“Last name is Janet Macy in Tucson, Arizona.”
“Which doesn’t ring any bells.” I thought about the names for a moment. “I can’t imagine what the relationship is among these women.”
“It might help if you talked to someone in Burning Oaks. Father Xavier would be the obvious choice.”
“I’m not planning to do anything unless I figure out what Pete had in mind.”
“I’m not sure how you’ll arrive at that. I gather he didn’t confide in Ruthie, at least where this business is concerned,” he said. “Is that a copy machine?”
“It is.”
Henry picked up the single sheet of graph paper and the yellow pad, crossed to the machine, and pushed the power button. While he waited for the machine to warm up, he neatly tore off the top two sheets of lined yellow paper, and when the Ready light went on, he opened the cover, placed the first sheet facedown on the glass plate, and lowered the cover again. He pushed Print and we stared, transfixed, as a line of light moved down the page and a copy emerged from the innards of the machine. I didn’t have a clue how the process worked. He then copied the second sheet, and last he made a copy of the grid of numbers.
When he finished, he handed me the originals and folded the copies, putting them in the pockets of his shorts. Indicating the first sheet he’d given me, he said, “That’s the key, written down the left-hand margin; the QWERTY letters with a number value next to each. You come across any other eight-place grids, you should be able to translate. I’m not sure what you’ll do with the names, but I’ll leave you to ponder the possibilities.”
“I’ll do that, and thanks.”
“I enjoyed watching Pete’s mind at work,” he said. “Nearly forgot to mention I had a plumber out this morning to take a look at the irrigation issue. He was full of good advice. He kept saying ‘reduce before reuse.’”
“You already knew that,” I said. “Nothing practical?”
“You want to hear his recommendation? Tear out the lawn. Get rid of all the grass. ‘It’s dead anyway’ was what he said. He recommended Astroturf. Can you imagine it?”
“Well, it would be green all year round.”
“I told him I’d think about it and get back to him. Then I put a call through to someone else. At any rate, I’ll see you back at the house.”
Once he left, I sat and chewed on the significance of what I’d learned. Henry had provided the key to the list without supplying the point. Pete’s purpose wasn’t obvious, but the six women must have had something in common. The fact that he’d encrypted the names suggested he thought the list worth protecting, but I had no idea why. Who did he imagine might come across information so sensitive that he couldn’t leave it in plain English?
I picked up the handset and punched in Ruthie’s phone number. The machine picked up and I dutifully left a message at the sound of the beep. “Hi, Ruthie. Sorry I missed you. This is Kinsey with another update. Henry’s broken the code and I’ll tell you what it says when you have a minute. Meanwhile, the files are here at the office. I’ll search again if you think there’s any point. Fat chance in my view, but you’re the boss. Hope your appointment went well. Give me a call as soon as you get home. I’m panting to hear.”
I stacked the sheets, folded them, and put them in my bag. More from curiosity than anything else, I pulled out the telephone book and checked the white pages for residential listings in hopes of spotting Taryn Sizemore. In the ten years since the lawsuit, she might have married, died, or left town, in which case there’d be no sign of her. Under the S’s, I found ten Sizemores, none of whom were T. or Taryn. I shifted my search to the business section of the white pages and found her: Sizemore, Taryn, PhD. No clue as to the field she was in. College professor, educational consultant. She might be an audiologist or a speech therapist. The address was in downtown Santa Teresa with a phone number. I pulled out my index cards, made a note, and then replaced the rubber band and returned the cards to my bag.