Cruel and Unusual - Cornwell Patricia (читать книги без регистрации полные .txt) 📗

“The who part is easy unless the violator is dialing in by modem from the outside.”

“But the note was sent to someone in my office - to a device in my office.”

“That doesn't mean that an insider didn't get someone from the outside to break in, Aunt Kay. Maybe the person snooping doesn't know anything about UNIX and needed help to break into your directory, so they got a programmer from the outside.”

“This is serious,” I said.

“It could be. If nothing else, it sounds to me like your system isn't very secure.”

“When's your term paper due?” I asked.

“After the holidays.”

“Are you finished?”

“Almost.”

“When does Christmas vacation start?”

“It starts Monday.”

“How would you like to come up here for a few days and help me out with this?” I asked.

“You're kidding.”

“I'm very serious. But don't expect much. I generally don't bother with much in the way of decorations. A few poinsettias and candles in the windows. Now, I will cook.”

“No tree?”

“Is that a problem?”

“I guess not. Is it snowing?”

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

“I've never seen snow. Not in person.”

“You'd better let me talk to your mother,” I said.

Dorothy, my only sibling, was overly solicitous when she got on the phone several minutes later.

“Are you still working so hard? Kay. You work harder than anyone I've ever met. People are so impressed when I tell them we're sisters. What's the weather like in Richmond?”

“There's a good chance we'll have a white Christmas.”

“How special. Lucy ought to see a white Christmas at least once in her life. I've never seen one. Well, I take that back. There was the Christmas I went skiing out west with Bradley.”

I could not remember who Bradley was. My younger sister's boyfriends and husbands were an endless parade I had stopped watching years ago.

“I'd very much like Lucy to spend Christmas with me,” I said. “Would that be possible?”

“You can't come to Miami?”

“No, Dorothy. Not this year. I'm in the middle of several very difficult cases and have court scheduled virtually up to Christmas Eve.”

“I can't imagine a Christmas without Lucy,” she said with great reluctance.

“You've had Christmas without her before. When you went skiing out west with Bradley, for example.”

“True. But it was hard,” she said, nonplussed. “And every time we've spent a holiday apart, I've vowed to never do it again.”

“I understand. Maybe another time,” I said, sick to death of my sister's games. I knew she couldn't get Lucy out the door fast enough “Actually, I'm on deadline for this newest book and will be spending most of the holiday in front of my computer anyway,” she reconsidered quickly. “Maybe Lucy would be better off with you. I won't be much fun. Did I tell you that I now have a Hollywood agent? He's fantastic and knows everybody who's somebody out there. He's negotiating a contract with Disney.”

“That's great. I'm sure your books will make terrific movies.”

Dorothy wrote excellent children's books and had won several prestigious awards. She was simply a failure as a human being.

“Mother's here,” my sister said. “She wants to have a word with you. Now listen, it was so good to talk to you. We just don't do it enough. Make sure Lucy eats something besides salads, and I warn you that she'll exercise until it drives you mad. I worry that she's going to start looking masculine.”

Before I could say anything; my mother was on the line.

“Why can't you come down here, Katie? It's sunny and you should see the grapefruit.”

“I can't do it, Mother. I'm really sorry.”

“And now Lucy won't be here, either? Is that what I heard? What am I supposed to do, eat a turkey by myself?”

“Dorothy will be there.”

“What? Are you kidding? She'll be with Fred. I can't stand him.”

Dorothy had gotten divorced again last summer. I didn't ask who Fred was.

“I think he's Iranian or something. He'll squeeze a penny until it screams and has hair in his ears. I know he's not Catholic, and Dorothy never takes Lucy to church these days. You ask me, that child's going to hell in a hand basket.”

“Mother, they can hear you.”

“No they can't. I'm in the kitchen by myself staring at a sink full of dirty dishes that I just know Dorothy expects me to do while I'm here. It's just like when she comes to my house, because she hasn't done a thing about dinner and is hoping I'll cook. Does she ever offer to bring anything? Does she care that I'm an old woman and practically a cripple? Maybe you can talk some sense into Lucy.”

“In what way is Lucy lacking sense?” I asked.

“She doesn't have any friends except this one girl you have to wonder about. You should see Lucy's bedroom. It looks like something out of a science fiction movie with all these computers and printers and pieces and parts. It's not normal for a teenage girl to live inside her brain all the time like that and not get out with kids her own age. I worry about her just like I used to worry about you.”

“I turned out all right,” I said.

“Well, you spent far too much time with science books, Katie. You saw what it did to your marriage.”

“Mother, I'd like Lucy to fly here tomorrow, if possible. I'll make the reservations from my end and take care of the ticket. Make sure she packs her warmest clothes.

Anything she doesn't have, such as a winter coat, we can find here.”

“She could probably borrow your clothes. When was the last time you saw her? Last Christmas?”

“I guess it was that long ago.”

“Well, let me tell you. She's gotten bosoms since then. And the way she dresses? And did she bother to ask her grandmother's advice before cutting off her beautiful hair? No. Why should she bother telling me that-”

“I've got to call the airlines.”

“I wish you were coming here. We could all be together.”

Her voice was getting funny. My mother was about to cry.

“I wish I could, too,” I said.

Late Sunday morning I drove to the airport along dark, wet roads running through a dazzling world of glass. Ice loosened by the sun slipped from telephone lines, roofs, and trees, shattering to the ground like crystal missiles dropped from the sky. The weather report called for another storm, and I was deeply pleased, despite the inconvenience. I wanted quiet time in front of, the fire with my niece. Lucy was growing up.

It did not seem so long ago that she was born. I would never forget her wide, unblinking eyes following my every move in her mother's house, or her bewildering fits of petulance and grief when I failed her in some small way. Lucy's open adoration touched my heart as profoundly as it frightened me. She had caused me to experience a depth of feeling I had not known before. Talking my way past Security, I waited at the gate, eagerly searching passengers emerging from the boarding bridge. I was looking for a pudgy teenager with long, irk red hair and braces when a striking young woman met my eyes and grinned.

“Lucy, “ I exclaimed, hugging her. “My God. I almost didn't recognize you.”

Her hair was short and deliberately messy, accentuating dear green eyes and good bones I did not know she had. There was not so much as a hint of metal in her mouth, and her thick glasses had been replaced by weightless tortoise-shell frames that gave her the look of a seriously pretty Harvard scholar. But it was the change in her body that astonished me most, for since I had seen - her last she had been transformed from a chunky adolescent into a lean, leggy athlete dressed in snug, faded jeans several inches too short, a white blouse, a woven red leather belt, loafers, and no socks. She carried a book satchel, and I caught the sparkle of a delicate gold ankle bracelet. I was fairly certain she was wearing neither makeup nor bra.

“Where's your coat?” I asked as we headed to Baggage.