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Your Move
Your Move
Your Move
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Your Move

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Somebody is killing people who work for subsidiaries of conglomerate Ault Enterprises and playing some kind of game while doing it. Carol Golden is called on to help identify the killer because she has experience in breaking codes and playing games. Amy O’Connor, a former scam artist and long-distance hiker with an eye for men, becomes her partner by accident, and together they search for clues in interesting places. The hunt takes them to the tops of significant mountain peaks in the United States, including Mount Whitney, the highest peak in the continental U.S., and to other unusual locales such as the thinly populated Lost Coast region of northern California. Carol finds that incidents in her past that are lost to her because of her amnesia may come back to haunt her before she can win this deadly game.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherAlan Cook
Release dateApr 16, 2018
ISBN9781370970216
Your Move
Author

Alan Cook

After spending more than a quarter of a century as a pioneer in the computer industry, Alan Cook is well into his second career as a writer.ROCKY ROAD TO DENVERThe death of Roger McAllister’s wife in 1984 prompts him to take a break from his accounting firm and join a walk from Los Angeles to Denver, sponsored by Zeus Shoes. The people he encounters will shake him out of his comfort zone, providing comedy, peril and sexual temptation. In addition, his dead wife appears to be keeping an eye on him. Roger’s life will never be the same.DEATH AT MONKSREST--Charlie and Liz No. 3Liz Reid flies to England in the 1960s because of a poem about an ancient curse that her coworker, Charlie Ebersole, has sent her, which may have led to the murder of the sister of Charlie’s English friend, Reggie, whose father is the owner of the hereditary estate of Monksrest. Liz works with Lord Wheatley to find clues in spite of the risks involved.EAST OF THE WALL--Charlie and Liz No. 2Charlie Ebersole and Liz Reid are recruited by the CIA to go into East Germany in June 1963, to attempt to obtain intelligence about a secret project of the Germans during World War II, about which information has been lost. The Berlin Wall and the Stasi (East German secret police) make this a perilous mission, but the two suspect that they are the most appropriate people for the job.TRUST ME IF YOU DARE--Charlie and Liz No. 1Charlie Ebersole is good at his job as a securities analyst for International Industries in Los Angeles in the year 1962, but he is also somewhat bored at being tied to a desk most of the time. He jumps at the chance to join the fraud section of II, and is immediately put on a case that will take him and another employee, Elizabeth Reid, to Buffalo, Fort Lauderdale, and possibly to Fidel Castro’s Cuba, although the Bay of Pigs fiasco is a recent memory, and relations between Cuba and the United States are not good. Charlie and Liz find out that uncovering a Ponzi scheme isn’t all just fun and games, but it can be dangerous too, especially when somebody is intent on them not discovering the truth. Before they are through they may wish they were back at their nice safe desks in Los Angeles.YOUR MOVE--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 7Carol looks for a serial killer who likes to play games. As she attempts to figure out the game and its significance for the killer she realizes that events occurring when she was a college student but are lost to her because of her amnesia may be significant in tracking down the killer. Does the killer want something from her? If so, what? This is becoming too personal for comfort.FOOL ME TWICE--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 6Carol Golden is asked to help Peter Griffenham recover a chunk of money he's lost in a scam, but he doesn't want to go to the police, and by the time she gets involved the prime suspect, a dazzling redhead named Amy, has disappeared along with the money. Or has she? Perhaps that was only the first chapter, to be followed by a much larger scam. Can Carol help prevent chapter two?GOOD TO THE LAST DEATH--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 5When Carol Golden's husband, Rigo, disappears, she not only has to look for him, but elude the FBI at the same time, because there is evidence that she was involved in his disappearance. She doggedly follows a faint trail, keeping her location a secret from everybody except her friend, Jennifer, a spy-in-training, who takes time off from her top-secret job to help Carol.HIT THAT BLOT--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 4The fourth Carol Golden novel takes Carol into the exciting and dangerous world of tournament backgammon. She listens to a caller who calls himself Danny on the crisis hotline Carol volunteers for say he is afraid he'll be murdered. A backgammon player, herself, Carol, disobeys the hotline rules and sets out to find and help Danny. She needs all her experience with spies and detective work to survive this adventure.DANGEROUS WIND--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 3In the third Carol Golden novel, Carol is abducted by a shady government group and required to help find an old boyfriend of hers she doesn't remember (because of her amnesia) who is trying to bring about the "downfall of the western world." She will travel to all seven continents before she can figure out what's going on.RELATIVELY DEAD--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 2Having recovered her identity (lost in FORGET TO REMEMBER) if not her memory, Carol Golden seeks out some of her