He turned back to me. 'By reputation.'
'How did they meet, if she's in boarding school?'
He regarded me silently. I thought he wasn't going to answer; but he said, 'She was sent home—suspended—a month ago.'
'For what?'
'Her roommate, a first-year girl, was selling drugs. When they caught the little bitch, she claimed Ginny was involved, too.
'It wasn't true?'
'Of course it wasn't.' There was ice in his words and his eyes. 'Ginny didn't like that girl from the first day. She was loud and crude, Ginny said. I wish she'd told me that then. I'd have had that girl moved in two seconds flat.'
I put my cigarette out. 'So Ginny was home, with nothing to do, and she met Jimmy at the soda shop?'
His eyes hardened. 'I don't have any idea how they met. And believe me, if I'd known they were seeing each other, I'd have forbidden it.'
'How did you find out?'
'I was told yesterday morning, by a friend.'
'Why didn't your friend tell you sooner?'
'How the hell do I know?' he burst out, then clamped his jaw shut immediately, the jutting tendons in his neck proof that he was working to contain anger he hadn't wanted to show.
I leaned forward, put the photograph back on his desk. 'I don't know where she is, Mr. Sanderson.'
'I know where she is.' His voice was tight. 'She's with Jimmy Antonelli. All I need is for you to tell me where he is.'
I didn't say anything. His hard eyes looked me over. He said, shaping his mouth as though the words tasted bad, 'Of course, I expect to pay for this information. Whatever a man like you would expect to be paid.'
The sun broke suddenly through the dark clouds behind him, streaking the sky with slanted rays. 'Mr. Sanderson,' I said, 'I don't know where Jimmy is. I don't know that your daughter's with him. I don't know that I could find him if I wanted to. But you're right about one thing: I'm a friend of his. I won't obstruct a police investigation, but that doesn't mean I have to be point man on this.'
'Goddammit!' he exploded. 'Goddammit, Smith, we're talking about my daughter!'
'I'm sorry,' I said, toughening myself against the pain in his eyes.
For a moment he didn't speak. Then suddenly his eyes became hard again, and he smiled that firefly smile. 'You have a cabin near North Blenheim, don't you? Off Thirty? I hear you come up here a lot. It's a long way from New York. You must like it here.'
'Your friend tell you that, too?'
'Actually, I know a good deal about you. I like to know a lot about the people who work for me.' He sat, leaned back in his chair, smiled a smile that lasted. It reminded me of his daughter's eyes. 'Route Thirty.' His manner was musing. 'You know, we used to use that road a lot, to truck to our eastern markets, but it's winding and narrow. In my father's day it was fine, but competition's stiffer now. My father founded this company,' he interrupted himself. 'Did you know that?'
'No,' I said.
'Fifty years ago. When I took over, I modernized a lot of things. I updated factory operations and office procedures. But transportation was the big problem. The demand was there, and we had the product, but we couldn't get to market fast enough. I almost moved the whole plant to Georgia. But you know what happened?'
'No.'
'The county built me a new road. They were set to upgrade Thirty, until they saw that a new road on the other side of the valley made more sense. I helped them see that. And they got the state to put in a new highway spur for me, right out here. They want to keep me here, Smith.'
I said nothing. He went on, 'Now, that new road is good, but cuts too far east to do us any good if we want to get to Seventeen. Binghamton, Elmira, central Pennsylvania—those are big markets for us.'
He looked out over the parking lot, where a truck painted with vegetables and smiling babies was pulling into a loading dock. 'So I've been thinking about Thirty. You know, there's a place about two miles from North Blenheim where you could take Thirty, drop it down the valley, then pull it through around the other side of the mountain. Then you could widen it as it runs south. That would still leave a narrow stretch before North Blenheim, but it's pretty straight there, so that wouldn't be a problem.' He turned back, steepled his hands over his chest. 'That's a pretty good idea, don't you think?'
He didn't expect an answer and he didn't get one. 'I think I'll suggest it to the County Economic Development people. I think I'll suggest that while they study the idea of improving Thirty like this, they start condemning the land they'd need to do it. That won't be costly, because none of that land is worth anything. Most of the people who live around there'—he paused, locked his hard eyes on mine—'most of them would be glad to take a few dollars from the state and clear out. Some won't like it, of course. But luckily, they won't have a choice.' He spread his hands, palms up. 'And if the state decides not to build the road, they can always sell the land again. That would be years from now, of course. These things always take a lot of time.'
I watched him across the desk, the two of us sitting motionless in the carpeted room while on the other side of the window cars and trucks crawled around the parking lot and dark clouds scudded across the sky.
'You're blowing smoke,' I finally said. 'You can't do it.'
'Oh, you're wrong.' His voice was rueful, self-deprecating. 'There are a lot of things I can't do. I can't play cards
