Cold Case

Spike Spanner gave a snort of laughter. “I can answer that one. Hey — look at what happens to anyone who even mentions the damned case?”

Megan O’Malley held the door while Leif Anderson stood in the entryway to her house, trying to stamp off the snow sticking to his low boots. They were ankle height, but dressy — the fine leather was already soaked.

“I thought Washington had mild winters. The Brits used to classify their embassy here as subtropical.”

“About every fifteen years we get a serious snow-storm.” Megan shrugged. “Count your blessings. They’re facing a real blizzard up in New York.”

“Yeah, but back home, I’ve got the clothes to deal with this.” The snow was gone now, but his shoes squelched as he stamped on the welcome mat.

“Just take ’em off,” Megan finally said. “We’ll try stuffing them with something and putting them on a heat vent to dry them off.” She looked Leif in the eye. “I suppose I should be flattered that you’d brave this weather to come and see me.”

“Actually, it’s your folks I need to see — or rather, their library.”

Now Megan really gave him a look. “I wonder if you’ve heard of this wonderful thing called the Net. You can check out whole libraries and even buy books without leaving your house. It beats turning blue at the edges and ruining a pair of shoes.”

“I’d rather not advertise what I’m interested in,” Leif replied. “But I figure, between your parents’ books and yours, you might have some of the stuff here I’m looking for.”

“Well, you can ask my folks,” Megan said. “They’re both home. Some people have enough sense to stay out of the snow.”

Megan’s mom was a freelancer for The Washington Post, while her dad was a mystery author. Both worked out of the house — even if sometimes “work” seemed to mean frowning at the displays of the stories they were writing.

Robert Fitzgerald O’Malley seemed glad for the interruption as the kids came into his office. “Leif!” He exclaimed, turning in surprise. “What brings you out in weather like — whoops!”

His sudden movement dislodged a teetering pile of books on the table next to him. Megan and Leif helped him retrieve the fallen volumes. She wound up holding books titled The Dictionary of Imaginary Places and Modern Metallurgy. Leif had True Crimes of the Twentieth Century and The Living Sword. He held the last book up, staring at the cover. “Aldo Nadi’s autobiography!”

“That’s right,” Megan’s dad said, “you’re a fencer.”

“Not in that guy’s class.” Leif added his books to the new pile Megan was creating on the table. “I can’t figure how all this stuff comes together — but then I never expected the way you worked out Morte Siciliano, either.”

“You read it?” The novelist beamed, almost as proud of his books as he was of his children.

“Leif wants to do a little digging in the library,” Megan said.

“Certainly,” her father said.

Megan grinned. Anything for a reader of R. F. O’Malley, she thought.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” her father asked.

“Biographies, I suppose.” Leif pointed to the true crime book in the pile. “And maybe a little of that.”

“I got that from Julie. It sounds more like the journalist’s side of the stacks.” Megan’s dad rose from his chair. “Let’s go and ask.”

Megan generally tried to stay away from her folks while they were working. The little house was noisy enough, thanks to her brothers. Luckily, Mike was off doing research, and Rory, Paul, and Sean were out investigating the exotic phenomenon of snow in D.C.

Julie O’Malley, Megan’s mom, had apparently reached a good stopping point in her story when Megan, her dad, and Leif came into the living room. “Biographies?” she said when Dad passed along Leif’s request. “Most of them are over here.”

“I’m especially looking for anything about the Callivant family,” Leif said.

Megan gave him a look. What was this all about? He takes one look at a girl who insults him, and all of a sudden he’s digging into her family tree?

“We’ve got a couple of books—Lost Promise, about Steve, Will, and Martin.” Mom made a face. “That was family-authorized, so there are lots of interviews, but it’s also something of a puff piece for the Callivants.”

She went to the shelf and chose a book. “America’s Anointed has a lot of stuff about the Callivants, and it’s much more balanced. There’s a story about Will Callivant’s daughter—”

Leif nodded. “The one who got involved in that weird spring break incident with those guys. She’s been in a private sanitarium ever since.”

Julie O’Malley nodded grimly. “You know that one? While life has been hard on the Callivant men, the family curse seems to be just as hard on the female members of the clan.”

Leif dug a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I was wondering if you had A Death in Haddington, by Simon Herzen.”

Megan stared at the rude noise her mother made. “That piece of…writing?” Julie O’Malley shook her head. “I was in journalism school when that came out. The buzz about the book was tremendous. Everyone said Si Herzen was going to blow the top off a big cover-up.”

Leif leaned forward eagerly. “And?”

“Then it hit the stands and sank without a trace. I read it. Herzen had done a clip job, more or less cutting and pasting what the media had printed and broadcast about the Hadding case. The book stank, but we never knew why. Maybe the publisher’s lawyers got into the act, or the Callivants got to Herzen or the publishing company.” Megan’s mom looked disgusted. “I wouldn’t give that book house room.”

The library shelves did yield a few other volumes about the Callivants. A couple were pretty old. One had a couple of chapters on Priscilla Hadding’s death.

Leif thanked Megan’s mom. Then Megan led him into the kitchen to get some plastic bags to wrap up the books.

As soon as they were alone, Megan folded her arms and stood in Leif’s path. “You’re up to something. What’s all this about the Callivants?”

“It’s for Matt,” Leif said. “He’s in trouble, and the Callivants may be the cause of it.”

Megan listened to the story of how Matt’s mystery sim had spiraled out of control. “I guess we should be glad we didn’t get into this world to play,” she finally said. “What’s he going to do?”

Leif shrugged. “Right now he’s just watching the clock tick away.”

While Megan worked to make a good, waterproof package, her mother came back in. “Here are your shoes, Leif, but I think you’d be better off with a pair of Rory’s boots.”

She looked worriedly out of the kitchen window. “The snow has stopped, but now we’re getting freezing rain.” A car went skidding by on the street. “Snow’s bad enough in this town, but this may even be worse.”

Matt hadn’t even gone out of his house. He’d sat in the kitchen, explaining things to his parents…and watching the clock move ever closer to Ed Saunders’s deadline. How long would it take the Callivants’ lawyers to start badgering him and his parents?

Matt’s father was obviously thinking the same thing — and worrying about it. “I just don’t understand,” he said for what had to be the fiftieth time. “How could you sign an agreement like that?”

“It’s fairly standard, Dad. Don’t you read the fine print whenever you load in a new program?” Matt said gloomily. “It’s just never been an issue in any of the programs I’ve used.”

“I find it hard to believe that giving away those kinds of rights would be standard,” Gordon Hunter said.

Matt’s mom called to them from the living room. They came in to find her standing in front of the computer console. Some sort of document, much enlarged, floated before her in holographic display. “I’ve been calling up the agreements for various sims we’ve used,” she said. “Look here.”

“That’s my tennis game,” Matt’s father said, looking at the heading of the display.

“Read this bit of fine print.”

Word for word, it was the same as the clause in the agreement Matt had signed, giving the sim operator the right, if necessary, to reveal the identities of all participants.