cousins in the second Carol Golden novel, only to find out they appear to be targeted for murder. While trying to figure out what's going on, Carol encounters the Grandparent Scam and a Ponzi Scheme, and finds out that she may be one of the targets of the murderer.FORGET TO REMEMBER--CAROL GOLDEN NO. 1Carol Golden isn't her real name. She doesn't remember her real name or anything that happened before she was found, naked and unconscious, in a Dumpster on the beautiful Palos Verdes Peninsula in Southern California. After some initial medical assistance, government at all levels declares her a non-person. She can't work because she doesn't have a Social Security number, which she can't get because she doesn't have a birth certificate. She can't even legally drive a car or fly on an airplane. This is the first Carol Golden novel.Alan's Lillian Morgan mysteries, CATCH A FALLING KNIFE and THIRTEEN DIAMONDS, explore the secrets of retirement communities. They feature Lillian, a retired mathematics professor from North Carolina, who is smart, opinionated, and skeptical of authority. She loves to solve puzzles, even when they involve murder.RUN INTO TROUBLESilver Quill Award from American Authors Association and named Best Pacific West Book by Reader Views. Drake and Melody are teamed up to run a race along the California Coast for a prize of a million dollars—in 1969 when a million is worth something. Neither knows the other is in the race before it starts. They once did undercover work together in England, but this information is supposed to be top secret. The nine other pairs of runners entered in the race are world-classmarathoners, including a winner of the Boston Marathon. If this competition isn’t enough, somebody tries to knock Drake out of the race before it begins. But Drake and Melody also receive threats calculated to keep them from dropping out. What’s going on? The stakes increase when startling events produce fatalities and impact the race, leading them to ask whether the Cold War with the USSR is about to heat up.HONEYMOON FOR THREE--GARY BLANCHARD NO. 2Silver Quill Award from American Authors Association and named Best Mountain West Book by Reader Views. Suspense takes a thrill ride. It is 1964, 10 years after Gary Blanchard’s high school adventures in The Hayloft. He and his love, Penny, are going on the trip of their lives, and, oh yes, they’re getting married along the way. What they don’t know is that they’re being stalked by Alfred, a high school classmate of Penny who has a bellybutton fetish. The suspense crackles amid some of the most scenic spots in the western United States, including Lake Tahoe, Reno, Crater Lake, Seattle, and in Glacier, Yellowstone, and Grand Teton National Parks, as well as the redwood trees and rocky cliffs of the northern California coast.THE HAYLOFT--GARY BLANCHARD NO. 1This 1950s mystery, takes us back to bobby sox, slow dancing, bomb shelters—and murder. Within two weeks after starting his senior year of high school in the 1950s, Gary Blanchard finds himself kicked out of one school and attending another—the school where his cousin, Ralph, mysteriously died six months before. Ralph’s death was labeled an accident, but when Gary talks to people about it, he gets suspicious. Did Ralph fall from the auditorium balcony, or was he pushed? Had he found a diamond necklace, talked about by cousins newly arrived from England, that was supposedly stolen from Dutch royalty by a common ancestor and lost for generations? What about the principal with an abnormal liking for boys? And are Ralph’s ex-girlfriends telling everything they know?HOTLINE TO MURDER, his California mystery, takes place at a listening hotline in beautiful Bonita Beach, California. Tony Schmidt and Shahla Lawton don't know what they're getting into when they sign up as volunteer listeners. But when Shahla's best friend is murdered, it's too late for them to back out. They suspect that one of the hotline's inappropriate callers may be the murderer, and they know more about them than the police do.ACES AND KNAVES is a California mystery for gamblers and baseball card collectors. Karl Patterson deals in baseball cards and may be a compulsive gambler, so he's surprised when his father, Richard, CEO of a software company, engages him to check up on the activities of his second in command. It doesn't hurt that Richard assigns his executive assistant, Arrow, an exotic and ambitious young woman, to help Karl, but none of them expects to get involved in murder.PICTURELANDThe second Matthew and Mason adventure finds the boys going into a picture in their family room with the help of Amy, a girl in the picture. The dystopian world they find there with everyone's movements tracked, leads the three to attempt to bring personal freedom to the inhabitants at great risk to themselves.DANCING WITH BULLSIn Alan's first children's book, Matthew and Mason are on vacation on the Greek island of Crete when they are whisked back in time 4,000 to the Minoan civilization at Knossos Palace. Captured, they escape death by becoming bull dancers on a team with other slaves. Beautifully illustrated by Janelle Carbajal.FREEDOM'S LIGHT contains quotations from 38 of history's champions of freedom, from Aristotle to Zlata Filipovic, from George Washington to Martin Luther King, Jr. Included are Jefferson, Adams, Franklin, Anne Frank and many more.Alan splits his time between writing and walking, another passion. His inspirational book,WALKING THE WORLD: MEMORIES AND ADVENTURES, has information and adventure in equal parts. It has been named one of the Top 10 Walking Memoirs and Tales of Long Walks by the walking website, Walking.About.Com.Alan lives with his wife, Bonny, on a hill in Southern California.

