Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
T he next morning, Helen’s heart pounded as she and Mel waited in the hallway, positioned near the ice machine where they could observe Abramson’s door without being obvious. After tracking the cleaning lady’s movements, they calculated that she should arrive any minute. Despite the early hour, sweat beaded on Helen’s forehead in the humid Hawaiian air.
“Remember,” Mel whispered, her hand finding Helen’s in a reassuring squeeze. “Stay calm and move with purpose. People rarely question someone who looks like they belong.”
Nodding, Helen fought the urge to fidget with the hem of the sleeve of her resort-wear cover-up. The key from Abramson’s wallet felt impossibly heavy in her pocket. “What if she recognizes me? We’ve been here almost a week.”
“She won’t,” Mel assured her. “These resorts have high turnover, and the cleaning staff rarely pays attention to guests’ faces.”
“Okay,” was all Helen could muster. The sound of wheels on tile made them both tense. A cleaning cart appeared around the corner, pushed by a middle-aged woman in the resort’s white and tan uniform. She moved with the efficient manner of someone who had done this job many times, barely glancing at them as she passed. Helen watched as the woman used her master key to open Abramson’s apartment door, leaving it slightly ajar, as she prepared to go inside. This was it. The moment they’d been planning since finding the key.
“Ready?” Mel asked softly.
“No,” Helen said. “But let’s do it anyway.” Mel squeezed her hand once more before moving toward Abramson’s door. Helen hung back, waiting for her cue.
She heard Mel’s voice, pitched perfectly to sound like a concerned guest. “Excuse me? I’m so sorry to bother you, but I think there might be a problem with the towels in my room...”
Helen counted to ten, giving Mel time to draw the cleaning lady into conversation and away from the door. Then, moving as naturally as possible, she hurried to the door and slipped inside. The cleaning cart blocked part of the entryway, forcing Helen to squeeze past it carefully. The apartment felt different in daylight, less mysterious than last night but somehow more forbidden. Moving to the office, she heard Mel’s voice echoing from the hallway, asking detailed questions about the resort’s laundry service. The cleaning lady’s responses grew increasingly confused as Mel continued her distraction. Helen moved quickly to Abramson’s desk, her hands shaking slightly as she pulled the key from her pocket. The laptop was still missing. Helen inserted the key into the locked drawer, holding her breath as she turned it. The mechanism clicked softly, and the drawer slid open.
Inside, amid a scatter of paper clips and rubber bands, sat a small black thumb drive. Helen’s fingers closed around it just as she heard movement from the hallway. The cleaning lady’s voice was getting closer. Heart racing, Helen slipped the thumb drive into her pocket just as footsteps approached the office doorway. “...need to get back to work now,” the cleaning lady was saying.
Helen looked around frantically, not daring to take time to relock the drawer. The bathroom was too far, and the closet would be suspicious if the woman needed to clean it. The sliding glass door caught her eye. The small balcony was just wide enough to leave some space between the railing and the window. Without allowing herself to think about it, Helen moved swiftly to the door and slipped outside, pressing her back against the wall. Glancing over her shoulder through the glass, she could see through the bedroom turned office’s open doorway the cleaning lady walking with fresh towels. Mel’s voice drifted from the hallway, making one final attempt at distraction. “Oh, just one more question...” For a minute, the cleaning lady was out of view and then she entered the office. Helen could only hope the woman would realize there wasn’t anything to do in the room as her legs trembled from the tension of standing perfectly still. A bead of sweat rolled down her back. She didn’t dare move to wipe it away.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably fifteen minutes, Helen faintly heard the apartment door close. Still, Helen waited another full minute before carefully sliding the balcony door open and slipping back inside. She moved quickly through the apartment, pausing at the main door as she hoped her luck would hold and the cleaning lady wouldn’t be standing in the hallway. Taking a deep breath, she slipped out, relieved to find only the cleaning service cart in the hall. Her heart was still racing as she walked as calmly as possible toward their apartment. Mel was already there, waiting by their door. Once inside, Helen’s legs gave out, and she sank onto the couch.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” she whispered, though there was no need for quiet now.
