night." Leigh snarled.
Anger and fierce protectiveness rushed Griffin. She rolled around and got up onto her knees. The plastic of her cell phone crunched as she tightened her fingers around it. Slowly, her Saru training smoothed the rough edges of her anger, and she loosened her grip before she could destroy the fragile internal parts of the cell phone. "Who says they didn't?" she asked, her voice dangerously soft. "It was my mother who didn't want the pride to run her life."
A moment of silence lingered between them.
Let it go, Griffin told herself. Nothing good will come of dwelling on the past. At least Leigh was frank and straightforward, unlike Kylin, who was trying to draw her back into the family with clever cat manipulations. "What did you find on Marjorie Price's computer?" she asked. "And please leave out the detailed step-by-step report of every keystroke you did. I just want the results."
Leigh cleared her throat, not once but twice, taking so long that Griffin was tempted to ask her if she was planning on coughing up a hair ball. "I hacked her e-mail account," Leigh finally said. "And I went through all the files on her hard drive and looked at the Web sites she visits."
"And?" Griffin asked.
"Well, either she's doing research for a very interesting story, or she's a poker-playing, cat-loving sex addict. If she weren't human, I'd ask for an introduction." Leigh chuckled, their earlier fight apparently forgotten.
Forgetting wasn't so easy for Griffin. She was in no mood for joking around. "Leigh..."
"What?" Leigh asked. "She spends a lot of time in online poker rooms, and she has bookmarked a lot of sites about zoology, veterinary medicine, big cats, and casino resorts in Michigan. And there's this Web archive with fan fiction. Some of it is pretty hot, and you won't even guess what kind of stories she —"
"Leigh," Griffin interrupted. That wasn't the information she wanted. "Found anything to do with her new story?"
"Well, the manuscript or what she has written so far is on her computer, but we already have that. She hasn't written more than a few paragraphs in the last few days," Leigh answered.
Right. Griffin remembered the "unfaithful muse" Marjorie Price had mentioned in her e-mail. At least it would give her some time for her investigation. "Anything else of interest? Don't most writers do some kind of outline that tells them what to write next? Or at least take notes while they do research?"
"Well, if Ms. Price does, she's one of the old-fashioned writers who does it longhand." Derisive disbelief colored Leigh's words. Clearly, Leigh as a computer expert thought this method of data capture was just one step above chiseling words into stone tablets. "There's nothing on her computer that gives us any clue as to where her inside knowledge about us Wrasa is coming from," Leigh said. "If anyone is providing her with information, he or she is not doing it via the Internet. Ms. Price doesn't use chats or instant messaging, just e-mail."
No chat, no IM. I'll have one of our people on the police force check out her phone records. Griffin scratched her chin. "And there's nothing interesting in any of the e-mails?"
"A few e-mails from her mother, who seems worried about her lack of social life; the rest is all somehow connected to her writing — fan mail, feedback from test readers, and exchanges with other authors." She heard Leigh click through a few documents at the other end of the line. "At least now I know where the 'J' in her pseudonym is coming from. She signs all her e-mails to her mother with 'Jorie.' It's a lot cuter than Marjorie; that's for sure."
"And the 'W'?" Griffin asked.
"No idea. Maybe another nickname."
"Hmm. Nothing else?" All that snooping and getting Leigh involved and it had all been in vain?
"I sent you the text of one of the e-mails she sent her agent," Leigh said.
She has an agent? Either being a romance writer paid better than she'd been aware of, or J.W. Price was a
Anger and fierce protectiveness rushed Griffin. She rolled around and got up onto her knees. The plastic of her cell phone crunched as she tightened her fingers around it. Slowly, her Saru training smoothed the rough edges of her anger, and she loosened her grip before she could destroy the fragile internal parts of the cell phone. "Who says they didn't?" she asked, her voice dangerously soft. "It was my mother who didn't want the pride to run her life."
A moment of silence lingered between them.
Let it go, Griffin told herself. Nothing good will come of dwelling on the past. At least Leigh was frank and straightforward, unlike Kylin, who was trying to draw her back into the family with clever cat manipulations. "What did you find on Marjorie Price's computer?" she asked. "And please leave out the detailed step-by-step report of every keystroke you did. I just want the results."
Leigh cleared her throat, not once but twice, taking so long that Griffin was tempted to ask her if she was planning on coughing up a hair ball. "I hacked her e-mail account," Leigh finally said. "And I went through all the files on her hard drive and looked at the Web sites she visits."
"And?" Griffin asked.
"Well, either she's doing research for a very interesting story, or she's a poker-playing, cat-loving sex addict. If she weren't human, I'd ask for an introduction." Leigh chuckled, their earlier fight apparently forgotten.
Forgetting wasn't so easy for Griffin. She was in no mood for joking around. "Leigh..."
"What?" Leigh asked. "She spends a lot of time in online poker rooms, and she has bookmarked a lot of sites about zoology, veterinary medicine, big cats, and casino resorts in Michigan. And there's this Web archive with fan fiction. Some of it is pretty hot, and you won't even guess what kind of stories she —"
"Leigh," Griffin interrupted. That wasn't the information she wanted. "Found anything to do with her new story?"
"Well, the manuscript or what she has written so far is on her computer, but we already have that. She hasn't written more than a few paragraphs in the last few days," Leigh answered.
Right. Griffin remembered the "unfaithful muse" Marjorie Price had mentioned in her e-mail. At least it would give her some time for her investigation. "Anything else of interest? Don't most writers do some kind of outline that tells them what to write next? Or at least take notes while they do research?"
"Well, if Ms. Price does, she's one of the old-fashioned writers who does it longhand." Derisive disbelief colored Leigh's words. Clearly, Leigh as a computer expert thought this method of data capture was just one step above chiseling words into stone tablets. "There's nothing on her computer that gives us any clue as to where her inside knowledge about us Wrasa is coming from," Leigh said. "If anyone is providing her with information, he or she is not doing it via the Internet. Ms. Price doesn't use chats or instant messaging, just e-mail."
No chat, no IM. I'll have one of our people on the police force check out her phone records. Griffin scratched her chin. "And there's nothing interesting in any of the e-mails?"
"A few e-mails from her mother, who seems worried about her lack of social life; the rest is all somehow connected to her writing — fan mail, feedback from test readers, and exchanges with other authors." She heard Leigh click through a few documents at the other end of the line. "At least now I know where the 'J' in her pseudonym is coming from. She signs all her e-mails to her mother with 'Jorie.' It's a lot cuter than Marjorie; that's for sure."
"And the 'W'?" Griffin asked.
"No idea. Maybe another nickname."
"Hmm. Nothing else?" All that snooping and getting Leigh involved and it had all been in vain?
"I sent you the text of one of the e-mails she sent her agent," Leigh said.
She has an agent? Either being a romance writer paid better than she'd been aware of, or J.W. Price was a
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