Date: Tue, 13 Aug 1996 16:17:52 -0600 (MDT) From: "Katherine R. Freymuth" Subject: Theresa - Chap. 7 Message-ID: Note: There is one reference to "Play It Again, Seymour" in this part. Also, if anyone knows what a propaedia is, please tell me. Everything I know about the Encyclopedia Britannica comes from a brief visit to the library. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 7 The Art of Communication "Good afternoon, Jennifer," Jeff said as he and Sam entered their office. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sterling," the pretty secretary replied. "I canceled all of your morning appointments as you requested and rescheduled them for Monday afternoon." She gave both Sam and Jeff their new schedules and looked at Jeff with sympathy. "I'm so sorry to hear about your uncle." "Thank you, Jennifer," Jeff told her with a grateful smile. "What do we have for today?" Jennifer picked up her copy of both schedules. "There's a preliminary hearing on the Westworth case, a meeting with Mr. Krane about his case, and a meeting with a new client." "I'll take the hearing," Jeff told Sam. "I have more involvement with the Westworth case." He smiled. "Besides, I think Krane is ready to kill after the last time." He looked at his schedule. "I'd better go or I'll be late in meeting Westworth before the hearing. I'll see you later." "Okay," Sam replied as he wheeled himself into the main office. He stopped, suddenly realizing that, within an hour, he would have to talk to someone about a case of which he had absolutely no knowledge. "Oh, boy," he muttered to himself as he went to the desk he was at the last time he was in the office. He searched the desk drawers, found the Krane case file, and started reading. ******************************************** "Feel better?" Al asked as Theresa came out of the bathroom, her hair damp from the shower. "Yes," she told him. "Where's Tina?" "In the kitchen, making dinner." He offered her a seat with a gesture. She accepted. "Verbina showed me the drawing of your father. You're very good." Theresa shook her head. "No, I'm not. I'm fair, not good." "I'd say you were excellent. Listen," he said gently. "I think you have a future as an artist. But you have to want to be one. You have the talent." "What?" Theresa exclaimed. "I can't be an artist. I'm really not that good." She paused a moment, curious. "Did Dr. Beeks put you up to this?" Al shook his head. "No, she didn't/ I'm giving you my honest opinion. You're very good, Theresa," he told her firmly. "You have to do what you really enjoy, otherwise you'll never be happy." She shook her head. "I'm good at hooking," she informed him. "Do you like it?" "What kind of a question is that?" she replied with some annoyance. "If you really like what you're doing, I'll take you back," he told her. "Just because you're good at something doesn't necessarily mean you enjoy it. I'm a professional soldier but that doesn't mean I enjoy war. I'm a soldier because I enjoy serving my country." He looked at Theresa directly in the eyes. "What do you enjoy? Because I know it isn't hooking." Theresa nodded. "You're right. It isn't hooking." "Then, what is it? Art?" Al smiled. Theresa smiled back. "Yeah. But you can't get a decent job as an artist! I've tried!" "Well, then, you're just going to have to try again," Al told her. He stood up and went into the kitchen to see if Tina needed any help. However, dinner was all ready. Theresa thought about what Al had said as dinner was served. ************************************************* Sam rubbed his eyes with mental fatigue. Trying to get Krane to agree to settle rather than to take his case to court was almost impossible. Almost. Sam had to cancel the other appointment to allow for the extra time the discussion with Krane took. Krane finally agreed to settle out of court. It had taken Sam almost four hours to get him to settle. "Chris, you look terrible!" Jeff commented as he entered the office. "Thanks," Sam muttered in response. "So, did he settle?" "Yes. I had to cancel the other appointment. It's rescheduled for Monday." Sam covering a hurting eye as he closed his eyes and leaned onto the desk. "Kinda did you in, did he?" Jeff smiled. "You could say that." Jeff looked intensely at Sam. Sam noticed and sat up straight. "What is it?" he asked. "I want to go back to the house, Chris. There's something about all of this that really bothers me. I mean, Uncle Joseph's bookcase and then someone trying to kill us..." He sighed. "I just have to know what