BY THE TIME I get home, I’m almost positive Shane Miller has scammed me for my laptop. I don’t know what my recourse is, but I need to report him. Predators like him luring desperate single moms and naive seniors need to be stopped. As I unpack my groceries, I call the police non-emergency line (again). An automated voice asks me questions to ensure I’m not in any present danger, and then asks how it can help. But how do I explain this situation to a robot? Do I say that I hired a hacker who stole my laptop? I suddenly wonder if Shane Miller’s tactics were legal. I hadn’t cared at the time, but could I be in trouble for contracting him? It’s not a chance I want to take. I hang up and dial Kash Gill.
I’m not sure how Kash feels about me now. The entire staff of Maple Heights Secondary likely considers me stark raving mad. But Kash knows me on a different level. We’ve worked on some very difficult student cases together. He’s seen the lengths I’ll go to for these kids, how much I really care about them. He knows I’m not a monster.
When he answers, his voice is cool and professional. “Hi, Camryn.”
“Hi, Kash. Thanks for taking my call.”
“Look,” he says, and I hear him sigh. “I didn’t go see that Hugo kid. I’m sorry but it didn’t feel—”
“I understand,” I say quickly. “That’s not why I’m calling.”
“What’s going on?”
I tell him everything, trusting that he won’t judge or accuse me. “I know I shouldn’t have handed over my laptop, but a friend recommended this guy,” I say. “And I was desperate to know who was behind these attacks.” My voice thickens. “I need to know who is trying to destroy my life.”
“That’s understandable,” Kash says gently. “I’m going to need some details on this hacker.”
I share everything I know about Shane Miller, which is not a lot. Kash promises to look into him for me. “But it could be a while before you get your computer back, if at all,” he adds. “Hopefully your work is on the cloud.”
“It is,” I mutter. This was my personal computer, used for my writing. None of my work matters. Not anymore.
“We can file a police report so you can claim it on insurance,” Kash adds. “But let me see what I can find out about this guy first.”
After I hang up, I address the next issue weighing on my mind: my daughter’s breakup. Moving to the sofa, I call Liza but find I’m still blocked. I hang up and dial Adrian. As it rings, I wonder if his mom told him she loaned me money to pay for a hacker. It’s likely a moot point now anyway. If Shane Miller is a fraud, I’ll be able to give Marion her money back immediately.
“Hey, Cam.” Adrian’s greeting is monotone. I’ve become a problem, a nuisance.
“I bumped into Wyatt,” I say quickly. “He told me he and Liza broke up. Is she okay?”
“She was upset at first, but her friends have been rallying around her. She seems fine now.”
“Which friends?” I ask.
“I don’t know…” He sounds flustered. Adrian loves his daughter, but every other teenage girl looks the same to him. “Sage and some other girls,” he tries. “A Mindy maybe? Or a Molly?”
“Why did Liza and Wyatt break up?” I ask. “Were they fighting? Do you know what it was about?”
“I didn’t ask. I respect Liza’s privacy. You might want to try it sometime.”
My ex is being influenced by his new wife, but I bite my tongue. “Can I talk to her?”
“It’s not long since you publicly humiliated her, Camryn. She’s still angry.”
“I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“I told you, she’s fine,” he barks, but his next words are softer. “Liza will come around, but she needs more time.”
“Just let me tell her that I love her. And that I’m here if she needs to talk about the breakup or anything else. Please, Adrian.”
“She’s not home. She left about half an hour ago to write an exam. But I’ll tell her you called.” He hangs up.
And I scramble for my car keys.
I’m at the front door of the building when I reconsider my plan to drive to Liza’s school. Showing up at her final exam unannounced would not be appreciated. And trying to console her about her breakup in front of her classmates would be ill advised. Liza would be even more humiliated, even more enraged. She would cut me out of her life: for weeks, months, even years. And lurking outside the school would prove Adrian’s point about not respecting our daughter’s privacy, while also feeding into the crazy stalker narrative that’s been dogging me. Fighting my maternal instinct to go to her, I ride the elevator back up to my apartment.
As I make a cup of tea, I reflect on my encounter with Wyatt. I know young love can be fickle and ephemeral, but something doesn’t feel right. Not long ago, Liza was ditching college to meet Wyatt in Australia. And suddenly, it’s over. It feels too abrupt. Something must have happened—an argument, an incident, or something worse. Adrian had assured me that Liza was fine, but he’s not exactly tuned in to the emotions of a teen girl. He can barely tell her friends apart. I need to talk to my daughter. But how?
Tears brim in my eyes, and I swipe them away. Regret and self-pity are not going to help me get my daughter back, but the emotions come hard and fast. Next week, Liza will toss her mortarboard into the air, pop some sneaky champagne with her girlfriends, and take celebratory photos with Adrian and Tori. In a couple of months, Liza will leave, embark on the next chapter of her life, leaving me alone. I’d consoled myself that this was time for me to focus on my writing career, to develop my true passion, but now that’s all gone, too. I feel desolate and abandoned.
With my cup of tea, I move to the sofa and sink into the cushions. I’m about to indulge in a pillow-pounding cry when my cell phone rings on the kitchen counter. Blowing my nose into a tissue, I hurry to answer it. I’m hoping it will be Shane Miller calling to tell me that he had a family emergency, a terrible flu, a brutal hangover, but he has the information I need. When I look at the number, it’s blocked, just like Shane’s was.
“Hello?” I am almost breathless.
“It’s Kash.” I forgot that police officers also use private numbers. “Is this a good time to talk?”
“Sure.”
“Are you alone?” His tone is odd.
“Uh, yeah.”
“You might want to have someone with you,” he says. “Why don’t you call a friend and then call me back?”
My heart is pounding, throat tight. “It’s fine, Kash. What is it?”
“I have some upsetting news.” His exhale is audible down the line. “About Shane Miller.”
I’ve been scammed, dammit. I knew it. “Just tell me.”
“Shane Miller is dead.”