Chapter 20 Hughes
HUGHES
I’d rather be kissing Willow, but I have a case to solve. Seeing her hauled off to jail lit something in me. They aren’t going to take my girl away from me.
Mine? Yeah.
And someone clearly was trying to frame her with this murder. Did the murderer lure Taylor Grace to the shop to shoot her? I would bet money on it. As it is, I’m betting my freedom and professional reputation on it.
I spent all night modifying a code I wrote a couple of years ago to crack into a phone.
And it’s finally ready to go. First, I test it on an iPhone of a similar make and model.
Now, I’m going to crack Taylor Grace’s cell phone.
I hum with satisfaction. It isn’t supposed to be possible.
But I’ve made a pretty good living out of doing impossible things with computers.
I plug in Taylor Grace’s phone and run the code. While my hard drive churns, I stand to pace around the open kitchen and living area of the carriage house.
Willow is coming here tonight. I need to make everything perfect.
The door flies open.
“Nana, you can’t just barge in here. What if Willow were here?”
“I’ve been watching the house. I know you don’t have a woman in here.” She bustles in, carrying a big basket.
“Her granny and I put our heads together.” She hands me the box of condoms. “Now go try one of these on.”
“I have my own condoms.” I hand them back to her.
She glares at me. “I don’t need you to mess this up for me and Willow’s granny.
We’ve got a lot invested in this relationship.
And now that Taylor Grace has gone to the great tanning salon in the sky, Willow should be all mentally freed up to date you.
You can’t blow it tonight. You want to give her the D. Don’t give her the L.”
“I really don’t want to have this conversation with you, ever.”
“It’s a public service.” She pulls a dildo out of the basket.
“This is what Willow’s grandmother got her last year, so she should be very familiar, in case you can’t, you know…” She makes a noise like air getting let out of a balloon.
“I really don’t think I’ll have a problem, but I’m sure Willow’s going to love this curated sex toy collection from a close family member.”
Nana beams. “Tell her she’s very welcome.”
I stuff the basket under the sink in the bathroom, making a mental note to retrieve it before any new Airbnb guests come.
Then, I stare at my murder wall and add the printout of Lydia and her husband. It’s always a loved one, right? Or the person one would most suspect. Willow does have a lot to gain from this murder.
“Shut up,” I tell the ceiling. It’s the wannabe PI in me. But I’m evolving. I wear a puffer jacket now. Maybe I’ll start getting into woodworking or meat smoking.
I probably should put a photo of Nana and Beryl on the board, but if my granny is a murderer, I really do not want to know.
I check Taylor Grace’s phone. The code is running and will run for a while longer as it works to break into the iPhone.
I lay back on the couch and try to think through the murder.
I really need a permanent workspace. There’s shared office space available in the city, but maybe I should buy a house—after the Christmas season is over, of course. I wonder what kind of house Willow would like. I scroll through Zillow.
There’s a nice Victorian with a big yard and a carriage house out back. Probably would be a great yard for kids—nice and flat. Kids. With Willow. Yeah, that would be nice.
The phone beeps. Done already? I get a high when one of my codes works. But breaking into an iPhone?
“Man, I’m good,” I crow when I see the phone’s contents splayed out on the screen in front of me.
I type another command, then the phone is copied onto my hard drive.
“And we make an extra copy because you can’t have too many backups. Done.” I carefully wipe down the phone for fingerprints and wrap it in a tissue.
I can’t have the phone on me. I’ll dump it in the Christmas market and let some tourist turn it in to the cops. I don the trench coat to venture out. I’m dumping evidence of a murder, after all. I have to look the part.
It’s a little warmer in the market with all the tourists packed in and the various fires going. The smell of smoke, roasted chestnuts, and spiced wine fills the air.
I’ve left my phone at the carriage house so it can’t track me as I make my way through the market to a more remote area.
I work my fingers into the pocket of my trench coat—the pocket that I’ve cut—and push the phone through while I’m walking by a stall, pretending like I’m shopping for my holiday sweetheart. The phone thunks into the snow with barely a sound. Done. Now it’s time to find Willow.
I turn a corner, thinking I can take a shortcut back to the carriage house. Then, suddenly, I’m in a dark part of the market. The temperature drops, and I pull my trench coat around me, hunching my shoulders.
Over the whistling of the wind, I faintly hear someone cry, “Help!”