"Miranda, I don't think your computer is in danger. This seems to be some sort of corporate sabotage." Reverend Jones pulled up a ladderback chair. "The way I understand it, some person or persons has introduced this virus into the computer bank of a huge Virginia corporation, but no one knows which one. The diseased machine has to be a computer that interfaces with many other computers."
"And what may I ask is interface? In your face?" Miranda's tone dropped.
"Talk. Computers can talk to each other." Herb leaned forward in his chair. "Thank you, honey." He called Harry "honey" as she handed him his coffee. She never minded when it came from him. "Whoever has introduced this virus—"
Miranda interrupted again. "What do you mean, virus?"
The reverend, a genial man who loved people, paused a moment and sighed. "Because of the way in which a computer understands commands, it is possible, easy, in fact, to give one a command that scrambles or erases its memory."
"I don't need a virus for that," Miranda said. "I do it every day."
"So someone could put a command into a computer that says something like, 'Delete every file beginning with the letter A.y" Harry joined in.
"Precisely, but just what the command is, no one knows. Imagine if this is passing throughout the state in a medical data bank. What if the command is 'Destroy all records on anyone named John Smith.' You can see the potential."
"But, Herbie"—Miranda called him by his first name, as they had been friends since childhood—"why would anyone want to do such a thing?"
"Maybe to wipe out a criminal record or cancel a debt or cover up a sickness that could cost them their job. Some companies will fire employees with AIDS or cancer."
"How can people protect themselves?" Mrs. Hogendobber began to grasp the possibilities for mischief.
"The mastermind has sent faxes to television stations saying that the virus will go into effect August first, and that it's called the Threadneedle virus."
"Threadneedle is such an odd name. I wonder what's the connection?" Harry rubbed her chin.
"Oh, there will be a connection, all right. The newspeople are researching like mad on that," he confidently predicted.
"One big puzzle." Harry liked puzzles.
"The computer expert on the morning show said that one way to protect your information base is to tell your computer to disregard any command it is given on August first."
"Sensible." Miranda nodded her head.
"Except that most business is transacted by computer, so that means for one entire day all commercial, medical, even police transactions are down."
"Oh, dear." Miranda's eyes grew large. "Is there nothing else that can be done?"
Herbie finished his tea, setting the mug on the table with a light tap. "This expert reviewed the defenses and encouraged people to program their computers to hold and review any commands that come in on August first. If anything is peculiar, your review program can instruct the computer to void the suspicious command. Naturally, big companies will use their own computer experts, but it sounds as though whatever they come up with will be some variant of the review process."
"I always wanted to put VOID on my license plate," Harry confessed.
"Now, why would you want to do a thing like that?" Mrs. Hogendobber pursed her lips, seashell pink today.
"Because every time my annual renewal payments would go through to the Department of Motor Vehicles, their computer would spit out the check. At least, that's what I thought."
"Our own little saboteur."
"Miranda, I never did it. I just thought about it."
"From little acorns mighty oaks do grow." Mrs. Hogendobber appeared fierce. "Are you behind this?"
The three laughed.
"You know, when I was a young doctor I had a big Thoroughbred I used to hunt named On Call," Herb reminisced. "When someone phoned my office the nurse would say, 'Oh, I'm sorry, the doctor isn't in right now. He's On Call.'"
Harry and Miranda laughed all the more.
"So what's the scoop, Pewter?"Tucker asked, then turned her attention to Mrs. Murphy. "I suppose you already know or you'd have pulled her fur out."
With that faint hint of superiority that makes cats so maddening, the tiger twitched her whiskers forward. "We had a little chat on the back stoop."
"Come on, tell me."
Pewter sidled over to the dog, who was now sitting up. "Aysha Cramer refused, to Mim Sanburne's face, to work with Kerry McCray for the homeless benefit."
Mim Sanburne considered herself queen of Crozet. On her expansive days she extended that dominion to cover the state of Virginia.
"Big deal. "Tucker was disappointed.
"It is. No one crosses Mim. She pitched a hissy and told Aysha that the good of the community was more important than her spat with Kerry, "the rotund kitty announced.
"Oh, Aysha. "Tucker laughed. "Now Mim will give her the worst job of the benefit—addressing, sealing, and stamping the envelopes. They all have to be handwritten, you know."
"Andall this over Norman Cramer. Mr. Bland. "Pewter giggled.
The animals caught their breath for a moment.
"Boy, it's a dull summer if we're laughing about that tired love triangle, "Mrs. Murphy said wistfully.
"Nothing happens around here, "Tucker carped.
"Fourth of July parade was okay. But nothing unusual. Maybe
someone will stir up a fuss over Labor Day…" Pewter's voice trailed off. "We can hope for a little action."
Mrs. Murphy stretched forward, then backward. "You know what my mother used to say, 'Be careful what you ask for, you might get it."-
The three friends later would remember this prophecy.
2
Ash Lawn, the Federal home of James and Elizabeth Monroe, reposes behind a mighty row of English boxwoods. When the fifth president and his lady were alive, these pungent shrubs probably rose no higher than waist level. The immense height of them now casts an eerie aura yet lends an oddly secure sense to the entrance. The formal entrance isn't used anymore; people must pass the small gift shop and arrive at the house by a side route.
The warm yellow clapboard creates an accessibility, a familiarity—one could imagine living in this house. No one could ever imagine living in the beautiful and imposing Monticello just over the small mountain from Ash Lawn.
Harry walked among the boxwoods and around the grounds with Blair Bainbridge, her new neighbor—"new" being a relative term in Crozet; Blair had moved there more than a year ago. A much-sought-after model, he was out of Crozet as much as he was in it. Recently returned from Africa, he had asked Harry to give him a tour of Monroe's home. This irritated Harry's ex-husband, Fair Haristeen, D.V.M., a blond giant who, having repented of his foolishness in losing Harry, desperately wanted his ex-wife back.
As for Blair, no one could divine his intentions toward Harry. Mrs. Hogendobber, that self-confessed expert on the male animal, declared that Blair was so impossibly rugged and handsome that he had women throwing themselves at him every moment, on every continent. She swore Harry fascinated him because she seemed immune to his masculine beauty. Mrs. Hogendobber got it more than half right despite arguments to the contrary from Harry's best friend and her corgi's breeder, Susan Tucker.
Mrs. Murphy chose the shade of a mighty poplar, where she scratched up some grass, then plopped down. Tucker circled three times, then sat next to her as she eyed the offending peacocks of Ash Lawn. The shimmering birds overran the Monroe estate, their heavenly appearance marred by grotesquely ugly pinkish feet. They also possessed the nastiest voices of birddom.