had turned it on for her. Jane leaned forward, peering desperately at the letter
A
flashing back and forth and praying for guidance.
“Are you nearsighted, Ms. Duncan?” Peabody demanded abruptly.
Jane kept staring at the screen, then belatedly realized the woman was talking to her. How could Jimmy... no, Sandy keep his aliases straight?
“I have new contact lenses.” The lie came so easily Jane was secretly horrified. She’d always prided herself on being scrupulously honest and completely straightforward. She’d slipped into the shadowy life of half truths so easily she wondered if she’d ever make it back out again.
“You shouldn’t let vanity get in the way of efficiency,” Elinor Peabody intoned, and Jane swallowed a retort. Elinor Peabody was born with the kind of beauty that very little could tarnish. Perfect bone structure combined with an indomitable will left nothing to chance. If she ever needed glasses she’d probably order her eyes to improve. Doubtless those china blue eyes of hers would comply.
“I won’t, ma’am,” Jane muttered, reaching out and pushing a key. The damned machine beeped at her, and once more Elinor Peabody raised her head.
She rose and circled the wide teak table that served as a desk, coming to loom over Jane’s unevenly padded shoulders. “Sorry, I forgot to let you into the file. You need two passwords, and I’m not about to give either one of them out.” She leaned past Jane and began tapping on the keys, and Jane got a full dose of her perfume. Poison, by Christian Dior. Wouldn’t you know it, Jane thought with a sigh, cursing her partner in crime for getting her into this mess.
“There you go.” Ms. Peabody moved back. “It’s certainly a simple enough task. Just enter the new tax information for each employee, then go on to the next one.”
“Simple enough,” Jane muttered, peering at the screen. Personnel files at her fingertips, if she could just manage to move from one name to the next.
God bless them, the creators of the software provided a help file at the top of the screen. Holding her breath, Jane pushed a key. To her amazement, a personnel file appeared in bright amber. Adamson, George Social Security #156-42-5917.
She pushed another button. Allman, Gregory. Astor, Jacob. Her face was flushed with triumph, and she pushed her irritating mop of hair away from her eyes, hunching closer. Computers were easier than she’d ever imagined. What a fool she’d been to be terrified of them. Bachman, Joyce.
Ballard, Alice. Butler, Charles. Cashill, Patricia. Davis, Alexander. Debrett, Piers. Dunbar, Glenn. Eddison,
Larry.
She stopped, perplexed. The personnel files held records for all employees, past and present. Larry Eddison had retired four years ago, Alice Ballard had worked as a consultant for three months in 1978. Where was Richard Dexter’s file?
She looked up at the Help file, but this time the programmers let her down. They refused to tell her how to go back, only how to move forward. All she could do was forge on ahead and hope the damned files would start all over again when she got to Z.
Fairbanks, Robert. Kellogg, Roger. Peabody, Elinor. Sullivan, Nancy. Tremaine, Stephen.
That answered one question. The files covered everyone, from corporate head to mail clerk. Richard’s file must have been deliberately deleted.
Xanatos, Grigor. Zallman, Yeshua. And then a blank screen, with nothing more than a blinking, taunting letter
A.
She allowed herself a brief glance over at Ms. Peabody, but her golden head was bent over her spotless desk, the bright sunlight gilding it. Jane managed a silent snarl and went back to the screen. It had been fairly simple so far. All she had to do was punch a few buttons and the program would reappear. It had been remarkably easy when Ms. Peabody did it, and despite Jane’s deep-rooted feelings of inferiority she told herself that anything Ms. Peabody did, she could do.
The computer disagreed. For long
A
flashing back and forth and praying for guidance.
“Are you nearsighted, Ms. Duncan?” Peabody demanded abruptly.
Jane kept staring at the screen, then belatedly realized the woman was talking to her. How could Jimmy... no, Sandy keep his aliases straight?
“I have new contact lenses.” The lie came so easily Jane was secretly horrified. She’d always prided herself on being scrupulously honest and completely straightforward. She’d slipped into the shadowy life of half truths so easily she wondered if she’d ever make it back out again.
“You shouldn’t let vanity get in the way of efficiency,” Elinor Peabody intoned, and Jane swallowed a retort. Elinor Peabody was born with the kind of beauty that very little could tarnish. Perfect bone structure combined with an indomitable will left nothing to chance. If she ever needed glasses she’d probably order her eyes to improve. Doubtless those china blue eyes of hers would comply.
“I won’t, ma’am,” Jane muttered, reaching out and pushing a key. The damned machine beeped at her, and once more Elinor Peabody raised her head.
She rose and circled the wide teak table that served as a desk, coming to loom over Jane’s unevenly padded shoulders. “Sorry, I forgot to let you into the file. You need two passwords, and I’m not about to give either one of them out.” She leaned past Jane and began tapping on the keys, and Jane got a full dose of her perfume. Poison, by Christian Dior. Wouldn’t you know it, Jane thought with a sigh, cursing her partner in crime for getting her into this mess.
“There you go.” Ms. Peabody moved back. “It’s certainly a simple enough task. Just enter the new tax information for each employee, then go on to the next one.”
“Simple enough,” Jane muttered, peering at the screen. Personnel files at her fingertips, if she could just manage to move from one name to the next.
God bless them, the creators of the software provided a help file at the top of the screen. Holding her breath, Jane pushed a key. To her amazement, a personnel file appeared in bright amber. Adamson, George Social Security #156-42-5917.
She pushed another button. Allman, Gregory. Astor, Jacob. Her face was flushed with triumph, and she pushed her irritating mop of hair away from her eyes, hunching closer. Computers were easier than she’d ever imagined. What a fool she’d been to be terrified of them. Bachman, Joyce.
Ballard, Alice. Butler, Charles. Cashill, Patricia. Davis, Alexander. Debrett, Piers. Dunbar, Glenn. Eddison,
Larry.
She stopped, perplexed. The personnel files held records for all employees, past and present. Larry Eddison had retired four years ago, Alice Ballard had worked as a consultant for three months in 1978. Where was Richard Dexter’s file?
She looked up at the Help file, but this time the programmers let her down. They refused to tell her how to go back, only how to move forward. All she could do was forge on ahead and hope the damned files would start all over again when she got to Z.
Fairbanks, Robert. Kellogg, Roger. Peabody, Elinor. Sullivan, Nancy. Tremaine, Stephen.
That answered one question. The files covered everyone, from corporate head to mail clerk. Richard’s file must have been deliberately deleted.
Xanatos, Grigor. Zallman, Yeshua. And then a blank screen, with nothing more than a blinking, taunting letter
A.
She allowed herself a brief glance over at Ms. Peabody, but her golden head was bent over her spotless desk, the bright sunlight gilding it. Jane managed a silent snarl and went back to the screen. It had been fairly simple so far. All she had to do was punch a few buttons and the program would reappear. It had been remarkably easy when Ms. Peabody did it, and despite Jane’s deep-rooted feelings of inferiority she told herself that anything Ms. Peabody did, she could do.
The computer disagreed. For long
Similar Books
