“They would have no idea where you were chatting from,” I said. “But whatever company you get Internet from might be able to tell that you were online, and where, and for how long. I don’t know for sure, but it’s worth a try,” I said.
“How do I go about finding out?”
“Tell the chief. He’s got excellent consultants he can use. And I know that for sure, because they work for my brother. After that data theft problem, he realized there was a big market for cutting-edge forensic data analysis, so he started a division to do it. If anyone can prove your alibi, Mutant Wizards can. Just tell the chief.”
“Thanks.” She stood up and squared her shoulders. “I will.”
“If you like, I can tell him what you just told me,” I said. “So you don’t have to explain it all over again. I don’t even have to tell him about what Clay did. Just that you were chatting online with friends, and had no idea that could be traced.”
“Oh, would you?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Thank you.” She sat down again, and began stringing her garland again, but she wasn’t quite so slumped, and she seemed to have more energy.
I decided not to call to tell the chief. Linda had already suffered enough from people overhearing her business. I typed out a detailed e-mail on my phone.
By around five, most of the workmen and decorators had left. Mother was still rearranging ornaments on her Christmas tree, and Ivy was painting away above her head, but the rest of the house was peaceful. And it was getting cold outside, so I moved my base of operations back into the foyer.
“Meg! It’s lovely!”
My old friend Caroline Willner popped through the front door and begin shedding her scarf, gloves, hat, and coat. “Your mother invited me to come and get a sneak preview.”
“Is this going to take long?” Grandfather came stumping in behind her. From his expression I suspected he’d have considered wrestling alligators preferable to inspecting interior design. But he and Caroline were good friends—she often accompanied him on his trips to rescue abused animals and endangered species—so I assumed he was returning the favor by coming along to keep her company.
“We won’t be long,” Mother said, giving Grandfather a kiss on the cheek. “Why don’t you talk to Meg while we do our tour.”
She and Caroline sailed off, and from the amount of time they were taking in the first room—Sarah’s study—I could tell that her definition of “not long” would probably differ significantly from Grandfather’s.
“So, is this where you had one of them bumped off?” he asked.
“Not here,” I said. “Upstairs. And all I did was find him.”
“Show me.”
Chapter 12
I led Grandfather upstairs to the master suite, but since the workmen had done a good job of cleaning up and repairing it, there wasn’t that much to see. But while he was poking around—hoping, perhaps, to find a stray blood spatter the workmen had overlooked—I went out into the hall to see how Ivy was coming along.
Her “Nightingale” mural was splendid. The Emperor of China, clad in cloth of gold, sat in the center, surrounded by courtiers, all staring at a tiny bejeweled clockwork bird. Up in the top left corner of the wall lurked a small bird whose muted gray-brown color echoed Ivy’s soft, drab garments.
Grandfather ambled along the hall and studied the glittering court with little interest. Then he spotted the bird.
“So what’s this?” Grandfather said. “Ah! Luscinia megarhynchos!”
“The common nightingale,” I translated. Grandfather rarely stopped to consider the feelings of people who, not being professional zoologists, hadn’t memorized the Latin names of every species in creation.
“Not bad.” Grandfather was on his tiptoes, inspecting the nightingale at close quarters. “Not bad at all. What’s all the rest of this?”
“You know Hans Christian Andersen’s story of the nightingale, don’t you?” Ivy asked.
“Not much for fairy tales,” Grandfather said.
“The Emperor of China had a wonderful palace,” Ivy began, not looking up from her work. “It was built entirely of porcelain, and in the garden all the flowers had tiny bells tied to them that tinkled gently with the slightest breeze.”
“Hmph.” Grandfather’s snort seemed to suggest that he found this a silly kind of place, but he didn’t actually interrupt Ivy.
“But the emperor heard that the nightingale’s song was more beautiful than anything in his palace,” Ivy went on.
Grandfather nodded approvingly at this note of natural history.