“Ever hear of an e-tracker?”
“Enlighten me.”
“An e-tracker is a program that records every keystroke a person types when using a computer. They could be writing a letter to Grandma, playing a game, or working on a cost datasheet for their business. Regardless, this program stores every hit on the keyboard.”
“I’m impressed,” I said, looking up into Samantha’s now triumphant face. “And what government agency did you go through to get this top-secret software, which essentially bypasses every privacy law ever written? And what was the agent’s name? We might need to use him in the future.”
“The agency goes by the name of The Computer Emporium on Ouellette Avenue—next to the Burger King. As for the agent, I don’t know what his real name is but his little yellow nametag had ‘Willy D’ typed on it.”
“Probably his undercover alias.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“So let me get this straight,” I started, after a humorous beat passed between us. “Richard composes his little letter, not knowing that every key he taps is being secretly recorded?”
“Right.”
“You being little Miss Innocent then tell Richard there is a report you need to type up on his laptop.”
“Something like that.”
“But instead of writing up the Delphi case I’ve been asking for, you access your covert program and come up with these e-mails.” I waved the stack of papers in my hand. “Am I close?”
“Basically,” Samantha said with a grin. “I didn’t have much time as loserboy was having a shower, so I figured out his e-mail password and then shut everything down.”
“With his password you then broke into his mailbox later on and read everything, right?” She nodded her head. “Very resourceful.”
“If you like that, check out the last e-mail dated yesterday.”
I flipped through the pages and began to read the final message when Samantha stopped me. She pointed to the top of the page where the ‘To and From’ addresses were printed. As a computer novice it took me several seconds to realize what was different from the others I’d read.
“How is it your e-mail address is listed here?”
“You’re going to love this,” Samantha chirped giddily. “The beauty of free e-mail networks is they understand a person may have two or three different addresses—like a work one or one that came bundled with their internet provider. So, as a courtesy, they offer a forwarding option to send messages to a second address.”
“But wouldn’t Richard realize he isn’t getting his messages?” I inquired.
“No, because unlike a single letter which is forwarded to your cottage during the summer, in this case a second duplicate message is generated and sent out.”
“Which means Richard gets one and you get one, right?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m still a bit fuzzy on the details here. Again, won’t Richard realize or be notified his love notes from Lucy are also being sent to you?”
“Only if he decides to change his personal options—which no one ever does once their address is up and running. Anyway, by the time he figures it out he’ll be six feet in the ground.”
I looked at Samantha, in awe of her talent and cunning.
“You realize that when you confront Richard he’ll think I was behind this, as part of my plan to steal you away from him? Then he’ll come after me.”
“Not after I tell his Mom on him. She absolutely loves me and couldn’t wait until I became her daughter-in-law.”
“The news is going to break her heart.”
A week after kicking Richard to the curb, Samantha and I had to go out of town for one night on a case. After doing all the wrong things, our guy was busted and soon left, perplexed by the evening’s strange ending. After his departure, Samantha and I found ourselves alone in the hotel room. She was still provocatively dressed and lying on the bed, watching me pack up the camera equipment we had installed earlier in the day. Without warning, I realized she had gotten off the bed and was now standing directly behind me. Not knowing exactly what was going through her mind, I didn’t immediately turn to face her.
“Remember yesterday when you said now that Richard was out of the picture, all we needed was for Linda to find a new boy toy?”
“I was kidding around,” I said, slowly turning to face her. “Unless you know something about Linda’s love life I don’t.”
“All I know is this . . .” Samantha placed her hands on my cheeks and briefly pressed her soft lips against mine.
“I’ve never been much good as the rebound guy,” I offered. “And besides—”
“I know—Linda,” Samantha interrupted. “Here’s a news flash: she thinks you and I are getting it on already. So what’s the difference if we are or we’re not, right?”
“After what you’ve gone through with Richard, that’s quite possibly the most hypocritical statement I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“I realize that,” she replied, “but I also now know life is too short to be stuck in an unloving relationship. Richard and me. You and Linda. Being unhappy and sexually frustrated is not the kind of life I want to be living and neither do you.”
I was about to defend my position, when Samantha followed up her first kiss with an even more sensual one. She then took hold of my belt buckle and led me like a lamb to the bed.
There is no good reason for infidelity. Either you’re committed or you should be committed. It’s that simple. Like the yearnings for drugs and booze in a former existence, the fire that began to burn inside me was simply one of overwhelming desire for something that was forbidden for good reason. Sexy and single Samantha was only part of my downfall. Another female in another city would have caused the same reaction. As much as I cared for Linda, I wasn’t strong enough to say no.
There were a million reasons this arrangement wouldn’t work, yet somehow my brain was convinced there were a million and one reasons it could.
Fifty percent plus one wins every time.
Once an addict, always an addict.
Once a loser, always a loser.
Once corrupted, always corruptible.
What we could not know, or even comprehend on that fine spring evening, was the start of this misguided fling would in due course destroy our lives.
It would be Richard who would attend Samantha’s funeral and not the other way around.
As for Linda and me, it was now going on two days since she’d left our house and I still hadn’t heard a word from her.
Then again, neither had anyone else.
FOUR
After speaking with Wayne, I decided to wait a little longer before reaching out to Maria. If I called acting like my life was peachy and she then learned about Linda, I’d look like the dolt I was. I figured it was better to talk after the news hit Delta. That way it would be her decision to discuss the “Max Feldberg” situation with me or not.
Instead of staying cooped up, I took a tour to the lake where I found myself alone in the parking lot off our small beach. Although it was a bit cooler than the previous week, I was surprised there were no rollerbladers, bicyclists or moms with strollers on the boardwalk. Even the waves couldn’t muster much energy, with the water lazily lapping the edge of the shoreline instead