Mel sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You were amazing,” she said softly. “Did you find anything?”
Helen reached into her pocket with still trembling fingers and pulled out the thumb drive. “This was in the drawer. Nothing else seemed important.”
Mel took the small device, examining it carefully. “No labels, no identifying marks. Could be nothing...”
“Or could be everything,” Helen finished. She leaned into Mel’s embrace, letting her racing heart slowly return to normal. “Now what?”
“Now we need to find somewhere to look at what’s on it,” Mel said. “And fast.”
* * *
Mel turned the thumb drive over in her fingers. “We need somewhere with computers we can use,” she said. “Somewhere public but private enough that no one can see the screen.” She thought for a moment. “There’s that little internet café and bookstore we passed yesterday. I think they would have something we could rent time on.”
Helen smiled weakly. “That could work. We should go now, before...” She trailed off, but Mel understood. Before someone realized what they’d taken. Before whoever had attacked Abramson discovered someone had potentially crucial evidence.
She slipped the thumb drive into her pocket. “You’re right,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“I want to change first,” Helen said, standing on slightly steadier legs. “These clothes smell like fear and adrenaline.”
Mel nodded. “All right,” she said. “You did really well. I think you’re getting good at this.”
“I had a good teacher,” Helen replied, then paused on her way to the bedroom. “Mel? Thank you for trusting me to do this part.”
“Of course I trust you,” Mel said simply. “You’re the bravest person I know.” As Helen disappeared into the bedroom, Mel felt anxiety churn in her stomach. Whatever was on that thumb drive, they had to know. She tried not to think about how far they’d come from their planned peaceful vacation.
Helen reappeared in a fresh sundress. “Ready?” Mel asked.
Helen nodded, picking up her oversized purse. “Ready,” she said firmly. “Should I bring my tablet?”
After thinking for a beat, Mel nodded. “We never know what we might need.”
“Okay,” Helen said, slipping the device into her purse. “And Mel, another thing. The next time we want to play detective on vacation, maybe we could pick something less stressful? Like missing seashells or stolen beach towels?”
Mel couldn’t help but laugh as she opened their door. “Where would be the fun in that?”
The internet café was quiet for mid-morning, with only a few tourists scattered among the tables. Mel guided Helen toward a corner table with a computer terminal on it. “I’ll find out how to rent this thing and get us some coffee,” Mel said, pulling the thumb drive from her pocket. “You get settled and maybe take a preliminary look if it will let you?” Helen nodded, taking the thumb drive. Mel watched her partner for a moment, struck by how naturally Helen had adapted to their impromptu investigation. Once a middle school teacher and now a successful author, Helen’s hands were steady as she focused on the computer, and all traces of her earlier nervousness were gone.
At the counter, Mel waited anxiously. Finally a young woman joined her. “What can I get you, ma’am?”
“We need to use that computer for a few minutes,” she answered, pointing to where Helen sat engrossed in the screen. “And a plain black coffee and a vanilla latte.”
The young woman nodded. “No problem,” she said. “Those are public workstations. No password, but we charge seven dollars an hour.”
“Perfect,” Mel said, taking out her wallet to pay. “We won’t need more than an hour.” The barista worked with practiced efficiency, giving Mel time to scan the other customers. A young couple absorbed in their phones, a businessman working at a different computer near the entrance, a woman typing on her laptop. Nothing suspicious, but Mel had learned long ago that danger often wore the most innocent faces.
“Here you go,” the barista said, sliding their drinks across the counter. “Anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Mel replied, gathering the cups. As she walked back to their table, she noticed Helen’s expression had changed. “What is it?”
Helen waited until Mel was seated before answering, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a large document,” she said. “And some video files, but I haven’t opened those yet.”
Mel set their drinks down carefully, positioning herself so she could see the computer screen. “What kind of document?”
“It looks like a novel,” Helen scrolled through the document. “No, more like an exposé. About sports.”
Mel took a sip of her coffee. “That tracks with what we learned about Abramson’s background. Can you tell what it’s about specifically?”
