Someone’s Watching

Did you ever get the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching you? It might be because someone is watching you. It certainly was with Georgia.

10:00 a.m.

After I finished scrubbing the floor yesterday, I went back to examining computers. Something I overlooked the first time I checked the computer was the fact that Georgia had a webcam connected to it. Well, it’s not uncommon. I have a cam built into my laptop. Maybe she likes to chat. It must have made a pretty picture to have me in my bathrobe and coffee sitting in front of the computer this morning.

I had a sudden shiver down my spine.

What if she’d left a chat open on her computer? I could be sitting in someone’s private office right now. I crawled under the desk and unplugged the webcam from the video input port on the tower. But the feeling wouldn’t leave me alone. I went into the kitchen and saw the laptop on the kitchen counter. It looked like it was hibernating, but I got a piece of masking tape from a kitchen drawer and taped over the tiny camera lens on the screen of the laptop. Now I was on a quest. I headed upstairs to the room I’d been sleeping in. The computer there was a simple, off-the-shelf model of a secondary brand. I had to look around a bit before I saw the webcam on the bookshelf. It was wireless. I took it down and found a switch on the cam and turned it off.

I had avoided going into Georgia’s bedroom (at least I assumed it was the place where she slept). It was different than any of the other rooms in the house, partly in that it was a mess. The sheets were rumpled, there were clothes on the floor. I had to discipline myself to stop and take inventory of my surroundings after the pristine sterility of the rest of the house, this room was overwhelming to the senses.

At the top of the stairs were three doors—left, right, and straight ahead. Georgia’s was the right door. It opened inward and about half-way it caught on the strap of a bra that was on the floor in front of it. To my left was a four-drawer dresser. The top left drawer was open showing various bits of underwear. Lot’s of prints. Without pawing through it, I could tell there were also lots of very sexy and skimpy pieces. Georgia’s wild side, no doubt. The other three drawers were closed, but a nylon stocking was hanging out of the second drawer down. On top of the dresser was a jewelry box with the lid opened and the baubles just sort of piled into it. A tray of makeup sat on a lacey doily with no apparent order. I hadn’t seen any makeup in the bathroom and I could see why. There was a big mirror over the dresser with much better light than the little one in the bathroom. Continuing to the right, there was a pretty big dormer cut into the slanting ceiling. The bungalows in this part of town looked like they had all had upper rooms added under the eaves. There was plenty of headroom, but the wall with the dormer slanted in. In the dormer was a desk and the fancy gaming computer that I’d seen on my first cursory glance into the room. Now that I was looking for it, I could see that the webcam sitting on the desk was bigger, presumably better quality than the others I’d found. This was a big 20 inch screen with a joystick control sitting beside the mouse. The camera was aimed toward the third wall of the room. Mirrored bi-fold doors stood partially open revealing a closet full of clothes, both hanging and on the floor with at least a dozen pairs of shoes. Lovely site to show your gaming partners.

Finally, to my right, the queen-sized bed jutted out from the wall into the middle of the room. The bed was really too big for the size of the room, and it had a very girly pink frilly padded headboard. The sheets on the bed were probably impossible to keep tucked in since they were satin. A bedside table on either side held a lamp and alarm clock on one side and a lamp and book on the other side. The book was by a local mystery writer known for graphically explicit torture and death scenes. A blood-spatter writer, I’d heard her called. The night-stands were fully enclosed with a drawer and a door on the front.

I crossed to the desk and disconnected the webcam. Then, just to make sure, I scanned the room to see if there were any of the wireless variety I saw in the room I’d occupied across the hall. Standing at the desk, I realized that the camera was positioned in such a way that with the closet doors closed, it would see a pretty good reflection of the entire room. I didn’t see any more cameras, so I decided to check out the closet. Typical girl that I am, I had to see if I shared any of the same taste in clothes that my cousin Georgia did.

I did not. The clothes in her closet were not the refined and understated clothing that I’d come to expect from my sojourn in Savannah. There were a couple of suits, but the pencil skirts seemed almost too skinny for me to cram my butt into. I didn’t think Georgia could be any thinner than I am. The rest of the clothes included outfits I’d have guessed Frederick’s of Hollywood would carry. Some I could only classify as costumes.

I was rapidly losing respect for my so-called cousin. This looked like a hooker’s closet. For Pete’s sake, the lady was 51 years old!