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    Your Move - Alan Cook

    Let’s say your opponent wins the initial dice roll, which is a 6-3. She moves one of her back checkers to your bar-point with her six. With her three she moves from your twelve-point. You roll a 6-2. If you hit the blot on your bar-point with your six, what are the chances that your bar-point checker will be hit by your opponent on her next move? Bonus points for telling what move you should make with your two, and, if the checker on your bar-point does get hit, what are the chances you can re-hit the bar-point on your next move?

    I made the opponent’s moves on the magnetic backgammon set I had placed vertically on my desk, so that the dozen or so students in the night-school class could see it. The problem sounded more complicated than it was. In addition, the people attending the class I was calling Practical Statistics and Odds Calculations for Daily Living, mostly middle-aged and older, had proven themselves sharp enough to handle it.

    I glanced at the clock on the wall. Eight-fifteen. Good. The class would be over in fifteen minutes. I went to the corner of the room where Stevie, my two-year-old son, was sacked out on a foam pad I’d brought with me. I didn’t always bring Stevie to my classes, but my husband, Rigo, was attending some sort of function tonight in Los Angeles, and my in-laws were also busy. Fortunately, Stevie was very good at amusing himself with Legos and other toys, and didn’t usually make a fuss. I rearranged the blanket I’d placed over him when he’d fallen asleep.

    I looked up when I heard the door open at the other end of the room. A man walked in quietly. I didn’t recognize him at first, perhaps because he wasn’t wearing a suit, but then the way his body flowed when he moved rang a bell. He waved to me without speaking and sat in the back of the room. I gave him a smile. I badly wanted to speak to Kyle Robertson, who, I realized, I hadn’t seen since before Stevie was born, but that would have to wait until the class ended.

    ***

    This was the last session of the current class. Some of my students liked to stay and chat after class, which was usually fine with me, but tonight I practically pushed them out the door while Kyle sat patiently and did things with his cellphone. When the door finally closed behind the last student I turned to him.

    Kyle. How did you find me?

    Carol. It’s so good to see you.

    Kyle got up and enfolded me in his arms. He had a strong grip. When we finally let each other go he spoke.

