| |
Beth’s mistrust of iPhones was further reinforced when, sitting on her single bed, she decided to turn hers on because she was waiting to receive her list of appointments from the clinic. She was just checking her messages when she found the email. It had just one word in the subject heading:
Allegro
Her heartbeat skittered. The sender’s address was a long jumble of letters, symbols and numbers. It didn’t have anything suspect attached to it but, even though the communication begged immediate attention, she hovered her finger over it for a few seconds. It was almost as if she knew touching it would activate something.
She tapped the screen and was asked if confirmation of her opening it could be sent. She paused momentarily before hitting “OK.”
I know you’re looking for answers. Please delete this email once you’ve read it.
Our exchanges must remain private. If they don’t, I won’t be in touch again.
If I can trust you, contact me on Facebook (Eileen Froley) by requesting friendship and posting the words “How did the concert go?” on my wall.
That was it. Beth noted it had been sent at 4.40 that morning. Had the sender been waiting for her all this time? Could it be Rae? How did she get her email address? It hadn’t come via the jawbone2014 Facebook or YouTube accounts she’d set up.
She logged in to Facebook and searched for Eileen Froley. There she was – a middle-aged woman with red-framed spectacles and mousy, permed hair. She was in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. There were photos of her smiling and straddling a cello. She searched the name again but that was the only result.
Beth stabbed the friend request and waited. It was immediately confirmed.
She typed: How did the concert go?
Beth waited but no reply came. Then another friendship request appeared. It was from “Allegro”. She clicked through to the page. The account had just been created. There were no images or location details. She confirmed the friend request. A dialogue box popped up at the bottom of the screen.
I’ve been waiting.
Beth’s jaw began to throb and she responded: Who are you?
Allegro.
Beth swallowed tightly.
Is this Rae?
There was a long pause before the reply came. Whoever the person was, wherever they were, they were obviously considering their response carefully.
This is the wrong channel for that discussion. We should meet.
Where are you?
I have posted details on my BriskyPix page. Look for me there.
They logged out. Beth put “BriskyPix” into a search and hit the link. It was a new image-sharing site. She searched members for Allegro and selected their account. The page opened and she found an image and a message left for her there.
The airbrushed photo was of a pier containing an illuminated big wheel against a purple night sky taken from across pale yellow sands. Below the snap it said:
Beth, Crescent Bay Oyster Shack, 1885 Appian Way, Santa Monica, CA, 90401. Tell me when you’re ready to meet here. No more questions answered until you do. Just post “Good luck with Beethoven 5” on Eileen’s wall when you are. I will contact you to arrange a date and time.
Beth was sure she hadn’t just fallen for an intricate online scam. Was this where Rae was hiding, and was she really expected to travel all the way to LA on the basis of a few online exchanges?
Whoever it was could be assured of that, however, as soon as they’d used the word Luc had uttered as he’d died at the roadside. At least, the word Rae had told her he’d uttered.
Beth studied the picture and imagined herself standing on the pier. She did a quick search for the Oyster Shack and gleaned from its website that it was a small seafood restaurant that operated near Santa Monica Pier. Smiling diners used their fingers to tuck into shellfish served on newspaper spread over tables. It was obviously a very public and family-oriented place. Was that a deliberate ploy to make her feel more secure about the rendezvous?
