raising a hand in a good-bye wave.
She returned the salute as she got in, looking for him in the rearview mirror as she pulled away.
“I’m insane. I slept with Paul Jameson. Holy crap.”
She had to call Pam. What was she going to do? Her job…Oh, God, her job. They didn’t want her. They’d left her a voice mail. Didn’t have the decency to tell her in person.
That put things in perspective on the work front, that was for sure.
On the home front, well, it couldn’t be much more of a disaster. Her stomach lurched thinking about the house, the smell of smoke and water, the whole depressing mess. Which reminded her to call Barbara.
“Hi, Barbara, it’s Torie Hagen.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you called. Listen, I discovered a rider on your policy for jewelry and electronics. Did you remember purchasing that?”
Did she? No, but what did that prove?
“Yes, I think so. Does it cover my new laptop I’m going to have to buy?”
“Oh, yes, and several other things, like printers and the other things, the hickeedoos that hook everything up, the wireless parts.”
“And the jewelry? I do remember that.” It covered her grandmother’s earrings and necklace, several antique pieces. Oh, Lord, she hadn’t thought about that. “Oh.” She couldn’t help the gasp that slipped out.
“Ms. Hagen? Torie?”
“Yes, I’m still here. It’s just that, well, there’s been so much, I hadn’t considered the jewelry. My grandmother’s diamonds. They were…”
“Special. I know,” Barbara said, her sympathy evident. “This is the worst sort of thing. Having to catalog these things, give us lists, keep receipts. All that.”
“Oh, the catalog,” Torie brightened. “I have that. On disc in my safety deposit box.”
“You have an inventory?”
“I do. I made it after an attempted robbery a few years ago,” Torie said, then realized she hadn’t put that incident on the list she gave Paul. “I put it in the safety deposit box. The key,” she began. Well, hell. The key was at her office, locked in her desk. “I’ll get the key from my office and get the disc. Should I bring you a copy of the disc or a paper copy?” She would go to the office at the end of the day. She’d call Steve, her boss, and tell him what she needed. He’d understand that much, she hoped.
“Are there pictures?” Barbara said eagerly.
“Yes, and comparable prices for some of the pieces. I’m an engineer, Barbara. We dot the Is and cross the Ts.”
“Well, you’ll be glad of that in this case, especially with the jewelry. It means a quicker payout for you, too, on getting new furniture and so forth, if you can prove what you had.”
“Well, there’s one thing that’s going right. I have to say, it’s about the only thing.”
“I know, dear,” the other woman commiserated. “I’ve seen the news. It must be hideous for you.” For a moment, Torie wondered if the woman was fishing for gossip, but in the next sentence, she disproved the worry. “All the more reason for us to find you a rental house, get you on the road to recovering from this.”
“Thank you. What do I need to do?”
“Contact a real estate agent, someone reputable, and have them set you up with something.” She named a price range that insurance would pay, and then said, “And if I could offer one word of advice?”
“Yes?”
“Buy some new clothes, get what you need there. Start car shopping as well so you’ll have reliable transportation, but don’t overwhelm yourself. Wait to buy furniture. Wait to try and replace the jewelry and dishes and personal items. From everything I’ve seen over the years, if you just give it a little time, it’s a lot better.”
Torie sighed. It was good advice. “Thanks, Barbara. I think I needed to hear that.”
She’d no sooner disconnected the call than her phone rang again. It was Pam, calling from home. Pam had said she had a client presentation today. Her design business was so popular, so sought after, the days were often so full for Pam that she barely ate lunch, much less had time to talk on the phone.
“Hey, girl,” she tried to sound cheerful. “What’s up.”
Pam’s answer was a sob.
“It’s Dev.”
“What happened?” Paul was in full battle mode by the time he reached his office. “And when?”
“Yesterday sometime, in the evening they think,” Martha said as she rose. “Detective Tibbet is here with the cybercrimes officer, a Detective Johnson. They’re in the computer center.”
“Jameson,” Tibbet greeted him as he walked into the center. The other detective was seated at one of the programmer’s stations, her hands flying over the keyboard. “Where’s Ms. Hagen?”
“Trying to piece her life back together,” he said bluntly. “She’s being watched over, and the press are off on another trail, so I think she’s okay for the moment.”
“Yeah.” Tibbet grimaced. “The courthouse shootings. Miracle nobody died. I guess that’s more interesting than a car blowing up and some guys getting hurt.”
