nancy werlock's diary s01 - episodes 10 by julie ann dawson Page B

their project and head to my office. After I settle in, I open up Eric’s file folder to get his progress report out of the way. Between the papers is a special order form. It is the special request for a Persian Griffon egg placed by a man named John Shan the other day.  Houston has circled the man’s last name. At the time, Houston had made a geeky Star Wars joke about the man’s name, and the man had revealed his own inner geek by replying with a joke of his own.
    He also circled the street address and the phone number. On the back of the receipt, Houston wrote the words, “Don’t trust her.” Those were the last words Harlan had said before the other brownies rushed him away.
    I tap the address into Google Maps. It belongs to a company called Corellia Heating and Cooling. Even I get that Star Wars reference. The phone number, 874-632-6437, doesn't match the address. It isn’t even a local number. I try Google again but it doesn’t even appear to be a valid number.
    A cipher?
    I was never good at stupid puzzles. I struggle with it for a few minutes, and then “cheat” and use Google to find a phone number cipher tool. I actually found one in the first three search results. I scroll through the results after imputing the phone number. I stop when I get to: u-r-in-danger.
    I close the folder, grab my purse and jacket, and head out of the office. I grab Houston by the arm. “Field trip. Eric, hold down the fort while we’re gone.”
    “Where we going?” asks Houston.
    “Use the Force,” I say. He nods and follows me.
    I park in front of Corellia Heating and Cooling and the two of us just stare at the building until Houston finally says, “Could be a trap.”
    “Too many mundanes around,” I reply.
    “Maybe we should have called Steve.”
    “And tell him what? We’re tracking a Dark Lord of the Sith?”
    “I’m rubbing off on you.”
    “Oh, shut up.”
    “So, we going in?”
    I sigh. “Let’s go.”
    We enter the business to find the showroom empty of staff. A surprised salesperson comes out of the break room with a cup of coffee in his hand. “Morning!” he says. “You folks are getting an early start today!”
    “Hi,” I say as he shoves his free hand at me. I shake it. “We’re looking for Mr. Shan?”
    “I’m sorry, who?”
    “John Shan.”
    The salesman’s eyes glaze over for a moment and he walks behind the counter in a daze. He pulls an envelope out from under the register and hands it to me. I hand it to Houston. “Thank you,” I say.
    The man shakes his head vigorously for a moment and then looks back at me. “I’m sorry; who did you say you were looking for?”
    “Oh, yes, our friend John told us to stop in…and…you have some sort of promotion on water heaters?” I stammer.
    “Oh, sure. That time of year, isn’t it? Nobody wants to take a cold shower in the winter!” As he shows me a selection of water heaters, Houston opens the envelope and then looks around to see if there is anything else suspicious. We leave with a stack of brochures and a quote.
    “That was slightly creepy,” says Houston as we get back in the car. He taps the envelope to his chin. “It’s him. You know that?”
    “I know. Let me see the address.”
    “How did you know it was an address?”
    “Well, it wasn’t going to be a confession.”
    “You sure that you don't want to call Steve?”
    “Not yet.”
    “We go to this address, Nancy, there may not be time to call him.”
    “I know.”
    Houston shows me the address. It is my old office address at the Beach Professional Building in Philadelphia. Someone has a sense of humor.
    We drive into Philadelphia and park in the garage. As we walk into the lobby, the receptionist gasps. “Nancy? Um, I mean, it's good to see you again.”
    “Hello, Isabel,” I say as I sign in. “I believe we have an appointment with Mr. Shan?”
    “We do?” says Houston.
    I point at the updated directory hanging above the reception area. My old office is