the hell is going on." Sam nodded. "Okay, Jeff. But we'll have to be careful." "I know. That's why I asked a friend to come along with us," Jeff told him. "A friend?" "You remember Andy Stevens? I introduced you to him a couple of week's ago. He said that he wanted to help." "You told him about our visit to your uncle's house?" Sam asked him. "Of course, I did," Jeff answered. "I don't keep secrets from my friends. Besides, we'll need the protection after that last time." "Protection?" "Yeah. He's a private investigator, remember? Besides, we're old friends and I have a feeling we're going to need as much help as we can possibly get." Sam nodded. "Okay. When are we going over?" "Right now." **************************************************** Andy Stevens was a tall man, about five feet eleven inches. His brown hair and tanned skin helped to bring out his hazel eyes. He looked about cautiously before giving Sam and Jeff a thumbs up sign. He stayed at the door while Sam and Jeff entered the study of Joseph Sterling's house for the second time that day. Sam stopped for a moment, looking around. "Do you notice something?" "Hmm?" Jeff hadn't understood him. Sam repeated the question. Jeff looked around. "Everything seems in its place," Jeff said plainly. "Exactly," Sam told him. "Look around. Everything is as if nothing ever happened here." "Chris, the bookcase," Jeff pointed out. Sam looked. All the books were in proper order. The Encyclopedia Britannica was in numerical order. "Someone's trying to cover their tracks," Sam thought aloud as Jeff called Andy into the room and pointed out the room and, especially, the bookcase. Andy looked at the encyclopedias. "I thought you said it was all jumbled up." "It was. Someone came in and decided to do a little unauthorized housecleaning," Jeff told him. "Now we'll never know if that was some kind of code or not." "Wait a second," Sam told them. "Do you have a paper and pen?" "Here," Andy answered, giving him what he requested. Sam wrote down the order of the encyclopedias as they were that morning. "You remember it?" Andy exclaimed. "I thought it would be a good idea." He showed the paper to Jeff. "Does that look right?" "I guess so but then again I didn't really pay attention to their order." Sam put the paper down so that all three of them could see it. It read: 6, 15, 24, 19, 20, 5, 22, 14, 16, Index A-M, 1, 4, 18, 23, Index N-Z, 17, 21, 9, 13, 3, 25, Propaedia, 2, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 16, 27, 28, 29. "You think it's some kind of code?" Jeff asked. "It could be," Sam answered. "Or it could be just what it looks like," Andy put in. "Your uncle probably put his encyclopedias away out of order." Jeff shook his head. "Uncle Joseph was meticulous about everything, especially his books. Besides, it has to mean something if someone went out of their way to put them back in order after we left." Sam nodded. "I agree. There's something more to this." Andy shook his head. "Even if it were some kind of code, you might not have the numbers in the right order." "They're in the right order," Sam told him confidently. "You seem determined to prove us wrong." "Playing devil's advocate. that's all," Andy smiled. He looked at his watch. "We'd better go. You may be done for the day but I've got work to do. A P.I.'s job is never done," he declared as he straightened himself and started for the door. Jeff looked at Sam and shrugged. "Shall we go?" "I don't think we have much of a choice," Sam answered. "He's driving." ********************************************* "I can't do it, Al," Theresa said firmly as she sat in Complex Lounge B on the second level. "I can't! There's no way in the world they'd hire me!" "You haven't even tried and already you're giving up," Al muttered, shaking his head. "I haven't given up," Theresa told him firmly. "I just know the truth. No one is going to hire a prostitute except maybe as a nude model." Al looked at her firmly. "If you don't have confidence in yourself, no one else will." He stood up. "Think about it. I'll see you later." With that, he left the lounge and went to his office. He sat down to work on the next week's duty roster when Verbina walked into the room. "You seem troubled," she told him as she sat down. Al looked up, seeing her finally. "You never knock, do you?" "Not when I know I'm welcome. You want to tell me what's wrong?" Al finished writing a name and then put down the pen. "I think you already know." "Theresa?" Verbina asked. Al nodded. "What's the problem? Last I