manage that?'
'He's with the company that's putting out a pirated version of CraftWorks.'
'Nonsense,' Benson said. 'I admit, we've put out our own craft-istration software product. Nothing wrong with a little honest competition.'
'Honest competition?' Tad shouted. 'You took a copy of my software, changed the graphics slightly, and now you're selling it as if you programmed it. Maybe that's what you call honest competition; I call it software piracy!'
'The two programs perform similar functions,' Benson said, apparently unruffled. 'Naturally there is a certain similarity between the two. A case of parallel development.'
'You stole it, outright; and I'll prove it in court,' Tad said.
Benson shrugged.
'You can try, of course,' he said. 'But you'll be wasting your time… and a great deal of money,' he added, with an unpleasant and patently phony smile. 'Particularly if you persist in publicly defaming our corporate name.'
'Go ahead,' Tad hissed. 'Smirk all you like. But you'll see; I'm not going to take this lying down. And you,' he said, turning to Rob. 'Don't you let him have your software. Oh, he'll make a lot of promises about how much he's going to pay you, but you won't see a dime. The minute you let him have a copy, you might as well kiss it good-bye. I'm not the only one he's done this to; ask around.'
With that, he strode off in a cloud of flapping lace and dreadlocks. Benson shrugged.
'So, Rob,' he said. 'As we were saying…'
Rob looked stunned. I had a bad feeling about this. I elbowed the watchman.
'Go make sure he isn't pilfering, too,' I ordered.
He lumbered over to interrogate Benson, and I pulled Rob aside.
'What's going on, anyway?' I asked.
'I have no idea,' Rob said, looking wild-eyed. 'Mr. Benson and I were just talking when Tad ran in, shouting. Do you think there's anything to it?'
I hesitated. Tad was not only a brilliant programmer and systems engineer, he was also a very canny businessman. Companies lined up to pay the seemingly exorbitant fees he charged to build or fix systems. If he thought the man was a software pirate….
On the other hand, in the six months I'd known him, I'd seen Tad get hot under the collar more than once about things that later turned out to be honest misunderstandings or even rumors. He always apologized so charmingly that most people forgave him. What if this was one of those times, and what if Benson was the unforgiving type? We couldn't let Tad spoil Rob's chance of making a good sale.
'Just be nice to Benson until I can find out more,' I said. 'You don't want to alienate him, but if there's any chance Tad is right, we need to know.'
'But Meg,' Rob said. 'He's expecting me to turn over the software for them to study. I was going to give him a copy today.'
He opened his coat and pulled something from the inside pocket – yet another small, square, paper envelope with an iridescent CD-ROM gleaming through its round, cellophane window.
'Give it to me,' I said, grabbing the envelope.
'Meg, I know it's an anachronism; I didn't have it out.'
'I'll take care of it,' I said, shoving it into my haversack. 'When Benson asks for it, just tell him you don't have it with you, but you know where it is. That's true, right? I'll give it back when I'm sure he's okay – or let you know when I'm sure he's a crook.'
'He won't like that,' Rob said.
'Blame me if you like,' I told him. 'I don't give a damn.'
'Okay.' He looked relieved.
'But stall as long as possible before you tell him,' I said.
'Right.'
I rejoined Michael, and Rob ambled back to Benson, who seemed to be telling something remarkably funny to the watchman. Both were laughing and slapping their knees.
'What's so funny?' I asked Michael.
'Nothing that I can see,' he said, with a shrug. 'The versatile Mr. Benson appears to be rapidly acquiring a slight southern drawl.'
'Hmph,' I said. 'I never trust people who do accents that easily.'
'Gee, thanks.'
'Oh, it's all right for you,' I said. 'You're an actor.'
'And therefore allowed to be linguistically promiscuous?'
'Well, I wouldn't put it that way,' I said, smiling in spite of myself. 'But yes; it's what you're supposed to do, but I don't trust people who do that kind of chameleon act in real life. They're either very impressionable or very calculating. Guess what I'm putting my money on.'
We watched as Benson shook hands with die watchman, then flung his arm around Rob's shoulder, and led him off.
'Come on,' I said. 'We have to see Faulk now. He needs to know about this.'
'For heaven's sake, why?' Michael said, his exasperated tone returning as he followed me down die lane toward Faulk's booth.
'Faulk and Tad have been living together for the last year or so,' I said. 'That's why he came back from California. I like Tad well enough, but he can be a bit of a hothead, so if he's running around shouting threats, Faulk should know. And for that matter, Faulk doesn't lose his temper easily, but when he does – well, I want to make sure he hears about the whole mess from someone calm enough to not make it sound like more than it is. He tends to be a little overprotective of Tad. We don't want either of them messing up your mother's big event do we? And – Michael?'
He had stopped in the middle of the lane.
'Living together?' he said. 'As in living together? I mean – Faulk's gay?'
'Is that a problem?' I asked, putting my hands on my hips.
'Of course not,' he said, 'It's just that… well, I didn't realize….'
'That you've been having fits of jealousy over Faulk for absolutely no good reason?'
He shrugged, rather sheepishly.
'Come on,' I said. 'We need to talk to Faulk.'
'So, I guess he's in the closet?' Michael said, as we turned into the lane where Faulk's booth stood.
'Not really,' I said. 'But he tries to keep a low profile; his family's very prominent – First Families of Virginia and all that – and a bit conservative. You can't imagine how upset they were when he first brought Tad home to meet them.'
'Because Tad's black, or because he's gay?' Michael asked.
'Yes,' I said. 'Hard to say which upset them most. His father, anyway; his mother's so glad to have him back in Virginia that she doesn't really care, from what I heard.'
'Hard to believe there's still that much prejudice around,' Michael said, shaking his head.
'They've had a tough time,' I said, hoping sympathy for Faulk and Tad would crowd out any remaining resentment. 'Ah, here's the booth.'
Faulk had a flashier booth than mine, more like an art nouveau wrought-iron gazebo, really, and cleverly designed to show off his ironwork as much as possible. You could assemble and disassemble it quickly with a few basic tools; it packed down into a surprisingly small space; and though it looked airy and delicate, I'd seen it weather high winds that had overturned far more solid and sturdy-looking booths. And, to my amazement, he'd
