Chapter Five

A whoop from outside their door completely distracted Ariel from her work, and she startled, looking away from the treescape she’d been working on just as Dan slammed her office door open.

“They got her!” he yelled, jumping up and down, shaggy hair floundering with him.

“Got what? Who?”

 Jesse and Lucy danced by, swinging each other around and singing “Ding dong, the witch is dead!” over and over again.

“Mrs. Blackburn!” Dan waved a paper. “They’ve got her! Identity theft, illegal data tapping-” he flung his hands towards the heavens. “We’re free!”

“Hallelujah, praise Jesus!” someone yelled from beyond the door.

“And the district prosecutor!” another added.

“Amen!”

“You’re sure?” Ariel asked.

“Positive.”

If the world had dropped out from under Ariel Minster two months before, it all came back underneath her, the pieces fitting into place like a perfectly designed puzzle.

“Anything about me?” she asked, just to be sure.

“Editorial says you’ll be cleared of charges for sure.”

She let a whoop leap out of her throat and hugged Miranda when the other girl grabbed her happily. Dan yelled again, and they joined the odd parading dance of designers and writers and programmers flowing out of the maze of clustered cubicles. Prospero’s door remained shut, as if permitting their antics by admission of his presence, and someone turned up Pepsi and cupcakes from the food mart and no one worked for the rest of the day. They toasted the police chief and the FBI and the detectives, and every cop whose name Ariel could remember, and the detectives, and especially the district prosecutor. Dan read the whole article out loud, a good one from their local newspaper with none of the sensational absurdities that cluttered up some other publications.

Diana Blackburn had confessed during interview and was headed for court. The evidence for the charges was clear to anyone who had half a brain, and the journalist writing strongly implied that Ariel Minster, though still considered as an accessory, might be cleared entirely in light of these new developments. Chief Bancker had refused to comment, obviously, but he always refused to comment, and no one had any concerns over that.

The press tried to get into the building next, which resulted in a whole lot of whispering and giggling and hiding Ariel and Miranda under a desk behind a plant while everyone scampered back to their desks and pretended to be immersed in work. After a good deal of fruitless knocking on Prospero’s door and attempts to talk to the employees, who responded with grunts and monosyllables, the reporters contented themselves with running live reports out of the corners in their most dramatic voices. Ariel and Miranda had to hold hands over each other’s mouths to keep from laughing and giving their position away.

They nearly failed when Dan put on a vest he borrowed from Roy and pretended to be the office manager and ordered everyone who was not employed there to hit the road. He got some argument from the crews sent by big name stations, but within fifteen minutes he had shuffled them out the door to do their reports from the parking lot where a soft rain was starting to fall. Ariel and Miranda crawled out from under the desk and had more cupcakes.
Miranda hung close to Ariel, almost touching her at all times, and the other woman remembered that her companion was usually panicky in these kinds of situations. But she kept a smile on her face all the way through and giggled and laughed and even teased her new coworkers.

Five ‘o clock came, and everyone went home. Miranda crawled into the back seat of the Centurion and stretched out, promptly going to sleep.

“Did she stay out for the party?” Prospero asked.

“The whole thing.”

Prospero raised he eyebrows. “That’s impressive. I wouldn’t have expected it.”

“I guess she felt comfortable.”

However she had felt, Miranda was exhausted from the day and could barely be coaxed awake for eating supper. She managed most of her bowl of soup before nearly falling asleep on the table, and Ariel had to prop her up the stairs to the bedroom they shared. Once in the secure place, Miranda revived enough to take off her makeup and change into her pajamas.

Ariel and Miranda shared the smaller room in the house, but it was still expansive. Their beds were tucked into two gables on opposite sides of the room, nightstands and dressers beside them. The entry end of the room had a chaise lounge and a few fluffy chairs around a circular coffee table and a pull down screen for projecting movies. The bathroom had a long counter with two sinks, a jacuzzi tub and a shower, and a massive walk-in closet off of that.

They’d spent three days online shopping to furnish the room, and fortunately they shared a taste for blue, gray and lace. All the furniture was soft, elegant curves, the room breathed ease and calm, and the huge pictures of dragons on the biggest wall spaces gave it an edge. Miranda had put a lace canopy over her bed, letting it hang from a clustered point in the center and drape around. Ariel picked it up out of the way to tumble her into the bed and watched her snuggle into the covers.

Prospero was a thousand times better than working for Mrs. Blackburn. Ariel turned off the light and crawled into her own bed, stretching and shifting around to find a comfortable position. But it wasn’t Diana Blackburn who was truly the crook. It was Cal, and she hadn’t heard a breath about him in the two months she’d been here. She wouldn’t be surprised if Diana took the fall for her precious son, but she also doubted his ability to care for himself, and if his mother was in the jail for his crimes, someone had to be looking after him…unless he’d somehow learned independence.

Ariel snorted. Caliban and independence didn’t go together. Maybe he’d been farmed off on some miserable relative.

So long as he wasn’t in the system anymore. Whatever else he was, Caliban Blackburn in the mainframe was nothing less than horrifying. He’d been another complaint from the testers; they thought he was a character, not a gamer who simply refused to leave. How Diana got food down the boy was beyond her.

Prospero was clever, though; of that she was sure. And if he knew - as she did - what Caliban was, he would not have left that part of the case quiet. He kept plenty of secrets, and even if she thought she deserved to know if there was anything happening with Caliban, she did trust Prospero to manage it fairly, and in her favor, whether she learned anything or not. Wouldn’t hurt to ask tomorrow, though. He might be in a good mood.