82 Desire

the lobby.”
    “Definitely not here. If someone saw us … uh-uh. No way.”
    “Okay, what’s near there? How about the Fairmont? Say, the Sazerac Bar.”
    “Not the bar. I haven’t got long.”
    “The lobby, then.”
    Jane spent the rest of the day going over and over the clips on United Oil. She got a yellow legal pad and her lists and rethought things:
    Let’s postulate that this is about United Oil. Either Russell disappeared voluntarily for some reason having to do with the company or he was banished or he was killed for some reason having to do with the company. Once you bring United into it, all this stuff about cheating spouses looks like so much smoke.
    No. Not smoke—a nasty, mean, manipulative way to keep the Fortier disappearance before the public eye.
    So suppose it’s that. Any way you slice it, it looks like corporate chicanery.
    She looked at the clips some more, but all they really told her was that United was buying up a lot of oil leases. Well, suppose it had to do with that?
    She kind of liked it.
    When The Baroness arrived somewhat out of breath and dressed like a Catholic schoolgirl, Jane barely recognized her.
    “Baroness. You’re not yourself.”
    “Oh, honey, you don’t know the half of it. You got to promise you won’t tell my adoring public about this.” She indicated her outfit.
    “We’ve got to have ‘before and after’ photos.”
    “It’s my disguise.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t even want to be seen with you, much less overheard.” When she was satisfied they were alone, she said, “Okay, ask.”
    Jane thought, Oh, well. Might as well start at the top . She said, “What happened to Russell Fortier?”
    The Baroness laughed aloud. “You’re asking me? A lowly temp?”
    “There’s a reason I was at your poetry reading—along with Skip Langdon and Cindy Lou Wootten.”
    “I thought you were my fans.” Once more, The Baroness glanced around. Finally she said, “Look. I don’t want to blow my story, but this is, like, a pretty serious thing. I don’t really think I should talk about it.”
    “I’m damn sure you should talk to Langdon about it.”
    “Oh, I have. You know how the cops are—they never want you to talk to reporters.”
    “Okay, let’s start slow. How long have you worked for United?”
    “Off and on for a couple of months.”
    “Were you working there when Russell Fortier disappeared?”
    “No. I was there for a while and now I’m back.”
    “What departments have you worked in?”
    “Only one. Acquisitions and Property.”
    “Do you happen to know what department Fortier was in?”
    “Uh-huh. That one.”
    At last , Jane thought. We’re getting somewhere .
    “Who else is in that department?”
    “You mean everybody?”
    “Oh, name a few.” Jane was fishing.
    The Baroness shrugged. “Well, the big cheese is someone called Douglas Seaberry. Guy I report to’s Edward Favret.” She shrugged again. “That’s about it for executives. Secretaries, though. I’ve got plenty of those. What am I bid for secretaries?”
    “Hit me with a few names.”
    “Well, there’s Sharon and Mary Louise, Susan (there’s always one of those), Rochelle, Keisha (and always one of these), Melissa, Wanda…”
    She was starting to sound like one of her poems. “Hold it,” Jane said. “Last names?”
    “Haven’t got ’em.” She looked at her watch and stood up. “Listen, I’ve got a date.”
    “Five minutes.” Jane didn’t give her time to answer. “What’s the office gossip about Russell Fortier?”
    “You won’t believe this, but I haven’t heard a peep.”
    “Come on.”
    “Hey, I’m a temp and a computer nerd. I only hang around with the other nerds, and they talk about hardware and software.”
    “You sure don’t look like a nerd.”
    The Baroness flared. “Well, maybe that isn’t such a big compliment. Women don’t get taken seriously because we don’t look the way people expect in some role or other.”
    Jane certainly wasn’t going to rise to that one. “We’re getting off the subject here. Have you seen anything suspicious or unusual at United?”
    Jane held her breath. If Langdon had really told The Baroness not to talk about something, it was probably this.
    But The Baroness only looked thoughtful. She said, “No. I can honestly say I never have.” She looked at her watch again. “I’ve really got to go. When do you want to do the story?”
    “I’ll call you.”
    “Forget that