“I remember the guy very well,” Bobby said. “He was rude to me-a first-class asshole, but not this asshole. This isn’t him.”

When Ali arrived at the address she’d been given, she found herself in front of a sprawling piece of stucco-covered architecture stacked on top of a three-car garage. Looking at it, she knew the modern-looking affair would total up to be well over a million-dollar property, especially since it was built on a steep hillside lot that backed up to a large swath of undeveloped and probably undevelopable open space. In the Sedona area, that kind of privacy meant big bucks.

She parked in the driveway and stepped out of her Cayenne to admire the view. The house overlooked the ninth fairway of a well-kept eighteen-hole golf course, with Sedona’s fringe of deep red rocks dominating the horizon.

B. hurried out to meet Ali as she gathered her purse and the take-out bag containing his sandwich. Ali handed the bag to him and then reached back into the Cayenne to retrieve her laptop. B. led her up the steep driveway and under a covered portico on the south side of the house, where two double doors-either antique or suitably distressed-created an impressive entry.

“For real?” Ali asked, fingering the rough-hewn wood.

B. grinned and shook his head. “Nope,” he replied. “Well done but absolutely fake. There’s a door factory down in Mexico that’s made a real name for itself manufacturing reproduction doors. The doors were going to be part of a whole Mexican-hacienda motif. I had planned on hiring a decorator and really doing the place up in spectacular fashion, but it turns out I’ve had a few other things on my plate. In other words, I haven’t quite gotten around to redecorating. You’ll have to take the house as is.”

The tall wooden doors opened onto a soaring two-story foyer with an exquisitely tiled floor. After that impressive entry, things pretty much went downhill. The living room was huge, with a massive black granite fireplace at the far end. What should have been a spectacular focal point for the home suffered from the furnishings-an oddball collection of mismatched tables, desks, and benches, all of which held one or more computers. The only concession to comfort came in the guise of two rolling desk chairs that evidently migrated as needed from one computer station to the next.

“Why do I feel like I just ended up at a computer garage sale?” Ali asked.

“It’s not,” B. said with a chuckle. “For one thing, not one of these computers is dead. They’re all hard at work doing their own little part of solving our encryption problem. I’ll admit, I probably shouldn’t have set them up in the living room, but there was more room here than anywhere else. The kitchen’s on through there,” he added, pointing and leading the way. “I put on a new pot of coffee, and if you’re hungry, I’ll be happy to share some of my sandwich.”

Taking the hint, Ali followed B. into the kitchen. “Yes on the coffee,” she said. “I already had breakfast, so I’m not hungry. Don’t let that stop you. You go ahead.”

She watched while he dished the sandwich out onto a paper plate and set the table with an assortment of plastic utensils. A confirmed bachelor, Ali concluded.

B. seemed to read her mind. “I was married once,” he said as he poured freshly brewed coffee from a state-of-the-art Krups brew station into a pair of mugs that were covered with fading Nintendo logos. “Briefly and badly,” he added. “She wanted to fix me and turn our house into something out of House and Garden. I’m more into retro Star Wars. She also wanted me to work regular office hours with nights and weekends off. I took the position that as much money as I was making, I didn’t need to be fixed. We decided to go our separate ways. She lives the way she lives, and I live like this.” He paused and looked at Ali expectantly, as if waiting for her to fill in the blanks of her own life.

“If you’ve Googled me,” she said, “then you already know I got turned in for a newer model. Or two.”

“Yes,” B. agreed. “I believe there was some mention of that. I also read that before all was said and done, you ended up being accused of knocking him off. Is that what got you so bound up in trying to help Bryan Forester?”

It was a fair question, especially in view of the fact that Ali’s involvement had drawn B. into the equation as well. “I suppose,” Ali admitted. “And considering your past history, I really appreciate that you’re willing to help out.”

B. grinned at her before taking a bite of the oversize sandwich. “You’re a paying customer,” he said, when he finished chewing. “And the customer is always right. You brought the thumb drives?”

“Yes.” Ali reached into her purse, pulled out the drives in question, and put them on the table. “I already tried using one of them in my computer,” she said, patting her computer case. “Nothing happened, but as you said, I wasn’t online at the time.”

B. nodded. “Thanks for dropping them off. As soon as I’m done with my sandwich, I’ll check them out. The drives and the computer.”

“Thank you,” Ali said.

“And what about Dave Holman?” B. asked. “Did you tell him about the possible connection between his case and our identity thief?”

“Not yet,” Ali said. “I’ve tried calling him several times. He must be busy. The calls go straight to voice mail.”

“Keep trying,” B. urged. “The more I think about it, the less I like it.”

Ali stayed long enough for B. to polish off the sandwich. Once he reached for her computer, she stood to leave. She still hadn’t heard back from Leland Brooks, and she wanted to make sure someone was at the Manzanita Hills house in advance of the deputies with their search warrant.

“You’re welcome to stay if you want to,” he said.

Ali shook her head. “I’ve already seen you working on computers,” she said. “It’s about as much fun as watching grass grow.”

“That’s funny,” B. said. “It’s almost the same thing my ex-wife used to say.”

CHAPTER 14

Leaving the village, Ali tried calling both Dave and Leland again. To no avail: Neither of them answered. On the way, she drove up to the Manzanita Hills house, expecting to see a pallet or two of tiles sitting in the driveway. There wasn’t one, and Leland wasn’t there, either.

Exasperated, Ali called B. Simpson back. “Have you taken a look at either one of the thumb drives?” she asked.

“Both of them,” he said. “And you’re right. They were both infected, but now that I know how this guy works, it wasn’t hard to disable the worm. I just finished working on Morgan’s. Why?”

“Someone was supposed to deliver a tile order today,” Ali said. “But there’s no sign of it here, and no sign of Mr. Brooks either. I’m wondering what happened.”

“Would you like me to check Morgan’s address book and see if I can find a phone number for you? Do you happen to remember the name?”

“Tile Design,” Ali answered impatiently. “Something like that.”

“Import Granite and Tile Design?” B. returned a moment later. “On Buckeye Road?”

“That’s the one,” Ali said. “Can you give me the number?”

“And down here on the notes, there’s a whole series of invoice numbers,” B. said. “Would you like those as well?”

Ali noted them. Once she dialed the number, she spent the next several minutes on hold before someone from customer service came on the line.

“My name is Alison Reynolds,” Ali told the woman. “My contractor is Build It Construction here in Sedona. I was told my order of limestone tile would be delivered today, but it hasn’t shown up.”

“You were expecting an order today?” the woman asked. “Where again?”

“In Sedona. At my construction site on Manzanita Hills Road. The contractor is currently unavailable, and I was told I needed to have someone on site to sign the invoice and accept delivery.”