    You’re not the only one with detective skills, you know. I wasn’t sure how to contact you, so I googled ‘Carol Golden.’ When that didn’t give me any useful information, I googled ‘Cynthia Sakai.’ Fortunately, I had your various names cross-referenced with each other. I found Cynthia linked with information about night-school classes in Torrance, and since I happened to be in the neighborhood I figured coming here would be the quickest way of seeing you in person.

    I laughed. You’re obviously a lot more organized than I am. Of course, I have to use my real name for tax purposes, since I’m being paid for doing this. The IRS doesn’t want to hear about Carol Golden, because she doesn’t have any money.

    Kyle became more serious. You heard that Seb died?

    Seb was Sebastian Ault, a billionaire entrepreneur who Kyle had worked for. The last time I’d seen him he’d had Alzheimer’s Disease.

    Yes. I read about it in the paper and saw it on TV. I wanted to go to the memorial service, but I was traveling at the time. He had an amazing life.

    Yes, he did. I’ve been given the job by the Board of Directors of his holding company, which is called Ault Enterprises, and of which I am now a member, of reorganizing his empire—selling off pieces where it makes sense, and consolidating others. Making sure all the parts work together. Because of my close association with Seb for a number of years, I have a better knowledge of his holdings than anyone else.

    Congratulations.

    Thank you. But I didn’t come here to brag. I came here because I need your help.

    Kyle had given me assistance when I first had amnesia and didn’t know who I was. He had also helped me stay out of the clutches of the FBI when Rigo disappeared and I was a suspect, and he had equipped me to go looking for him.

    I’ll help you any way I can. But I’m not an expert on conglomerates.

    He gave me a thin smile. That’s not where I need your expertise. I have what I think is another kind of problem. Two people have been murdered recently in different parts of the country. At first glance it might not appear that there is any connection between them. However, they came to my attention because they were both employees of subsidiaries of Ault Enterprises.

    When Kyle paused I said, I’m very sorry to hear that. But, as I try to teach in this class, coincidences like that are not particularly rare, and, statistically, they happen a lot.

    That’s what I thought, at first, even though I decided that thoroughness, humanity, and my curiosity required looking into the murders. I got hold of the police reports and read through them. One thing stood out. In both cases a sign was found beside the body. Both signs said the same thing: ‘Your move.’

    I don’t usually get emotional, but a chill ran up my spine. I looked at Kyle and realized that the same thing must have happened to him when he compared the reports. I immediately had a host of questions, but I also knew that now was not the right time to ask them.

    What would you like me to do?

    Think of the wording: ‘your move.’ What does that remind you of?

    A game. You’ve made a move and you tell your opponent it’s his move.

    Exactly. And who’s the best game player you know.

    I knew where he was going. I don’t know about the best, but—

    You’re the best one I know. I remember the story about how you took a certain football player for a bunch of money.

    I smiled at the memory. All right, I admit it. I’m a con artist.

    "No. You could have taken Seb for a lot, also, but you refused to do so. What you are is the person I need to help me figure out what the game is so that we can identify the killer before he kills again. So far, I haven’t been able to interest the local police in each location by telling them about the similarity. I need to get an organization like the FBI involved. That’s my problem, but I also want someone I trust to look at the big picture. That person is you. I’ll pay you—"

    I don’t need your money.

    I knew you’d say that, but I’m insisting. I want this to be a valid contract, even if it’s only one sentence long. We’ll pay for your expertise and any expenses you have. We’ll even use your correct name unless you’re trying to dodge the IRS. Kyle glanced at Stevie, who was still asleep in the corner. And we’ll pay for a babysitter if that becomes necessary. Will you do it?

    I had to laugh at Kyle’s insistence. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

    Of course. My gut tells me you’re right about this. And I know something about the difficulty of getting assistance from government organizations. I’ll give you all the help I can.

    CHAPTER 2

    As far as I knew, I had never worked in an office. I certainly hadn’t since my amnesia started. Before that time, as I’d learned, I had been a math teacher in England, or maths teacher as the Brits say. Teaching night school, which I’d been doing for six months, was a way for me to get back into teaching. I was probably too restless to work in an office, anyway.