heard, you two had some sort of argument." "Where'd you hear that?" "Tina," Verbina answered. She can't keep anything a secret unless you swear her to secrecy. What was the argument about?" "It wasn't an argument. It was a misunderstanding and it is a private matter that is long since resolved," Al told her. He turned back to the roster. "I see," Verbina commented. "So, what is the problem?" Al sighed and put the pen down again. "She has no self-esteem!" he exclaimed. "She won't even try to help herself even though she wants off the streets." "She's spent the last four years on the streets and she feels alone. She has no family." "She has a brother and a sister," Al told her. "Whom she hasn't seen or talked or in four years," Verbina added. "The only person she really trusts is you. She doesn't even trust herself anymore." "So, what do we do about it?" "I don't know," Verbina answered. "What do we do about it?" Al looked at her with annoyance. "Don't turn the question back on me. I need advise, not psycho-analysis." "I really don't know, Al," Verbina told him. "All I can tell you is that, unless Theresa learned to trust herself, she's never going to help herself." Al came to a decision. He smiled. "Thanks, Verbina." Verbina stood, unsure how she helped. "Don't mention it." She started to leave. "Verbina," Al called to her. "Please tell Theresa that I'll meet her in Lounge B in three hours." Verbina nodded and left the office, wondering what Al was planning. *************************************** Sam was sitting on Chris' bed, getting ready to sleep. Since he had been in Joseph Sterling's house that evening, he couldn't get the strange order of encyclopedias out of his head. It seemed to haunt him. Al was right; it was some kind of code. But what did you do to break it? Even as a child, Sam always enjoyed solving problems. When he read any mystery story, he could easily solve the mystery before he was halfway through the book. He had many times wondered what it would be like to be a detective and now, thanks to Quantum Leaping, not only had he been a detective but he now knew that no real mystery could be solves halfway through the book. The answer usually laid in the last half. "How's it going, Sam?" Al asked as he entered the Imaging Chamber. "I'm not sure," Sam answered. "I can't understand why anybody so meticulous about his bookcase would replace his encyclopedias in such a strange order. And get this, he told Al. "Jeff and I returned to the house today with one of Jeff's friends, Andy Stevens. He's a private investigator." "Andy Stevens?" Al asked, the last name familiar to him. He raised the handlink to check. "You know him?" Sam asked. "No," Al answered. "But he's Edward Stevens' son. The same Edward Stevens who used to be Joseph Sterling's partner. Andrew Quincy Fox-Stevens," Al read. "Forty-three years old. Graduated Harvard Law School but never made it as a lawyer. Became a private investigator after his father went bankrupt." Sam nodded his head, acknowledging what Al had told him. "Al, someone had put the encyclopedias back in order." "What? What do you mean?" "After Jeff and I left the house this morning, someone came in and put the entire library back into proper order. The encyclopedias are no longer jumbled up!" "Sounds like someone knows you're onto them," Al commented. "Did you memorize their order?" "Take a look," Sam told him as he pulled out the paper on which he had written the order. "You wrote them down?" Al exclaimed. "Sam, that's a little dangerous, don't you think? I mean, what if the wrong person gets a hold of that?" "Al, just take a look at this," Sam told him firmly. Al looked over Sam's shoulder. "One through twenty-nine, two indexes, and a propaedia. What the hell is a propaedia?" "There were thirty-two volumes," Sam told him. Al shook his head. "Doesn't look like any code I'm familiar with. But, then again, my specialty wasn't decoding and deciphering." Al paused when the handlink bleeped at him. "Sam, Ziggy's got something for you." "What is it?" Sam asked, still studying the paper. "Apparently, You've changed history again because tomorrow, after you attend services at your mosque, you are killed in a hit and run. And Sam? It's definitely no accident. It's murder." --------------------------------------------------------------- I love comments so please send them. An author is only as good (or as bad) as his reader tell him he is. Kat Freymuth "Oh my god! I'm a dork! With teeth that can pick up radio transmissions!" Sam from "Camikazi Kid"