Page 45 of Skeletons in the Closet

“They must have been really scrambled, huh?” the kid shouted.

“They get like that sometimes. Don’t you worry. I’m a professional.”

“Okay.”

Diem shook his head and opened the last email. It was dated Monday morning. Two days ago.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

We need to talk. Friday. The old haunt. 9 p.m. Be careful.

“The old haunt?” I asked.

“No idea. Picture. Hurry.”

“Don’t boss me around. I’m in charge here.”

“Then quit slacking. And you aren’t in charge.”

“Kind of. It was my plan.”

“Um… Sir? My arm’s getting tired. Is it working?” Indy called from the lobby.

“This is unreal,” Diem muttered.

Laughing, I took another picture. “Just about done, bud. Maybe switch hands.”

“Won’t that mess it up?”

“No, it’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” A pause. “That’s better.”

“I’m gonna pay him fifty bucks anyhow,” Diem said, “so maybe he can buy himself an education.”

“With fifty dollars? That wouldn’t get him far.”

“Anywhere is better than where he’s at.”

I chuckled. “You’re mean.”

Diem performed another quick scan of Beth’s email, but nothing stood out. He checked her Recycle Bin, Recent Files, and maneuvered through other areas of the computer I wasn’t familiar with before turning it off.

He snapped his fingers. “And poof. The internet is magically restored. Tell that brain-dead idiot we’re done, and let’s skedaddle.”

“Be nice. It’s not his fault porn has melted his brain.”

“His stupidity is meltingmybrain.”

We were out the door and in the Jeep a few minutes later. Under the impression I was phoning Beth myself to let her know everything was up and running again, Indy breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed his sore arm. There would be no Nobel Prize in Indy’s future, but we may have given him an interest in internet science for when he graduated high school.

If he made it that far.

12

Diem

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