“He’s high school. You’re middle school.”
“The teaching community is tight,” she said as if that forgave the talk, and hurried on before I could argue. “I taught Chris in sixth grade. He’s brilliant. Lazy, but brilliant.”
“Lazy? How is he lazy? I’ve never seen laziness. He does everything Grace asks—”
“But nothing more,” Alex broke in, “and I’m talking intellectually. He was a great reader when I had him, read fast and with total comprehension, but he would only read what was assigned, just the assignment, nothing more. I’ll bet he never reads a book at home.”
I opened my mouth to argue but nothing came out. She was probably right, given his role model. Grace wasn’t a reader. I had invited her into my book group, but she wasn’t interested. Same when I occasionally suggested she read a book that I loved. Her addiction was for fashion magazines and the never-ending search for a different look. But that was neither here nor there when it came to her son being a hacker. Besides, sharing this with Alex felt disloyal to Grace.
“If he doesn’t read outside class,” I said, “how would he know about hacking? Are there instructions online?”
“Pretty much. I’m not saying he did it, but he could have. He’s a smart kid.”
“Right, so why would he want to change his grades?”
“Oh,hisgrades were never changed.”
That stopped me. “Whose were?”
“Random others. Maybe he was testing himself before trying something bigger. Honing the skill, y’know?”
I didn’t find anything humorous in her turn of phrase. “Maybe it wasn’t him at all.”
“It sure looks it. Poor Grace. She was always the first one to sign up for parent-teacher conferences or send cookies for a bake sale. She must be terrified.” She paused, waiting for me to confirm it. When I didn’t, she said, “The police station’s a circus. They say it’ll make the national news tonight.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised, given the national brands I’d seen emblazoned on satellite vans in town, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t alarmed. Federal charges were a big thing, but the crime itself—allegedcrime—was localized. Nationwide interest didn’t make sense unless someone had an ulterior motive. I certainly knew about those.
“The judge is on his way,” Alex said. “They want him locked up. They think he’s a flight risk.”
“Chris?Chris is fifteen! Who are you talking to, Alex?”
She offered three names, one reliable, two not, but my stomach was knotting up against the past again—a past that, like Grace and every other female friend here, Alex knew nothing about. So when she switched topics and said, “But hey, we’re still on for this weekend, aren’t we?” I was furious at how unconcerned she seemed. It was a minute before I could calm myself and pull back.
Alex, Jessa Hutton, and I were binge buddies, meeting Saturday nights whenever Jessa’s hunter-husband did his upcountry thing. In the last two years, we had worked our way throughHomelandandGirls. We were now intoGame of Thrones.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I managed and, with a casual, “Let me know if you hear anything more?” ended the call. Two seconds passed before another came.
“Grace could have a problem,” Nina said without preamble. “Those Twitter accounts belong to some important people.”
“Do you know who?”
“Griswold wouldn’t give me names,” Gary Griswold was our Police Chief, “but he’s sitting in his office with his chest puffed out like he had something to do with the investigation, which he did not. This has been a Federal operation all the way.”
“There must have been talk. The press would be panting for it.”Like rabid wolves,I thought, but didn’t say. “Did you catch any names at all?” I might recognize a few. I did VIP makeup often, had certainly done my share of visiting celebs. As flattering as it was to be asked, now I wondered at my own hubris. If a client of mine was the victim here, my probation officer wouldn’t like it. His parting shot at the end of each monthly visit was to warn me to give trouble a wide berth, and though, after all this time, he made it a joke, I took it to heart.
“I didn’t pick up a thing,” Nina said, “and, trust me, I asked. But Griswold saidhe. He’s in town.He’ll be at the courthouse later. Want to meet me there?”
“God, no,” I cried, trying to make light of the suggestion. My ownclients were female, but Grace worked on a lot of men. Frightened for her, but not willing to go anywhere near the zoo of a press conference, I asked, “How was your meeting?”
“A quick vote yes. All they wanted to talk about was hacking. I saw Grace at the station. She’s a basket case. Did you see the media trucks?”
I said that I had, and took a single, long breath to quiet myself while Nina gushed over the various news outlets that had come. I suspected she was having flashbacks to New York and loving it. Me, I was having flashbacks to Boston and not loving it at all.
“There’s going to be a press conference later,” she said. “No doubt Griswold wants to get the biggest bang for the buck. And hell, Maggie, it’s not hurting the town. Guess where the press is staying tonight? The Inn.”
I knew what the Inn charged. Rates were up there in the stratosphere along with rates at the Spa. I would be surprised if the average reporter’s expense account allowed for the Inn—unless there was a press special going on—which would be a stroke of genius, come to think of it. Talk about generating goodwill.
By every other measure, this would be a PR nightmare for the Spa. Nothing good could come of illegal access to personal information that we had promised our clients would never, ever get out. The new owners couldn’t possibly be pleased. I wondered if Edward was the messenger who had to bring them the news. Best case scenario? They called him back to wherever they were and canceled the sale.
