Game On: Tempting Twenty-Eight (Stephanie Plum #28)(28)

Melvin’s eyes opened wide, and he sucked in some air. “No way.”

My mom put a hand on the counter to steady herself and chugged more tea from the big-gulp glass.

“Another tongue murder!” Grandma said. “This is big. This is going to make national news. We need to go to the funeral home early tomorrow or we won’t get in. It’s going to be packed.”

I motioned for Melvin to meet me in the dining room. So far as I knew, the connection between the tongue murders and Oswald wasn’t common knowledge. Nothing remained a secret for very long in the Burg, but I didn’t want to be responsible for this going public.

I handed Melvin the laptop. “I found this in the victim’s bedroom. It might eventually get turned over to the police as evidence, but I wanted you to look at it first. It’s a ThinkPad X1.”

“There were two more Baked Potatoes who I thought might be local,” Melvin said. “One was an older dude who went by the handle of Mushy2. I know he worked on a ThinkPad like me.”

“When the Baked Potatoes hacked into Oswald’s network, did you see or download anything?” Diesel asked.

Melvin shook his head. “No reason to download anything. It was just about getting in. I was so surprised and excited when it happened, I don’t remember seeing much of anything. Maybe some basic info about hardware and software, and some directories.”

He returned to the kitchen table with the new computer and tried a series of passwords, with no success. He plugged something that looked like a large flash drive into the computer and after several seconds a home page appeared.

“I’m in,” Melvin said.

“Go to his mail account,” I said.

Only one item came up. RETRIBUTION. The word was repeated in an endless scroll. Melvin clicked a few keys and the scrolling stopped.

“This is bad,” Melvin said. “I really hate this.”

“It’s boring,” Grandma said. “Especially in comparison to a homicide.” Grandma’s attention turned to me. “Did you get to see the tongue?”

“No,” I said. “The neighbor’s dog ate it.”

“For real?” Diesel asked.

My mom had the chickens out of the oven, and she was making gravy. “Someone needs to mash the potatoes,” she said.

Grandma went to the stove, drained the potatoes, and added butter and milk to the pot. “I like a lot of butter,” she said. “It’s the trick to making good mashed potatoes.”

My father walked into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said to Diesel. “How’s it going?”

As if Diesel hadn’t been gone for two years.

“It’s going okay,” Diesel said. “And you?”

“I’m hungry. I smell chicken.” He looked at me. “When did you get here?”

“A couple minutes ago,” I said. “You were asleep in your chair.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he said. “I was resting my eyes.” He looked at Melvin. “Who are you?”

“He’s Melvin,” Grandma said. “He’s living here.”

“How long’s he been living here?” my father asked. “Why don’t I know about this?”

“Stephanie dropped him off this morning,” Grandma said. “He’s a hacker.”

My father perked up at this. “A hacker!” he said. “No kidding?”

“He’s the one who replaced the TV news with a porno movie,” Grandma said.

“Way to go, kid,” my dad said. “That caused a stir at the lodge. We thought Marty Bloomfeld was going to have to get another stint after he watched that clip. Good thing it didn’t last any longer or Marty might have thrown a clot.”

“The station cut it off before it got to the end,” Melvin said.

“It didn’t bother Marty,” my dad said. “He’s used to not getting to the end. He’s getting on in years. He’s happy if he can have a couple minutes in the beginning.”

“We’re ready to eat,” my mom said, slightly slurring her words.

My dad went to the dining room and took his seat at the head of the table. He helped himself to a wing and a drumstick and a mound of mashed potatoes and drowned it all in gravy.

“So, what have you hacked lately?” he asked Melvin. “Have you ever blacked out a grid or taken down a bank or a slaughterhouse?”

The rest of us were gobsmacked because my father never talked at the table. He always concentrated on eating and ignoring Grandma.

“Right now, I’m helping Stephanie break into a private network,” Melvin said.

“It’s the Oswald Wednesday case,” Grandma said. “I’m helping with it.”

“Oswald has a network?” my father said. “Go figure.”

I turned to my father with my fork midway to my mouth. “Do you know Oswald Wednesday?”

“Yeah, sort of short, roly-poly guy with a black ponytail, right?”

“Right,” Diesel and I said in unison.

My father chewed a chunk of meat off the drumstick and some gravy dripped onto his shirt. “I picked him up with the cab a couple times and took him to the train station.” He dabbed at his shirt with his napkin. “He seems like a nice guy. Always gives me a good tip.”