m her friend. I’m trying to find her. She’s missing.
She watched as a few more exchanges between the vacationers went by; then, as if after some deep and careful thought, came a response:
— Want to tell me about it?
Time to make a decision. Whatever had happened couldn’t involve Timothy. He wouldn’t be surfacing like this, asking after Dianne, if he was responsible for something bad happening to her. Not likely. And while she agonized over his innocent request, poor Dianne might very well be... She swallowed. She didn’t want to think about what might be happening to Dianne. She was going to have to take this Timothy person into her confidence, and that’s all there was to it. She placed her fingers over the keyboard and began to explain, pecking the words out clumsily, but after a sentence or two Timothy took pity on her and broke in, suggesting they continue off-line and asking for a phone number. She gave it to him.
You’re crazy! a small voice hollered inside her. Completely mad! After everything you told Dianne, you suddenly give out her telephone number over the Internet? Never mind, she countered. She had to do it. In any case telephone numbers could be changed. And this was the only lead she had on poor Dianne.
When the phone rang, she snatched up the receiver. Mrs. Aird peered curiously in at her from the hallway.
“This is Timothy,” said a voice. It was a gentle voice, a reassuring one, communicating just the proper note of concern. “Tell me what this is all about.”
She took a deep breath, then related what she knew — which, now that she actually came to verbalize it, she realized wasn’t a whole heck of a lot.
But she learned some things, too. The caller told her he knew nothing about collecting computer parts for charity and that he knew nothing about any face-to-face meeting.
“But I know she was supposed to meet with you. She told me so. She had it all planned. You don’t know anything about it?”
No, he didn’t, but he assured her they would get to the bottom of things. He then asked about any notes or clues to Dianne’s whereabouts that she might’ve left lying about on her desk or saved on her computer.
“There’s nothing on her desk. I don’t know much about computers,” Evelyn admitted.
“That’s all right. I’ll help you.”
Coolly — as cool as her nephew almost — he led her through arcane keyboard and mouse maneuvers until she found herself in an application called File Manager. With it they examined the file names stored on the hard drive. What to watch out for, Timothy explained, was anything that might refer to such a meeting or, failing that, any mention of used computer parts, especially an address to which she might have sent them.
“Nope, nothing,” Evelyn said.
“Okay. That means we’ll need to look through her diskettes, Evelyn.”
Robert had mentioned those. “What’s a diskette?”
“There should be some there. Little things, about the size of a coaster, in square plastic cases.”
“Oh.” She could see plenty of the little kerwaladers scattered about. She picked one up. “How do you get ’em out of the case?”
“You are a newbie, aren’t you? You don’t take them out of the case, you insert case and all into the computer. See the slot? Just slide one in. We’ll go through them one at a time until we find what we’re looking for.”