The Sleeping Doll

wharf. The temperature was fifty-five degrees.
    Last night she’d been in an elated mood. Daniel Pell had been stopped, Linda Whitfield would be all right, Nagle and his family had survived. She and Winston Kellogg had made their plans for “afterward.”
    Today, though, things were different. A darkness hung over her; she couldn’t shake it, and the mood had nothing to do with the weather. Many things were contributing to it, not the least of which was planning the memorial services and funerals for the guards killed at the courthouse, the deputies at the Point Lobos Inn yesterday and Juan Millar too.
    She sipped her coffee. Then blinked in surprise as a hummingbird appeared from nowhere and dipped its beak into the feeder hanging on the side of the restaurant, near a spill of gardenias. Another bird strafed in and drove the first away. They were pretty creatures, jewels, but could be mean as scrap-yard dogs.
    Then she heard, “Hello.”
    Winston Kellogg came up behind her, slipped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. Not too close to the mouth, not too far away. She smiled and hugged him.
    He sat down.
    Dance waved to the waitress, who refilled her cup and poured one for Kellogg.
    “So I was doing some research about the area,” Kellogg said. “I thought we could go down to Big Sur tonight. Some place called Ventana.”
    “It’s beautiful. I haven’t been for years. The restaurant’s wonderful. It’s a bit of a drive.”
    “I’m game. Highway One, right?”
    Which would take them right past Point Lobos. She flashed back to the gunshots, the blood, Daniel Pell lying on his back, dull blue eyes staring unseeing at a dark blue sky.
    “Thanks for getting up so early,” Dance said.
    “Breakfast and dinner with you. The pleasure’s mine.”
    She gave him another smile. “Here’s the situation. TJ finally found the answer to ‘Nimue,’ I think.”
    Kellogg nodded. “What Pell was searching for in Capitola.”
    “At first I thought it was a screen name, then I was thinking it might have to do with this computer game, ‘Nimue’ with an X , the popular one.”
    The agent shook his head.
    “Apparently it’s hot. I should have consulted the experts—my kids. Anyway, I was toying with the idea that Pell and Jimmy went to the Croytons’ to steal some valuable software, and I remembered Reynolds told me that Croyton gave away all this computer research and software to Cal State-Monterey Bay. I thought maybe there was something in the college archives that Pell planned to steal. But, no, it turns out that Nimue’s something else.”
    “What?”
    “We’re not exactly sure. That’s what I need your help on. TJ found a folder on Jennie Marston’s computer. The name was—” Dance found a slip of paper and read, “Quote ‘Nimue—cult suicide in L.A.’ ”
    “What was inside?”
    “That’s the problem. He tried to open it. But it’s password-protected. We’ll have to send it to CBI headquarters in Sacramento to crack, but frankly, that’ll take weeks. It might not be important but I’d like to find out what it’s all about. I was hoping you’d have somebody in the bureau who could decrypt it faster.”
    Kellogg told her he knew of a computer wiz in the FBI’s San Jose field office—in the heart of Silicon Valley. “If anybody can break it they can. I’ll get it to him today.”
    She thanked him and handed over the Dell, in a plastic bag and with achain-of-custody tag attached. He signed the card and set the bag beside him.
    Dance waved for the waitress. Toast was about all she could manage this morning, but Kellogg ordered a full breakfast.
    He said, “Now, tell me about Big Sur. It’s supposed to be pretty.”
    “Breathtaking,” she said. “One of the most romantic places you’ll ever see.”
    •    •    •
    Kathryn Dance was in her office when Winston Kellogg came to collect her at five thirty for their date. He was in formal casual. He and Dance came close to matching—brown jackets, light shirts and jeans. His blue, hers black. Ventana was an upscale inn, restaurant and winery but this was, after all, California. You needed a suit and tie only in San Francisco, L.A. and Sacramento.
    For funerals too, of course, Dance couldn’t help but think.
    “First, let’s get work out of the way.” He opened his attaché case and handed her the plastic evidence bag containing the computer found in the Butterfly Inn.
    “Oh, you’ve got it