    However, I needed to look at all the information Kyle had collected about the two murders, and the only way for me to do that was to go to his office, located in Century City in West Los Angeles. The logistics weren’t easy. I’d gotten myself out of bed with Rigo who worked in the family business with his parents. He’d recently been given part ownership in the company. I rousted Stevie out of bed, dressed and fed him, and put a lunch together for him.

    I kissed Rigo goodbye and watched him drive off in my beloved Porsche. I was relegated to the SUV, since Stevie’s car seat couldn’t be used in the Porsche. After getting Stevie packed into the SUV I drove from our Palos Verdes home down the hill into Torrance where I deposited him at his Montessori school.

    The first time I’d dropped him off there he’d cried, but when I picked him up that afternoon the teacher told me he’d stopped crying as soon as I left. The tears were for show. Now he loved going to school and working with all the advanced materials they had. He also got good grades for getting along with the other children.

    The logical way to get to Century City was to take the I-405, but that was often a parking lot, so I opted to take surface streets instead. I wended my way through the beach cities, and by the time I left Manhattan Beach I was on the road that goes along the beach past the Los Angeles Airport. Giant jets silently materialized out of the low hills to the east like monsters rising from the earth as they took off for exotic places. Those, along with the surfers, bicyclists, walkers, and runners tried to kidnap my spirit and take it with them, but I had a job to do.

    I turned inland and worked my way over to Avenue of the Stars. Kyle had given me directions to one of the large buildings that had sprung up in the past fifty years, after methods of erecting them to minimize the possibility of earthquake damage had been developed. I pulled into the underground parking area, found an open spot, and took an elevator to the fifteenth floor.

    I glanced at my watch as I exited the elevator. Almost nine o’clock. Fortunately, I didn’t have to adhere to a schedule. I found the office number and opened the door. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting, but I was surprised to see a number of cubicles with people sitting in them, working on computers, talking on phones, or both.

    I suddenly felt shy, unusual for me, and had a glimpse of what Stevie might have felt on his first day at school. I stood just inside the room, wondering what to do next, when a young man spotted me. He clicked the mouse on his computer, rose from his chair, and walked over to me.

    He was wearing a jacket and tie. I was surprised since I’d heard that business offices didn’t have rigid dress codes like they used to, but I was glad I’d worn a no-nonsense knee-length blue skirt with matching jacket over a white blouse.

    He stuck out his hand and smiled. Hi. Roger Everhart.

    I shook hands with him. Cynthia Sakai. Only a few people still knew me as Carol Golden. I regained a little of my poise. I’m here to see Kyle—

    I know. Kyle filled me in. He had to go to a meeting, but he asked me to work with you. Would you like to come with me?

    I was surprised when he led me out of the office and down the hall. I judged by his smooth face that he was younger than thirty, and by his skin color that he was probably of African descent. His smile was infectious. He opened another door and held it for me. The room we entered was smaller than the first one, more of a conference room. It contained a long center table with comfortable wheeled chairs around it.

    Roger went to a file cabinet, produced a key from his pocket that he used to unlock it, and then pulled open a drawer. He extracted two file folders and closed the drawer. Then he went to the table and waved me to a seat. He sat next to me at the end of the table, so that we were facing ninety degrees from each other, which was conducive to conversation.

    I felt I should say something. Nice place you have here.

    Yes. I’ve been with Ault Enterprises for three years. It’s a good place to work.

    Although I’d known Sebastian Ault for a number of years, I didn’t know anything about his businesses. I’d heard that he was a slumlord, owning rundown properties where tenants were crammed in, but this setup was plush. Of course, it didn’t say anything about how the company made its money.

    Roger cleared his throat. Let me fill you in. These folders contain all the information we have about the two murders Kyle told you about. We’re restricting access to them because we don’t want to create a panic situation.

    I digested that news for a few seconds, and then realized what he meant.

    It sounds as if you’re suggesting that this person might be a serial killer targeting employees of Ault Enterprises and its subsidiaries, and if that is the case he might target somebody in this office.

