Trust Me

the program properly.”
    “What does it mean?”
    Ian shrugged. “Just what it says. It means that the last work you did was saved in a special emergency file. You’ll have to call it up with special commands to retrieve it.”
    “But, I didn’t – “ Desdemona broke off without finishing her sentence. For some reason she did not want to tell him that she was quite certain that she had not accidentally shut down a program. Nor had there been a power failure the last time she used the computer.
    “Didn’t what?” Ian glanced at her.
    She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you were so familiar with computers.”
    “Who isn’t these days? I use one to keep files of potential patrons and subscription lists and to handle the Limelight’s financial records Tony set up the programs for me.”
    “That’s right. I’d forgotten.”
    “He’s got a real knack for that kind of thing, doesn’t he?”
    “Yes.” Desdemona did not want to pursue that. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to work.”
    “I can take a hint.” Ian paused at the door. “Say, Mona?”
    “Yes?”
    “Do you think Stark would respond to a pitch that focused on how he would be hailed as a visionary patron of the arts if he were to back Dissolving? Corporate types like to grab on to the vision thing, you know. Good press.”
    “Gee, I’m not sure how Stark would respond to the concept of himself as a visionary corporate executive and patron of the arts.” Desdemona smiled encouragingly. “Why don’t you give it a shot?”
    Ian slapped the doorframe in a gesture of renewed enthusiasm. “I’ll do it. If you hear from Tony, tell him to get his ass back here to Seattle. That Hollywood crowd is all hype and no talent. We’re theater people.” He hurried off toward the front door, ponytail jiggling.
    “I’ll tell him,” Desdemona said to herself. She waited until Ian was gone before she turned back to the computer.
    She regarded the message about lost files for a long while. The only person who had ever used her computer other than herself was Tony. The possibility that he had been working on it shortly before Vernon’s murder made her stomach churn.
    Eventually she summoned the nerve to instruct the computer to recover the missing work. She punched a key. Nothing happened.
    Desdemona groaned and reached for the manual. She hated having to resort to the manual. She never understood it.
    The phone rang, slicing through her concentration. She picked up the receiver.
    “Right Touch. This is Desdemona.”
    “Hey, kid, it’s me, Tony.”
    Desdemona stilled. “Where are you?”
    “L.A. Didn’t Aunt Bess get my message?”
    “Yes, but we were a little concerned. Did you hear that Vernon Tate was killed?”
    “Killed? As in murdered?” Tony sounded incredulous.
    “I walked in on it, Tony. The killer was still here. He took a couple of shots at me.”
    “Jesus.” Tony was appalled. “Are you okay? You weren’t hurt?”
    “No, I managed to get into the freezer and close the door. The killer left. But he dumped some shelving in front of the door and… oh, Tony, I was trapped in there.”
    “Shit, the freezer?”
    “Yes.”
    “Were you… okay?”
    “I nearly went crazy, as you’d expect. All I could think about was the trunk of Northstreet’s car. And to make matters worse, Tate’s body was in there with me.”
    “Oh, shit,” Tony said again. Desdemona could hear the frustration and anger searing his words. “Oh, shit. Are you sure you’re okay?”
    “I’m okay, Tony. Remember the personal digital assistant Stark gave me? I used it to contact him. He got me out.”
    There was a short, pregnant pause. “Stark rescued you?”
    “Yes. The place is a mess, but we should be ready to reopen on Monday. Tony, what’s going on down there?”
    “Nothing.” Tony’s voice dripped with disgust. “That’s why I’m calling. The soap concept is still on the shelf. There are no plans to take it into production. And no one here wants to see my face.”
    “I don’t understand. Why did they pay for your ticket if the project isn’t going forward?”
    “Damned if I know. No one down here knows anything about that, either. It’s a little weird, to tell you the truth.”
    “Maybe it was just a clerical glitch.”
    “You mean somebody told a secretary to send a ticket to some other actor and it got sent to me by mistake?” Tony sighed. “Given my luck, that’s a real possibility.”
    “What