The Plague Doctor. E. Joan Sims
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a skunk. It seemed like a great idea at the time.”
“How old were you?”
“Eight or nine.”
“You definitely were the bad seed.”
“I know, I know.”
When we got home, we took the contraband from Ethan’s apartment into the library and set it out on my father’s big desk. I had to move my own laptop and the notes for Leonard’s new book over to the library table to make room for all of Ethan’s equipment.
“My goodness, Cassie, you brought the whole kit and caboodle!”
“Why not? I knew there would be no second chance.”
Cassie carefully plugged everything into the corresponding receptacles and I spread the floppy discs out.
“Nothing is labeled. He just has them numbered,” complained Cassie.
“Look closer. The numbers aren’t sequential, and they have too many digits. I bet it’s some kind of code. I bet he has the discs encrypted, too. Probably takes yet another password to read them.”
“Why would he go to that much trouble?”
“Probably no trouble at all to him—just standard operating procedure.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Think about it. Why would he leave all this out in the open where anybody could come across it if it were so easy to read?”
“Mom, you seem to forget that all this was locked up in his apartment. Aren’t you being just a little melodramatic? After all, he’s not Superspy.”
“Okay, turn it on and see for yourself.”
Cassie sat down and went through the motions again. This time I watched closely to see if I could catch Ethan’s login password, but her fingers were too quick on the keyboard. She slipped one of the discs into the “A” drive and went to “File Manager.” A big red box appeared across the screen with a message in black letters “Enter Password.” Cassie typed in the password she had used to login. Another message flashed across the screen.
“You are locked out. Please contact your supervisor.”
“Wow! Looks like you weren’t kidding. How did you know, Mom?”
“Leonard told me.”
“Hah!”
“Seriously. Our new book is all about industrial espionage. I had to read up. I learned a lot.”
“I bet Leonard knows even more.”
“Humpf.”
We trudged into the kitchen where Mother was busy layering a lovely looking salad in a big glass bowl. Cassie sneaked a white mushroom cap and a hunk of Parmesan and went to the refrigerator for a drink.
“Perrier, Mom?”
“Sure.”
“Gran?”
“No thanks, dear; but I’ll take a glass of iced tea, if you don’t mind.”
I was amazed at Cassie’s composure. Our little foray this morning seemed to have gotten rid of her anxiety, or a least gotten it under control. During lunch she regaled Mother with the story of Miss Lolly and my misadventures with her striped cat.
“Paisley! What a naughty child you were. It’s funny, but I don’t remember anything about that particular incident.”
“That’s because Granpa Howard hushed it up for me.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I think the old lady had a crush on him. Anyway, he made me fork over all my allowance. He pitched in the rest and together we bought her a dozen yellow roses. He said she would have misunderstood red ones.”
“I should think so!” agreed Mother.
“Am I missing something here, or is this some old-fashioned thing?”
“You would do well to learn more about the language of flowers and love, my dear. Young people nowadays have no sense whatsoever of romance. It’s all slam, bam, thank you, m’am!”
“Good grief, Mother. Not in front of the children.”
Cassie went to her room after lunch to pick out a “visiting your boyfriend in jail where he is being held for a capitol offense” outfit.
I helped Mother with the dishes. When we were done, we both decided a nap was the only way we would live to see another day. She went to her room and I headed back to the sofa in the library. Poor lonely little Aggie dusted my heels with her long white beard as she tagged along behind me.
We had just curled up on the big, red chintz-covered sofa when Cassie entered. She was dressed in a soft, full-skirted yellow dress with a tiny pink flower print. Her long hair was tied back with a matching pink ribbon. She looked sweet and innocent and lovely—not at all like a gangster’s moll.
“Do you want me to go with you, sweetie?”
“No, Mom. I think I need to see Ethan alone.”
“Oh, thank God. I’m exhausted.”
“Sweet of you to offer, though. Maybe you can come with me tomorrow.”
“Cassie, maybe he’ll be out tomorrow. This whole thing is probably one whopper of a mistake. Come home with some good news, okay?”
“Sure thing, Mom. May I take Watson, for luck?”
“Of course. And please pay some attention to this canine ragmop when you get home. She’s driving me crazy.”
Aggie hopped up and traversed my prone body like a mountain goat. She lay down at my feet and started licking my toes, one at a time.
Chapter Six
I thought I would fall asleep immediately, but my mind kept nagging my body awake. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I stared at the bright red, yellow, and orange leaves as they danced and swirled in the wind outside the French doors. Fall was definitely here. I could already see the squirrels’ nests exposed to predators in the forks of the big old oak on the field side of the back fence.
Mother had a fierce ongoing battle with each and every squirrel on the farm. She called them fancy rats with delusions of grandeur. She vowed that they were responsible for everything from house fires to the high unemployment rate.
Last year she placed a wicked, evil-looking squirrel trap in the back yard. When a poor furry soul wandered inside Mother called one of the army of high school students who worked for her to come and carry the cage far away and bring it back empty. I secretly believed that the crafty kid would let the squirrel out before he left the driveway—insuring himself a future phone call and another five bucks.
Mother forgot to disarm the trap last May when we went to visit Cassie at Emory University. When we returned home we found a poor little dead squirrel huddled up on the bottom of the cage. It had obviously starved to death.
The trap disappeared the next day. I haven’t seen it since. From the look of the size of the nests, we would be hearing lots of fancy deluded rats playing in the attic this winter. Mother was right about one thing, though. Squirrels carried diseases like all rodents. What was that word Horatio had told us about—vector?
Squirrels were vectors and so were prairie dogs. Why was that so important? I fell asleep in a mild state of curiosity. I dreamed I was running and running on a wire wheel in a big cage and getting nowhere.
I awoke fours hours later in a dark, chilly room with no furry little companion to keep my feet either wet or warm. I lay there puzzling for a moment, trying to get my bearings. Then I heard Aggie’s welcome home bark. Cassie was back.
I stood and stretched, surprised to feel remarkably rested. And I was famished.
I