Chapter 11: Mr. Right and Ms. Wrong

What do you do when you meet the love of your life and you are disguised to be someone twenty years older than he is? This was just one of ‘those’ days.

Pajamas and curlers

I got up this morning and in a very Peg Chester sort of way, I didn’t bother getting dressed right away. Oh, I touched up my makeup and made sure nothing that was only twenty-seven years old was showing, tugged my wig firmly into place, and pulled on a huge fluffy bathrobe over my flannels. I padded to the kitchen, made coffee and took a cup into the little office space. Definitely command central. I scoped out her equipment pretty thoroughly and decided the first thing I was going to do was disconnect her from the internet. Whatever is running on these computers, I don’t want to risk someone from outside looking in. Having them on an isolated local network, I should be able to worm my way into one computer and get access to all of them.

I learned a lot from Dag. I’ve seen him examine the outside of a computer for two hours before he was satisfied that he could plug it in and boot it up. I know if anyone got into our vault, moving a piece of equipment would instantly destroy the hard drives. And I was going to try to tap into these while they were still running. I got the impression Georgia knew what she was doing when it came to computers and I was looking forward to matching wits with her.

I was still in the kitchen office when the doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock and noticed it was after ten and I’d been sitting at this desk for two hours I was still in my bathrobe. Pesky neighbors, I thought to myself.

I got the shock of my life at the front door. Detective Handsome was standing there. For a minute I thought he had tracked me down and stopped to see how it was going. I opened the door, started to say hi, and then remembered that I was not the Deb Riley he knew. I about swallowed my tongue. In fact, literally choked and started a coughing fit before I spoke. He patiently waited, then while I looked up and him. He started in on his spiel.

“Ma’am, I’m Detective Hanson. I handled the investigation of the death of Georgia McFearin. Am I correct in assuming that you are Ms. Margaret Chester?”

“Yes. Please, it’s Peg. Won’t you come in, Detective. I wasn’t expecting anyone so early.”

“We tend to start our days in the morning at the police department,” he said. Well, that was a little catty! “I just came by to remove the police tape from the door and to give you official clearance to occupy the house and clean things up. Mr. McFearin gave us the paperwork naming you his agent before he returned to Savannah.”

“Uncle Grover is terribly torn up about Georgia’s death,” I said, now fully recovered and realizing that having assessed my age and condition, Tom was not the least bit interested in engaging with me personally. I considered going to get clothes on, but decided this was an image I’d like him to remember. I’d keep the bathrobe.