    Roger had a sober expression. We don’t know that to be true, but it’s something to think about. Let me tell you what I’m doing. Kyle is having me check the personnel records of all former employees of Ault and its subsidiaries, looking for problems—people who were fired, disciplinary actions, situations that would indicate anyone who might have a beef with the corporation. Fortunately, all these records are computerized in some fashion, although they’re not all centralized. The bad news is that there are hundreds of former employees, thousands if we go back a ways in time at each of our subsidiaries. It’s like looking for a white man on a professional basketball team. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.

    I laughed. That’s all right. I won’t report you. I’ve been known not to be politically correct at times. Have you had any luck?

    Not much. I flagged a few people, and Kyle sent their information to the police involved in the investigations, but they haven’t come up with any suspects. That’s another thing. We have two police departments in two different cities, and as far as we know they haven’t communicated with each other.

    Kyle told me about that. It must be frustrating. Is there any connection between the victims, other than that they both worked for subsidiaries of Ault Enterprises?

    None that I could find. They don’t appear to be related or even know each other. I talked to members of both their families on the phone to express our condolences. The people I spoke to said they had no knowledge of the other victim.

    Calling people in circumstances like this is difficult. I admire you for doing that. Is there anything else you can tell me before I start going through the files?

    Kyle said you were good at playing games and solving puzzles. Do you play backgammon?

    Yes, that’s one of my addictions.

    I do too. I’d like to play you. We’ve got an exercise and game area where people can get away from their desks. Perhaps we could play at lunch. By the way, we also have a lunchroom.

    It sounds as if you have all the comforts of home. I’d like to play you sometime, but I’ll probably just grab a quick lunch. And I have to leave early.

    ***

    The most significant thing I found in the police files about the two murders was that both of them contained a picture of a sign that read your move. The letters on each sign were formed the same way, and I was quite certain that a handwriting expert, or perhaps an art expert, would agree they had been painted by the same person. If the killer was trying to disguise his or her handwriting by using paint, it didn’t work. The signs had been left near the bodies. The disconcerting fact was that one of the bodies had been found in New Hampshire, and the other one had been found in North Carolina.

    The dress of the victims fitted the locations. The lady wore a T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. The man wore hiking boots, shorts, and a loose shirt with multiple pockets. A hat was nearby. There were daypacks at both murder sites, containing clothing items like sweatshirts, and also sunscreen, water bottles, and hiking food. One pack held a compass and the other one a map.

    The two had been killed two weeks apart—the man in North Carolina about July 1st, and the woman in New Hampshire on July 15th.

    Other information was sparse. Both victims, a male and a female, and been stabbed with a knife in the heart. No murder weapon had been found, and no fingerprints had been found other than those of the victims. There were no witnesses. The bodies were discovered in rural locations, described as wooded, so it was unlikely that other people had witnessed the crimes. Autopsy reports didn’t show any defensive wounds that would be caused by the victims fighting the attacker. Either the victims knew their attacker, or they had been taken by surprise.

    The man worked at a microbrewery in Ashville, North Carolina owned by Ault Enterprises. Apparently, Seb had been a beer drinker. If you’re rich you can own your own brewery. The woman worked at a company that did something connected with self-driving cars in Manchester, New Hampshire. This company was also owned by Ault Enterprises.

    It was a good thing Kyle had requested the police reports of the murders, or nobody would have seen the connection between them. In my dealings with him he’d always been an astute and caring person. This situation raised him a notch higher in my estimation.

    There was a computer in the conference room that Roger had said I could use. I zoomed in and out of the murder locations using map programs. The most significant thing I determined from doing this was that the North Carolina site was near Mount Mitchell, the highest peak east of the Mississippi River, and the New Hampshire site was close to Mount Washington, the highest peak in New England. As a hiker, that was interesting to me, but I didn’t know whether it had any significance.

    When I got up to stretch and use the restroom I found Roger and asked him for a list of all the holdings of Ault Enterprises. Instead of giving me a paper list, he showed me how to access a list that was on the company website, which I could do from any computer, including my computer at home once he gave me the login information.

