The next morning, my smart refrigerator, Frida, woke me playing melodic Hawaiian music. She signaled the coffee maker to brew me a cup.
“Frida, what’s on my schedule for today?”
“You are scheduled to work tomorrow at 5:00 pm.”
“Anything else?”
“You have a text message,” said the robotic female voice.
“Can you read it to me?”
“Weren’t you going to call me, emoji telephone, question mark, Burk,” said Frida, emphasizing each word precisely. “Would you like to respond?”
“No. Thank you. That’s all Frida.”
“You are welcome.”
‘That’s all’ was the command to turn Frida off. I felt a little awkward talking to an appliance that controlled my room and everything in it. I enjoyed the convenience of having an invisible assistant, of course, but Frida … well, she was involved in too much of my life, and remembered all of it. Better than I did.
I picked up my cup of coffee and wandered out to the deck. Fog encased the pine trees and redwoods at the bottom of the canyon, then dissolved into swirling mist toward the top. Hovering, not more than ten feet in front of me, was Earl’s Black Beauty. I waved. “Hey, Earl, how’s your psycho friend?”
The Babe started to bark in the background so I couldn’t catch all of Earl’s comments, but it sounded something like “Not as crazy as—”
The drone disappeared.
I walked back in, picked up my backpack and pulled out my new spy toys. I put the watch on my wrist and slapped the wire underneath my PJ top in the middle of my chest and tucked the mini recorder into my pocket. Then I walked into the bathroom and discretely pressed the side button to activate the smallest video camera I had ever used. I pointed it toward the mirror, ran my other hand through my hair and tossed my head back.
“Mr. DeMille, is it all right if I say a few words? This is my life. It always will be. The camera—”
“Hey Trisha, you want a donut?” Dad called from downstairs. I blinked once, twice and settled back into my Norma Desmond impersonation from the 1950’s film, Sunset Boulevard.
“All right Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my—”
“Donuts, Trish?” yelled Dad.
“—closeup. Yeah, Dad. Save me a chocolate one.”
I pulled on a sweatshirt and bounded down the steps. Earl and Dad were parked in the dining room, munching on the sweet treats.
“Try one of these,” said Dad. “You’ll love it.”
The donut he offered was covered in chocolate with slices of raspberries spread across the top.
“Dessert for breakfast. Tempting.” I said. “I’ll have half. I’m watching what I eat.”
“Well, you can watch it while you eat it,” snorted Dad.
“Ha, ha. Dad jokes. You’re supposed to be my support system. Not my enablers.”
“Like the snake in the garden of Eden, holding the apple or in this case, the donut, out to Eve,” said Earl.
“Think I’ll have cereal,” I said as I rummaged around the cupboards. “What happened to Bernard?”
“It took him a while to completely decompress, but he did. Then he left.”
“Where is he staying?”
“He wouldn’t say. Thought it was too dangerous for me to know. Did you call the FBI?” asked Earl.
“I did, and let’s just say, those guys who came to visit Bernard were not agents.”
Both men said ‘hmm’ at the same time.
“Well, who were they then?” asked Earl.
“Dunno. Earl, does the number seven, four, nine mean anything to you?”
Earl shook his head.
“Whoever answered the phone listed on the card is in downtown San Francisco.”
“And how do you know that?” asked Earl.
“I have my sources. I’m trying to find the exact location, but it might take some time.” I’d planned on telling them about my new spy gear but thought better of it.
After my donut/cereal break, I climbed back up to my room and onto the deck. I dropped into one of the lounge chairs, took off the wire and laid it on the side table. I undid the strap for the watch and turned it over in my hands.
So clunky and unattractive. Maybe I could go into business making spy thingies the right size and design for women. I played with the watch and the mini tape recorder until they felt familiar in my hand. Then I remembered—I’d never checked back in with Burk. I found my phone, gave him a call, and left a message.
“Sorry about yesterday. There was some stuff going on at my house. No time to do anything else. Do you have any free time today? I’m going to go for a swim down at the reservoir this afternoon around two. Wanna join me?”
I hoped the message sounded enticing and apologetic enough. If Burk failed to appear, it would be the first time I’d gone into the water without a swimming companion glued to my side. I wondered if I could do it. I pictured the reservoir: brownish-green water sweeping across the canyon floor until it reached a blockade of new-growth redwoods. In my mind, the shadowy water grew deeper and cooler. Maybe I’ll just stay on the beach.
A message popped up on my phone, the bank wanting confirmation I had received the replacement credit card. It gave me a link to click on. I started to, then thought better of it and called my bank to make sure they were the ones emailing me. They were. After a brief conversation, they recommended that I change my username and password on all my accounts. I had a few minutes, so I came up with new usernames and passwords for my bank, two email accounts, cable, and health insurance.