“It’s from a dating website.”
His eyes flew open. “What?”
“Not for me,” I said quickly. “I’m just…I’m looking for some information.”
“Is this about the dead guy?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Could you do it?” I asked. “If I asked you to?”
“You want me to hack?” The corner of his mouth turning upward.
“No.”
“Well, that’s what I’d have to do if you want someone’s username and password. It’s totally hacking.”
I hated the sound of that word. It just sounded bad. He used it all the time when people were cheating at games or modifying software. He was usually critical of it, too. He had my sense of fairness and rule-following.
Most of the time.
“Let’s not worry about what it’s called,” I said. “Could you do it?”
He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Probably. As long as the encryption isn’t totally brutal, I can probably figure it out. And even if the encryption is crazy—”
I cut him off. “Alright, alright,” I said. I didn’t think I wanted to know just how much my thirteen-year old knew about the cyber world. “So you could do it. I need you to do it.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “What’s in it for me?”
“You got to eat in the living room.”
He made a face. “That’s not a fair trade. You want me to hack some website for you. I could get in trouble.”
“Ten bucks,” I said. “And you won’t get in trouble. I’m your mom and I’m giving you permission.”
“Fifty,” he said. “I’m not worried about you. What if the police find out?”
I was pretty sure Detective Hanborn wouldn’t care that an underage kid had hacked a dating web site. In fact, I was pretty sure no one would care. “Twenty-five,” I countered. “And I’ll take the blame.”
“Forty,” he said. “It’ll take me awhile and I might have to download some new software to do it.”
I sighed. “Thirty. And that’s my final offer. Take it or I’ll make you do it, anyway. And you’ll get nothing.”
He frowned, ready to argue but he must have noticed the look on my face because his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Okay. Thirty bucks. Deal.”
We shook hands.
“How long will it take you?” I asked.
He kicked off the blanket. “I’ll grab my computer. Write down the site and what you need. Maybe an hour. Probably less.”
I grabbed a piece of paper from the printer and scribbled down the web address for Around The Corner and Helen Stunderson’s name. He came back downstairs with his laptop and his gaming headphones, a black and green pair that looked like something the ground crew would wear at the airport. He set his laptop on the dining table, powered it up and glanced at the sheet of paper.
“So what is this about, exactly?” he asked. The screen lit up and he typed in his password. His eyes flew back to the paper in front of him. “Isn’t this the same last name as the dead guy?”
I didn’t want to go into details, especially when I wasn’t sure what I was looking for in the first place. “I’m just trying to figure something out,” I told him. “Find a missing piece.”
He glanced at me. “Like a puzzle?”
“Exactly.” I nodded. “And, uh, let’s not mention this to anyone else.”
He nodded and slipped his massive headphones on over his ears. “Gimme a little bit.”
I knew how much he hated it when his sisters watched him play games over his shoulder, so I did my best to busy myself and kill time while he worked. I did the first round of breakfast dishes and brewed another pot of coffee. My phone rang and, when I saw it was Brenda, I picked up and we made plans for getting together the following week. By the time she and I hung up, a half hour had gone by and Will was still parked in front of his computer, studying the screen, a look of intense concentration on his face.
I went back in the kitchen and started hauling out ingredients for a chicken crockpot recipe I’d found online. I chopped celery and carrots and onions and cut chicken into bite-size pieces and dumped them into the pot. I added broth and seasonings and was just settling the lid on top when I heard Will’s headphones hit the table with a thud.
“Done.”
I hurried over to the dining room table. “Yeah?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m in.”
A ridiculous thrill ran through me. I went to my wallet and pulled out a twenty and a ten. I handed over the money. “Write down the username and password.”
He folded the money into his hand. “You don’t want to just get on right now?” He gestured at the screen. “I’m already in for you.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need to wake your sisters up,” I told him.
But it was more than that. I hadn’t been lying when I’d told him earlier that he wouldn’t get in trouble for doing it.
He wouldn’t.
But I needed to make sure the illegal snooping I was about to do was done on my computer, not his. Just in case Detective Hanborn got wind of it.
THIRTY SIX
The girls came downstairs and I made pancakes for all of them, chocolate chip for Will, blueberry for the girls. After that round of dishes were done, the girls got their rubber band bracelet kits out and started making miniature jewelery for their dolls. Will disappeared back upstairs, muttering something about an all-day Minecraft marathon. After what I’d asked him to do for me, I didn’t feel like I was in a position to tell him not to.
With the girls comparing doll dresses to available colors of rubber band looms, finding the perfect color combination for each outfit, I thought it was safe to pull out my computer. I settled on the couch with a fresh cup of coffee and, with my body turned toward the girls so they couldn’t look over my shoulder, I entered the username and password Will had found.
I drew a shaky, giddy breath as the account opened and took me right to her page. It looked exactly like the public page I’d viewed before—except that I now had access to the tiny mailbox icon on the right side of the page.
I paused for a moment, the cursor hovering over the icon. I couldn’t recall invading someone’s privacy before. Even with my kids, I was always careful to give them space, to not hover over them like the other helicopter parents I saw and read about. Clicking that mailbox stood for everything I was against.
But I was convinced that Helen Stunderson had killed Olaf.
And the only way I was going to find out if she truly was involved was to gain access to private information. No matter how uncomfortable it made me feel to pry.
I took another deep breath and, closing my eyes, tapped the return button on my keyboard.
The box was filled with messages. I stared at the senders’ names and felt the first twinge of disappointment. Most of the names were the ones I’d seen on her public page, benign approaches via private message. She’d rewarded them with more words about how awful her ex-husband was and how she’d deserved better and blah blah blah. She was doing the same thing in private that she’d done publicly. Most of the conversations ended as soon as she’d responded, the men apparently losing interest when they realized she was no different behind the curtain than she was on stage.
I scrolled through all of them and one thing became immediately clear. Helen had lied about dating multiple people. Or if she had indeed dated a lot of guys, she hadn’t found them through Around The Corner. She’d boasted about all the men that were after her, but if that was true, she wasn’t finding them through the site.
Except for one.
It was the next to last message in her mailbox. And for once, she hadn’t spilled her guts about her marriage and divorce. She’d asked him some questions. She’d answered his. She sounded less insane in the conversations with him. There were multiple messages and they’d had long discussions—about their interests, their pasts, even Helen’s divorce. They’d agreed to meet and had apparently done so, based on what I read. She’d had a good time and so had he. So they’d gone out again.