The Mind Virus

Chapter 15 - Part 3

The two men sat down on opposing couches.

"Coffee?" Ronnie offered.

"No thanks," Jim replied. "This isn't going to get any easier, so let me get straight to it. Were Molly and Jenny close?"

"They were. Molly had graduated from college, and she was sort of mentoring Jenny. You know, giving her advice, helping her with her schoolwork, stuff like that."

"And Jenny was going to Cedar Grove State?"

"Yes."

"The same college that Molly graduated from?"

"Correct."

Jim's mind went to Miller. "I know this is a bit personal, but do you know if either of them had boyfriends?"

"Molly was happily married, and Jenny wasn't going out with anyone as far as I could tell."

"I see." Jim was wondering what that did to his Miller theory. Was he just being stupid all along? Miller wasn't exactly the most uncommon name. In any event, it didn't seem like he was involved here, which brought Jim to his next question. "This might sound a bit strange, but do you know anything about a picture of a lighthouse?"

"What kind of picture? Like a painting or a photo or what?"

Jim wasn't exactly sure, now that he thought of it. "A photograph or a photorealistic digital painting."

"Well, Molly was a photographer. Professionally, I mean. It was what she did for a living. She'd sometimes share her work with Jenny. I don't know anything about a lighthouse, though. Not specifically."

Could Molly have taken the photo that became the weapon? Surely not – the organization had created it. Unless they had done something to her photo. No, that didn't make sense. Terry Howell said that the organization was based across the state. What would Molly have to do with them? Maybe there was no relation between Molly's career and her ownership of the lighthouse picture. Maybe the picture wasn't even a photograph. This was a dead end.

Wait, there was a gap between the two suicides. Molly may not have given the picture along in life, which means that... "Do you know if Molly left anything to Jenny after she passed?"

"Molly didn't really have much. Her husband got most of it, I guess. Although, now that I think about it, Jenny did get Molly's old gallery."

"I'm sorry, a gallery? Like an art gallery?"

"Yes, but not the kind you're thinking of. Molly had a folder where she'd keep pieces of art and photographs that she'd liked. Jenny was thrilled when she'd gotten it. She was always interested in following in Molly's footsteps with the art and the photography and all that jazz."

"Do you know where this folder, this gallery, is now?"

"It's right upstairs in her old room."

Jim couldn't believe his luck. "You both still live with your parents?"

Ronnie was annoyed, but he hid it well. "Only one of us is actually living."

"Right, sorry, I didn't mean to –"

"But to answer your question, Jenny lived in the dorms on campus. When she died, mom and dad took all of her stuff and moved them into her old room. Maybe they thought this way they'd never forget her or something. Anyway, it's all there if you want to have a look."

"Actually, do you mind if I take it with me?"

"Sure, whatever, just don't let mom and dad find out about that."

"I'll be out of your way before you know it."

*

Jim was sitting in his car looking through the art folder – the gallery, as Molly had called it – that went to Jenny after Molly's death. Sitting in his car was more comfortable. Not physically, of course, but the virus didn't tie it to many memories like it did with the interior of his house, which meant he could work on his case with some semblance of normalcy. Because of this, he had moved all the collected evidence, the diary, the laptop, the phone, and now the gallery, into his glove box.

The gallery wasn't in the glove box at that moment, though. It was in Jim's hands, and as he predicted, Molly's suicide was no coincidence. Toward the end of the gallery was a section that, as far as Jim could tell, was made up of photographs and pieces of art that Molly had collected rather than created. They were all either laminated or in clear plastic sleeves, and each one had been numbered with a marker. They started at "1" and went all the way through to "16" before skipping to "18" and going from there.

Jim took out Carol's diary and flipped through the loose pieces in it. He held his breath as he pulled out the picture of the lighthouse, in awe at the power of this weapon, but also morbidly satisfied at a little something in the corner of the picture – the number "17."