I went to the bedside table between the bed and the closet and opened the drawer. OMG! A selection of dildos for every occasion. Not that I’ve actually ever seen one up close, but I know what they are. I opened the door and there were ropes—satiny ropes that matched the sheets. I pushed aside the bed skirt and found a tying ring bolted into the wall. On the other side, I found the same, plus handcuffs, and some various whips, blindfolds, and gags. Oh… I was not going to tell Grover about any of this. I suddenly agreed that there are some things a father shouldn’t know about his daughter. I wished at this moment that I didn’t know.

I proceeded through the rest of the house disconnecting webcams. In addition to the cameras attached to the kitchen and dining room computers, there were three other wireless cams strategically located above the main door, in the bedroom, and in the room I had occupied. Georgia must have been a performance artist.

I heard about girls using webcams to broadcast their lives. I’d even been hooked watching the cam focused on the falcon’s nest up at the top of the Washington Mutual tower. But I’d always thought these were self-indulgent pet-cams or the misguided calls for help by post-high school teens craving attention. Funny how easily I can dismiss them like that. If there was ever a post-high school teen craving attention, I had been one. But I didn’t feel the need to broadcast my pathetic life 24/7 on the Internet.

I scoured the bathroom top to bottom, but didn’t find a camera anywhere in it. It still gave me the heebie-jeebies to walk into it. I actually went out to move my car to a legal parking spot and use the bathroom at the grocery store before I shopped for food. Apparently tomorrow is set to be a plow day for the street out front and all cars are supposed to be off the street. I’m questioning the wisdom of even having a car down here and I may take it back to the rental company early.

I had to get an estate checking account opened and deposited enough funds to pay the rent and utilities. Grover told me what bank he was getting checks from and it was conveniently located in the neighborhood. I explained to the manager that I was in charge of the estate, but he says I have to have another form from the State to make it legal for him to release control of Georgia’s accounts. Apparently the death certificate and power of attorney aren’t enough. I’ll have to start making calls today.

While I was out, I called Cinnamon and checked in. She agreed to meet me with some supplies that I’m going to need so I don’t have to be out forever. She’s picking up packing boxes for me. I’m trying to figure out whether Goodwill or Salvation Army will be more willing to accept the clothes in Georgia’s closet.

Cinnamon also told me Tom had called and wanted to see me Friday night. Poor guy doesn’t know he saw me Thursday morning. *le sigh*

I hadn’t been back at the house Thursday afternoon for more than half an hour when the bell rang and Susan Thomas was there. She brought a casserole over, just as she said she would. She was very friendly and very chatty. She sat in the living room, right in front of where I’d scrubbed the chalk marks off the floor as if nothing had happened here and I had lived there for years.

She invited me out Saturday night to “The Circle,” the local bar that Tom owns. She said a lot of the locals come down on Saturday night and I should get to know some of the folks that Georgia knew. I was already beginning to doubt that, but there was still a chance that Georgia’s death was not self-inflicted, so I agreed to come check things out.

The bombshell dropped just before she left. She turned to me and as innocently as could be said, “Oh, by the way. If you happen to come across an amethyst pendant while you are packing things up, I’d really like to have it. I loaned it to Georgia for a big date she had and hadn’t gotten it back yet. It’s on a gold chain and is a square cut stone about so big.” She held her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. I was gobsmacked.

“I haven’t seen anything yet,” I said. “I’ve barely got the financial things set up and all. Oh, by the way, let me write the checks for this month and next month’s rent.” I pulled out my new checkbook and wrote the required checks. “I’ll keep an eye out and let you know if I find it.” I ushered her out and went straight to Georgia’s bedroom.

Now doesn’t that beat all? The necklace she described as wanting to be “returned” to her is the same description as the one Clarice gave me in Savannah. What’s with the amethyst necklace?

3:30 p.m.

The place makes my skin crawl. I haven’t been able to focus on anything. I got a big plastic garbage bag and emptied the entire refrigerator and freezer and took it to the garbage bin. I’m sure there was usable stuff in there, but I had to get rid of it all. I couldn’t stand to open a single leftover container. I scrubbed the fridge out and put my meager groceries in it. I really have to focus on getting into the computers tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m avoiding it. That’s why Grover chose me to do this job, I should really get at it.

But not tonight. Tonight I’m going out with Tom. He said it would be a nice surprise. I can’t wait. I’ve packed my little suitcase with what I need and am headed to the Sheraton downtown. Nice big impersonal hotel where no one will notice that a middle-aged woman checked in and a young woman left. Whee!