Read Online Touch-Me-Not by Cynthia Riggs - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cynthia Riggs
Ads: Link
trace.”
“Where on earth did you learn that?”
“I get around.” Victoria laced her hands on the top of her lilac-wood stick. “We need to talk. Three women in the knitters’ group are getting unwanted calls.”
“Three? Who’s the third?” asked Casey.
“Alyssa Adams.”
“The EMT?”
“Yes.”
“The guy’s not threatening them, is he?”
“Mostly heavy breathing. Occasional obscenities.”
Casey swiveled in her chair. “It’s distressing for the women, I know, but unless they’re getting threats, we can’t do anything. Even with overt threats, there’s not a lot we can do.” Casey stood up. “Let’s make our rounds, Victoria. Too nice a day to be inside worrying about stuff we can’t do anything about.”
“Can’t calls be traced somehow?”
“Every cell phone has a way of being identified for billing purposes,” said Casey. “But with disposable phones, you buy cards with minutes on them that the phone itself deducts. Can’t be traced.”
“Aren’t the calls relayed by a cell tower?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Casey. “I guess so.”
“That means we can locate the caller,” said Victoria.
“ ‘We,’ Victoria? Hardly. You’re talking about an entire army of technicians,” said Casey. “Before you get any more bright ideas, let’s get out of here.”
LeRoy opened a can of Mountain Dew from his cooler, rinsed his mouth with it, and spat it out onto the ground. Still feeling grungy, he drove to the ferry terminal and went into the men’s room, where he cleaned himself up.
The woman at the ticket counter who always looked cheerful and always had a great smile, greeted him. “Morning, Mr. Watts. Going to be a beautiful day. Can I help you?”
LeRoy attempted a smile in return. “I’m trying to remember Beany’s last name.”
“That’s funny. I just know him as Beany. Wait a sec.” She turned away from the ticket window and called out to another ticket seller. “Mike, what’s Beany’s name?”
“Albion. He’s a Fereira. Lives in Edgartown.”
“Oh, sure,” said LeRoy, not being sure at all. “I’ve done some work for them. Thanks.”
“No problem, Mr. Watts. Have a great day!”
“Thanks,” mumbled LeRoy. “Same to you.”
Back in his van, he started to page through the Island directory he kept in the glove compartment, when he remembered he’d promised to repair Victoria Trumbull’s upstairs outlet. He scribbled a note to himself to call her. First, though, he looked up Fereira in the phone book. He found listings in the directory for a dozen Fereiras. Four in Edgartown. No Albion.
He considered going back to the ticket office, and decided against making too big a deal out of trying to locate Beany. He took out his cell phone and punched in the number for the first Fereira in Edgartown.
“Beany? You want Irma, his mother,” said the woman, and gave him the number. “He in trouble again?”
“No, ma’am,” said LeRoy. “At least not that I know of. Thanks for the help.”
He checked the number in the directory, found a listing on Pine Street, and dialed.
“Beany’s my son. Haven’t seen him for a while.”
“Does he have a new computer?”
“No idea. Why?”
“He stopped by my shop on Friday, complaining about something one of my employees sold him. I was wondering if it happened to be a computer.”
“Want him to call you if he shows up?”
“I’m close by,” said LeRoy, thinking he could cover the eight miles to Edgartown in fifteen minutes. “Mind if I stop in and take a look?”
“Well,” said Irma. “I guess that’s all right. You know where I live?”
“Yes, ma’am. I believe I did some electrical work for you a couple of years ago.”
“Oh, sure, I remember you, I think.”
LeRoy closed his phone and headed toward Edgartown.
He made the trip in fifteen minutes and parked in front of the Fereira house. An Island car was out front, a green Citation held together with duct tape. The rear window was a
“Where on earth did you learn that?”
“I get around.” Victoria laced her hands on the top of her lilac-wood stick. “We need to talk. Three women in the knitters’ group are getting unwanted calls.”
“Three? Who’s the third?” asked Casey.
“Alyssa Adams.”
“The EMT?”
“Yes.”
“The guy’s not threatening them, is he?”
“Mostly heavy breathing. Occasional obscenities.”
Casey swiveled in her chair. “It’s distressing for the women, I know, but unless they’re getting threats, we can’t do anything. Even with overt threats, there’s not a lot we can do.” Casey stood up. “Let’s make our rounds, Victoria. Too nice a day to be inside worrying about stuff we can’t do anything about.”
“Can’t calls be traced somehow?”
“Every cell phone has a way of being identified for billing purposes,” said Casey. “But with disposable phones, you buy cards with minutes on them that the phone itself deducts. Can’t be traced.”
“Aren’t the calls relayed by a cell tower?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Casey. “I guess so.”
“That means we can locate the caller,” said Victoria.
“ ‘We,’ Victoria? Hardly. You’re talking about an entire army of technicians,” said Casey. “Before you get any more bright ideas, let’s get out of here.”
LeRoy opened a can of Mountain Dew from his cooler, rinsed his mouth with it, and spat it out onto the ground. Still feeling grungy, he drove to the ferry terminal and went into the men’s room, where he cleaned himself up.
The woman at the ticket counter who always looked cheerful and always had a great smile, greeted him. “Morning, Mr. Watts. Going to be a beautiful day. Can I help you?”
LeRoy attempted a smile in return. “I’m trying to remember Beany’s last name.”
“That’s funny. I just know him as Beany. Wait a sec.” She turned away from the ticket window and called out to another ticket seller. “Mike, what’s Beany’s name?”
“Albion. He’s a Fereira. Lives in Edgartown.”
“Oh, sure,” said LeRoy, not being sure at all. “I’ve done some work for them. Thanks.”
“No problem, Mr. Watts. Have a great day!”
“Thanks,” mumbled LeRoy. “Same to you.”
Back in his van, he started to page through the Island directory he kept in the glove compartment, when he remembered he’d promised to repair Victoria Trumbull’s upstairs outlet. He scribbled a note to himself to call her. First, though, he looked up Fereira in the phone book. He found listings in the directory for a dozen Fereiras. Four in Edgartown. No Albion.
He considered going back to the ticket office, and decided against making too big a deal out of trying to locate Beany. He took out his cell phone and punched in the number for the first Fereira in Edgartown.
“Beany? You want Irma, his mother,” said the woman, and gave him the number. “He in trouble again?”
“No, ma’am,” said LeRoy. “At least not that I know of. Thanks for the help.”
He checked the number in the directory, found a listing on Pine Street, and dialed.
“Beany’s my son. Haven’t seen him for a while.”
“Does he have a new computer?”
“No idea. Why?”
“He stopped by my shop on Friday, complaining about something one of my employees sold him. I was wondering if it happened to be a computer.”
“Want him to call you if he shows up?”
“I’m close by,” said LeRoy, thinking he could cover the eight miles to Edgartown in fifteen minutes. “Mind if I stop in and take a look?”
“Well,” said Irma. “I guess that’s all right. You know where I live?”
“Yes, ma’am. I believe I did some electrical work for you a couple of years ago.”
“Oh, sure, I remember you, I think.”
LeRoy closed his phone and headed toward Edgartown.
He made the trip in fifteen minutes and parked in front of the Fereira house. An Island car was out front, a green Citation held together with duct tape. The rear window was a
Similar Books
