“Mike glanced at the two computer towers lying half-autopsied on her kitchen table. One had a bag of chips in it, the top held shut with a binder clip. A stack of motherboards rested on the chair in Mylar bags.

“Maid’s been on vacation, I see,” said Mike.

“Yeah. She ran off with the guy who writes your jokes.”

“Ouch.”

“There’s a postcard from them here somewhere. Want me to look for that instead?”

“No, no. Just the logs will be fine.”