the wall at the top of the staircase with each of the commissioners' names listed on it, followed by an office number. Ira Lessing was 210. Don Geneva, 216.
I tried 210, but it was locked tight. I made a mental note to ask Len about getting me a key to the place, then walked down to 216. The door to Geneva's office was wide open. Inside, a well-dressed blond man in his early thirties was sitting at an oak desk, feet up, holding a sandwich in his right hand and a Wall Street Journal in his left. I would have bet that he was a lawyer. He had that look about him, as if he had the world by the balls.
"Help you?" the man said as I walked in.
"You can if you're Don Geneva."
The man pointed with his sandwich at the placard on the desk in front of him, and I caught a whiff of bologna. The placard read "Don Geneva, City Commissioner."
"Your name is?" Geneva said, taking a bite of the sandwich.
"Stoner. I'd like to talk to you about one of your colleagues, Ira Lessing."
"You a friend of Ira's?"
"I'm working for the family."
Geneva chewed on that for a second. "I'm pretty close to Ira and Janey, and I don't recall hearing your name."
Now, I was sure he was a lawyer. "Len Trumaine hired me this afternoon."
Geneva smirked when I mentioned Trumaine. "Plastics stuff?" he said, as if Len and plastics were the least interesting things in the world.
"No. I'm a private detective. Mr. Lessing has been missing since Sunday night, and the family's hired me to try to find him."
Geneva's mouth fell so wide open I could see the bologna on his molars. He dropped the newspaper on his desk and the sandwich on the newspaper, sat up in his chair, and gawked at me.
"If this is a joke . . ."
"It's not a joke, Mr. Geneva."
Geneva put his hands on the desk and pushed himself back in his chair, as if he was going to stand up. But he didn't stand up. He just sat there, looking stunned. "Chrissake," he said in a shocked voice. "You got ID?"
I showed him the photostat of my license. He stared at it blankly, then handed it back to me.
"Maybe you could answer a few questions?" I asked.
"Sure," he said, still looking stunned.
"When's the last time you saw Mr. Lessing?"
"Here. On Friday. At the commission meeting."
"Was anything special discussed at this meeting? Any project that Lessing was involved in?"
"No. It was a slow day, even for July. We had a couple of zoning disputes and building-code violations. Nothing that anyone really cared about, if that's what you mean."
"Did you talk to Lessing?"
"Of course I did," Geneva said. "We're good friends."
"Did he mention any plans for the weekend? Any business plans?"
Geneva thought about it for a second. "No. He said he and Janey were going to watch the fireworks on Sunday, like they do every year. He asked what Jeanne and I were planning for the Fourth. You know, small talk."
"Did he seem at all preoccupied to you? Distracted or depressed?"
"Ira depressed?" Geneva said in a scoffing voice. "Ira is one of the most upbeat men I've ever met. He's always positive. That's just his nature. A decent, positive man. Just ask anyone here at the Court House. Anyone in Covington. Hell, everybody likes Ira."
He got a worried look on his face, as if he was considering what he had just said. "Christ, it's awful to think that something could have happened to him."
It surprised me a little that a guy like Geneva, with his razor-cut good looks and snotty air of self-possession, could get shaken up about anything other than the loss of a retainer. Apparently Lessing had made an impression on him. And that impressed me.
"Lessing didn't mention a place called the Lighthouse at the meeting, did he?"
Geneva half smiled, as if the name was familiar to him. "Why do you ask?"
"He left some checks on his desk made out to it."
"That's normal. Sam Kingston, the director, is always phoning Ira up for an extra buck."
"The Lighthouse is one of Lessing's projects?"
Geneva nodded. "It's a clinic on Monmouth for
I tried 210, but it was locked tight. I made a mental note to ask Len about getting me a key to the place, then walked down to 216. The door to Geneva's office was wide open. Inside, a well-dressed blond man in his early thirties was sitting at an oak desk, feet up, holding a sandwich in his right hand and a Wall Street Journal in his left. I would have bet that he was a lawyer. He had that look about him, as if he had the world by the balls.
"Help you?" the man said as I walked in.
"You can if you're Don Geneva."
The man pointed with his sandwich at the placard on the desk in front of him, and I caught a whiff of bologna. The placard read "Don Geneva, City Commissioner."
"Your name is?" Geneva said, taking a bite of the sandwich.
"Stoner. I'd like to talk to you about one of your colleagues, Ira Lessing."
"You a friend of Ira's?"
"I'm working for the family."
Geneva chewed on that for a second. "I'm pretty close to Ira and Janey, and I don't recall hearing your name."
Now, I was sure he was a lawyer. "Len Trumaine hired me this afternoon."
Geneva smirked when I mentioned Trumaine. "Plastics stuff?" he said, as if Len and plastics were the least interesting things in the world.
"No. I'm a private detective. Mr. Lessing has been missing since Sunday night, and the family's hired me to try to find him."
Geneva's mouth fell so wide open I could see the bologna on his molars. He dropped the newspaper on his desk and the sandwich on the newspaper, sat up in his chair, and gawked at me.
"If this is a joke . . ."
"It's not a joke, Mr. Geneva."
Geneva put his hands on the desk and pushed himself back in his chair, as if he was going to stand up. But he didn't stand up. He just sat there, looking stunned. "Chrissake," he said in a shocked voice. "You got ID?"
I showed him the photostat of my license. He stared at it blankly, then handed it back to me.
"Maybe you could answer a few questions?" I asked.
"Sure," he said, still looking stunned.
"When's the last time you saw Mr. Lessing?"
"Here. On Friday. At the commission meeting."
"Was anything special discussed at this meeting? Any project that Lessing was involved in?"
"No. It was a slow day, even for July. We had a couple of zoning disputes and building-code violations. Nothing that anyone really cared about, if that's what you mean."
"Did you talk to Lessing?"
"Of course I did," Geneva said. "We're good friends."
"Did he mention any plans for the weekend? Any business plans?"
Geneva thought about it for a second. "No. He said he and Janey were going to watch the fireworks on Sunday, like they do every year. He asked what Jeanne and I were planning for the Fourth. You know, small talk."
"Did he seem at all preoccupied to you? Distracted or depressed?"
"Ira depressed?" Geneva said in a scoffing voice. "Ira is one of the most upbeat men I've ever met. He's always positive. That's just his nature. A decent, positive man. Just ask anyone here at the Court House. Anyone in Covington. Hell, everybody likes Ira."
He got a worried look on his face, as if he was considering what he had just said. "Christ, it's awful to think that something could have happened to him."
It surprised me a little that a guy like Geneva, with his razor-cut good looks and snotty air of self-possession, could get shaken up about anything other than the loss of a retainer. Apparently Lessing had made an impression on him. And that impressed me.
"Lessing didn't mention a place called the Lighthouse at the meeting, did he?"
Geneva half smiled, as if the name was familiar to him. "Why do you ask?"
"He left some checks on his desk made out to it."
"That's normal. Sam Kingston, the director, is always phoning Ira up for an extra buck."
"The Lighthouse is one of Lessing's projects?"
Geneva nodded. "It's a clinic on Monmouth for
Similar Books
His Cowgirl Bride
Debra Clopton
What Matters Most: The Billionaire Bargains, Book 2
Erin Nicholas
Of Sorrow and Such
Angela Slatter
Jupiter's Bones
Faye Kellerman
From The Ashes
Ian Alexander, Joshua Graham
Pandora: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse
Richard McCrohan
The Rock
Robert Doherty
Trust
Cynthia Ozick
A Week for Love to Bloom
Scarlet Wolfe
Secret Star
Nora Roberts