    Then I spent some time with a pencil and pad, trying to come up with the meaning of the phrase, your move, at the murder scenes. That was really what Kyle was paying me for. I tried to picture the murders as being some sort of a game. If so, it was a bloodthirsty game indeed. Apparently, the killer’s move consisted of killing somebody connected with Ault Enterprises. What would a response be, either by the police or by somebody representing Ault? Would a proper response prevent another murder? How could we communicate with the killer?

    There had been no known response to the first murder that could be considered a move in a game. If a move wasn’t made within a certain length of time, did our side, as I was starting to visualize Ault Enterprises, forfeit our move? I looked at my watch to confirm today’s date—July 20th. The first two murders had been two weeks apart. Should we expect another person to be killed on July 29th, two weeks after the second murder?

    Roger came into the conference room where I was working, at noon, and asked me if I was ready for lunch. I was, and I needed a break from thinking—or trying to think. I wasn’t used to sitting for such a long period of time, and it occurred to me again that I wouldn’t make a good office worker.

    Roger led me down one floor to a cafeteria where a number of people were already eating. A buzz of conversation filled the room. We went to the serving area and grabbed trays. I was eying some of the tempting food items that were available when I saw somebody I knew on the other side of the counter.

    Hildy.

    The plus-sized woman with a heart to match glanced up from where she was placing food items on racks, and a smile lit up her face like a sunbeam.

    Carol. What are you doing here?

    She emptied her hands, came around the counter, and grabbed me in a bear hug that even Kyle couldn’t match for intensity.

    The last time I saw you, you were setting out to look for your husband who had been kidnapped or something. I worried about you every day until Kyle finally told me you found him all right. Is that true? Is everything good with you?

    Yes, I said, laughing and trying to catch my breath. "Rigo’s fine, I’m fine, and I have a two-year-old son. But how are you?"

    When Kyle said he had to sell Mr. Ault’s house I was afraid I might be out of a job and a place to live, but he told me he wanted me to run the cafeteria here, and he’s letting me live in the house he bought for himself. I’m enjoying it here. I get to supervise the cooking and serve healthy food, just like I was making for Mr. Ault after he got sick.

    Hildy had been Mr. Ault’s housekeeper and cook, and had sent me off rested and with nourishing food when I’d borrowed a car from Kyle and gone to look for Rigo. She would always have a warm place in my heart. We couldn’t chat because she had work to do, but I was glad to see her.

    Roger insisted on paying for my lunch, saying he could expense it since I wasn’t an employee, and we found a table and sat down. He looked at me quizzically.

    Kyle said you were a mysterious person, and I guess he wasn’t kidding. I don’t mean to pry, but Hildy called you Carol.

    I have several names. I’ve known Hildy for a number of years. She’s always been good to me.

    I didn’t want to tell my life story, including the amnesia part, so I started telling Roger what I’d been doing in connection with the murders.

    ***

    Kyle’s enclosed office was at the end of the room I’d gone to first when I’d arrived this morning. The dominant piece of furniture was an antique wooden desk of immense proportions that had apparently been used by Mr. Ault at one time. It had a dark finish and what looked like hand-carved patterns on the legs and around the edges of the top.

    When Roger and I went into his office for a briefing, Kyle came out from behind the desk, shook my hand in a formal manner, and we sat on modern chairs and a couch. He was dressed the way I remembered him, in an expensive suit almost the blue color of mine, and a fabulous tie. No wonder his people were dressed well, although not everyone I’d seen in the cafeteria met the sartorial standard of the employees in his section.

    Kyle closed the door to his office. First, Roger gave a brief report on what progress he’d made in investigating former employees, which, unfortunately, wasn’t much. Then it was my turn. I wanted to set the tone.

    "I’m certain the same person killed both of them. The signs were definitely made by the same person. If you’d like that confirmed by a handwriting expert, I’ve met one who writes mystery novels here in LA. In addition, the cause of death looks very similar. I’m sure that can be confirmed by

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