Stone Quarry

'Uh-huh. That's what I thought.'

Lydia lifted her eyebrows, waited to be enlightened.

'The gas pipeline,' I said to her, but with my eyes on Sanderson. 'I'll bet I could map the properties he's bought. North to south down the county, mostly in the valley. When NYSEG starts buying up land for the pipeline, they'll have to come to him. What if it doesn't happen, Sanderson?'

Sanderson practically laughed at me. 'It'll happen. You forget,' he said. 'I have friends who tell me things.'

'But I thought they condemned land for things like that,' Lydia said. 'So you couldn't speculate that way.'

Sanderson looked at her as he might at a retarded child with whom he was forced to deal. 'They do. But they have to pay a fair market price. And this is very, very productive land. We lease it to Appleseed Baby Foods at very good terms. Appleseed—Appleseed Baby Foods—is making huge profits on the crops we grow on this land.'

'Because you pay chickenshit to the people who grow them, the people who used to own that land,' I said.

He shook his head. 'Doesn't matter why. Profit is profit.' 'And what about Grice?' 'What about him?'

'I could understand if there were strong-arm work involved. But I haven't heard that. People are falling all over themselves to sell their farms to you. So how come you're willing to invest in Grice's future?'

'Smith, let me tell you again: this is none of your business. My daughter's safety should be concerning you. It should be keeping you up nights. Because if anything’s happened to Ginny-' He stopped as the earrings from my pocket skidded, jingling, across his desk. He looked up. 'What's this?' 'Hers?' Sanderson glanced at them. 'No. They're too flashy for her” 'Christ, Sanderson, you're a case.' I picked up the photograph from his desk, passed it to Lydia, who as usual, was leaning by the window. She studied it, handed it back to me. I offered it to Sanderson. The spun gold of Ginny's hair and the tilt of her head combined to hide all but the tip of one earring, but the amethyst bauble was unmistakable.

He paled, picked up one earring between finger and thumb. He said, 'Where did you get them?'

'You really didn't recognize them? That picture's right under your nose every day, Sanderson.' He scowled.

'Sanderson,' I said, 'there's a lot you don’t know, and a lot I don't know. Let's fill each other in.' I sat, put a match to a cigarette. Then I had to get up and retrieve the ashtray, as I had two days before. 'Your daughter,' I told him, 'met Jimmy Antonelli in a bar sometime last month.' At the word bar his eyes flashed and he started to say something, but I went on. 'It was Grice who told you they were seeing each other, wasn't it? You're a pawn, Sanderson. Grice couldn't talk me into finding Jimmy for him, so he thought maybe you could. By the way, did he tell you he owns the bar where they met?'

He didn't answer, but the look in his iron eyes told me I wouldn't have liked anything he'd said anyway.

I went on: 'Ginny dropped Jimmy about a week ago. She told him she'd met someone else. Someone tougher than he was, she said. There are probably a lot of men in this county tougher than Jimmy, but I found those earrings in Frank Grice's apartment.'

Suddenly a pencil broke in Sanderson's grip. He looked at the yellow splinters, then at me. 'This is crap!'

'There's more. Last Friday someone broke into a house near Central Bridge and stole some valuable things. Your daughter has been fencing those things.'

'What the hell are you trying—'

'There's at least one witness who can identify her, and if I have to I'll find more. But here's where what you want and what I want may come together. The stuff from that burglary that's already been sold we'll forget about. But there was a crate with some paintings in it. Six of them. They haven't surfaced yet. The police don't know about this. If I get the paintings back, they never will.'

Sanderson was livid, his jaw clamped shut in his round face until he found enough control to speak. 'You stupid bastard,' he hissed. 'You think you're smart enough to set Ginny up and blackmail me? You don't know what league you're playing in, Smith. Where did you get these? Where is my daughter?' He crushed the earrings in his shaking hand.

'Ask Grice,' I said. 'Get my paintings back. And who knows? Maybe you can talk your daughter into coming home.'

'You bastard,' he repeated. His eyes shone with a molten rage.

'Sanderson,' I said softly, tapped my finger on Ginny's picture, 'you threw it away.'

'Get out of here!' Sanderson screamed, apoplectic. Lydia looked at me. I nodded. She straightened up, walked unhurriedly before me out Sanderson's office door.

'That was exciting,' Lydia said as we left the plant. 'But you didn't tell him you'd seen her.'

'It wouldn't have helped. Actually, I think it would have made things worse. That I was so close, but I didn't bring her home.'

Lydia nodded. 'There's something peculiar.'

'All of this is peculiar. What do you have in mind?'

'Well, Jimmy said Grice didn't want anything to do with Ginny. Why wouldn't he? And if Jimmy was right, what made Grice change his mind?'

'Maybe he didn't. There are lots of guys tougher than Jimmy.'

'But the earrings—?'

'I'm not sure. But this should loosen things up.'

'You think Sanderson will go straight to Grice?'

'Wouldn't you?'

'I don't know. I've never been anyone's father.' She looked up at me quickly, said, 'God, Bill, I'm sorry.'