She heard Helen suck in a breath. “Game fixing,” she said quietly, her eyes moving rapidly across the screen. “But not just at the college level. This goes all the way to the pros.” She paused on a particular page. “Mel, these are serious allegations. With names, dates, specific games...”
Mel felt her pulse quicken. If Abramson had proof of games being fixed, it would explain a lot about recent events. The kind of money involved in professional sports could make people do desperate things.
* * *
“What about the video files?” Mel asked, and Helen turned down the computer’s volume to almost nothing and held her breath as she tapped one. They both leaned closer to hear. The video showed a darkened room, with someone speaking from off-camera. Although very faint, Helen could tell the voice was digitally altered, but the content was clear. It was a confession of how certain games had been manipulated. Mel whistled softly “Well, that would certainly explain why someone wanted to stop this story from coming out.”
A server approached their table, and they quickly closed the video file. “Can I get you ladies anything else?” she asked cheerfully.
“No, thank you,” Helen replied with a smile that almost hid her tension. Once the server moved away, Helen leaned closer to Mel. “What do we do with this?” The information they had found was explosive, the kind that could destroy careers and possibly entire organizations. No wonder someone had been willing to resort to violence.
“First,” Mel said, taking another careful look around the coffee shop. “We need to read more of this. Can you make a copy? And save it someplace you can reach with your tablet?
Helen nodded, already logging in to her secure Dropbox account. “And then?”
“And then we need to figure out who to trust with this information,” Mel said while Helen started the copying process. “Someone who can’t be bought off or intimidated.”
As Helen watched the progress bar slowly advance, she couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly life could change. A week ago, her biggest concern had been whether she would be brave enough to try snorkeling. Now here she was, uploading stolen evidence about sports gambling corruption in a Hawaiian internet café. The air conditioning hummed steadily overhead, almost but not quite masking the soothing music playing through the store’s speakers. A few other customers came and went, their flip-flops squeaking against the polished tile floors.
“Almost done,” Helen murmured, watching as the final video file uploaded to the secure cloud storage she had created. Her hands were steady now, though her heart still raced whenever she thought about their morning’s activities. “Should we make physical copies too?”
After a beat, Mel shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “That might be too hard to keep hidden if anyone comes asking questions.”
Mel’s answer worried Helen. If she thought they needed to be this careful, the situation was probably more dangerous than Helen had initially realized. The thought made her stomach tighten, but she pushed the anxiety aside. They were committed now.
“There,” Helen said as the final upload was completed. “Everything’s backed up.” She carefully ejected the thumb drive, slipping it into her purse. “What next?”
“Now we need to read through that document properly,” Mel said. “Figure out exactly who might have the most to lose if this gets published.”
Helen stood, gathering their things. “Back to the apartment?”
Scratching the back of her neck, Mel was quiet for a moment. “Let’s not go there yet. I just don’t know who, if anyone, might be watching it. I need some time to think as well as read this.”
The gravity of their situation hit Helen anew. They weren’t just playing at being detectives anymore. This was real, with potentially dangerous consequences. “The library then?” she suggested. “I would imagine the one we passed yesterday has private study rooms.”
Mel’s face lit up with that smile that still made Helen’s heart skip. “This is another reason why I love you,” she said softly. “Always thinking of the perfect solution.”
The library was cool and quiet when they entered. Helen felt some of her tension ease in the familiar environment. Taking her students to the library was one of her favorite activities. Libraries she understood. She loved the hushed atmosphere, the orderly shelves, and the sense of knowledge waiting to be discovered. She led them to the reference desk, where a librarian sat typing on a computer. “Excuse me,” Helen said, slipping easily into her former professional manner. “We’d like to use one of the private study rooms, please.”
The librarian smiled, reaching for a sign-out sheet. “Of course. How long do you think you’ll need it?”
“A couple of hours?” Helen glanced at Mel, who nodded.
“Room four is available,” the librarian said, handing them a key. “Just return it when you’re finished.” The study room was small but well-lit, with a table, four chairs, and no windows. Helen set up her tablet and logged into Dropbox. It was time to start getting to the bottom of things.