his forties stood in the open doorway talking to one of the women.
When Runyon walked in, the manâs demeanor changed immediately. His posture shifted from a sideways lean to arrow straight and a hopeful smile with a lot of white teeth in it flashed on like a neon sign. The smile would have been more effective if it hadnât been surrounded by a lot of tired-looking flesh etched with stress lines and red-rimmed blue eyes. He moved briskly enough across the office and introduced himself: Vincent Canaday, Gatewayâs owner.
The professional smile stayed put until they were closeted in the private office. When Runyon produced his license photostat and explained the purpose of his visit, the smile faded into a ghost of itself. Mention of Verity Danielsâs name seemed to make Canaday uncomfortable, wary.
âIs ⦠Ms. Daniels in some sort of trouble?â
âWhy do you ask that?â
âWell, a private detective ⦠and all that money she inherited ⦠I just assumed it. Is she in trouble?â
âI canât comment on the reasons for my investigation. Letâs just say itâs a routine matter.â
âWhat is it you want from me?â
âThe answers to a few questions, thatâs all.â
Canaday sat down behind his desk, shifted his shoulders, folded his hands on the blotter. âWhat do you want to know?â he asked, the cordiality a little strained now.
âHow long has it been since youâve seen her?â
âThe day she quit, six months ago. Didnât even give notice, just came in and told us about the inheritance and quit cold. Not that I blame her for that. I would probably have done the same myself.â
âNo contact since then?â
âNo. No reason for there to be.â
Something in the manâs voice made Runyon ask, âWhat can you tell me about your relationship with her?â
âRelationship? Oh, you mean here in the office. Well, I donât know what I can tell you, except that she was a competent employee during the time Iâve owned the business.â
âHow long is that?â
âSix years come October. I was sorry to lose her, but of course delighted to hear of her windfall. I ⦠hope itâs made a significant difference in her life, wherever sheâs living now, whatever sheâs doing.â
âDid you suppose it wouldnât?â
âNo, of course not. Itâs just that ⦠well, sudden wealth doesnât always change a person, does it? Their basic nature, I mean.â
âNot always, no. What would you say her basic nature was?â
Canaday cleared his throat, glanced at a framed color photograph canted so that Runyon could see it was of a red-haired woman and a boy of about twelve; his lips tightened and he cleared his throat again. âShe seemed rather ⦠lackluster, if you know what I mean.â
âNot exactly.â
âNot much personality. Bland, immature.â He seemed to savor the taste of the words in a bittersweet way; his mouth moved as if he were rolling them around on his tongue. âShe wasnât interested in the things most of us are. You know, politics, the economy, the environment. All she ever talked about was movies and TV shows. She didnât have ⦠didnât seem to have any hobbies or interests.â
âBoyfriends?â
âNot that I know about,â Canaday said. âShe never spoke about her private life. In my hearing, I mean.â
âShe have friends among your staff?â
âNo. No, she kept very much to herself.â
âBut she got along with the other employees.â
âOh, yes, sure.â
âNo friction with any of your customers?â
âNone. No, nothing like that.â
âSo youâd say she was a model employee.â
âI suppose so, yes. Did her job, hardly ever took a sick day.â
âHonest,
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