15
Laurie sat in her favorite overstuffed office chair and looked out at the city. She was still awestruck by her airy office, with floor-to-ceiling windows that sat above the Rockefeller Center skating rink. It was the end of March, which meant that customers were scattered across the rink, looking to take advantage of the last two weeks of ice. From the sixteenth floor, the ice skaters looked miniature as they circled the rink, the city beneath her orderly from this height.
Laurie felt at home in her office, and had picked everything out herself, from the chair she sat in to the long, white leather sofa to the glass coffee table and suspended lighting. Even if she and Alex moved to a place that felt completely new, she’d still have her office—a familiar space of her very own.
She had finished drafting a bullet list of topics to cover during her meeting with Kendra Bell. As she had expected, Kendra did not want to meet at her house. She also did not want to make the trip up to Midtown given her schedule, making Laurie wonder if she was trying to find a way to stall.
When she told Kendra to name any location, she chose Otto, an Italian restaurant Laurie already knew in Greenwich Village. That made it easy.
The notation at the bottom of her list of topics was *bar/East Village/“stung”? Her father’s NYPD contact had confirmed that Kendra had been spending time at a bar, but he wouldn’t give Leo the actual name of the establishment.
She underlined the word “stung,” which the detective had specifically used. Leo had suggested it might have been a reference to conducting some kind of a sting operation, but she wanted to believe it was a clue that would lead her to the bar itself.
If she could only figure out the name of the bar, she could ask the people who worked there if they remembered Kendra and the “mystery man” Leo had heard rumors about. It was a long shot given the five years that had passed since the murder, but maybe she could catch a lucky break. Without the name of the bar, she had no chance at all.
She rose from the chair and made her way to her desk. For years, the only picture on her desk had been of Greg, Timmy, and her on the beach in East Hampton. Now, next to it, she had a photo of Alex, Timmy, Leo, and her outside Lincoln Center after a jazz night. Let’s see, she thought. She woke up her computer and typed, “New York City Bar Stung” in the browser’s search window.
The results turned up an article about undercover drug stings at city bars, a new upscale restaurant called Stung on the Upper East Side, and a rock band called Stung.
Nothing helpful to her.
She was starting to try again with different search terms when her phone rang. She heard Grace answer it outside her office door, and then say, “I think she’s in a meeting, but let me check.” Two seconds later, Grace appeared. “It’s Dana.”
No last name was necessary in context. Dana Licameli was the secretary for Laurie’s boss, Brett Young, which made her the most patient person at Fisher Blake Studios. “She says Brett’s on a tear. He says he wants to see you ASAP,” Grace warned.
Laurie looked at her watch. She needed to meet Kendra in forty-five minutes. The cab ride would take half an hour in traffic.
“I’ve got a downtown meeting at three,” she explained.
“You know me. I can weave a cover story from whole cloth, but I also know how to read Dana. This didn’t sound like the usual Brett temper tantrum.”
Laurie looked at her computer, wanting to find the name of the dive bar, but also trusting Grace’s judgment.
She was already past Grace’s desk when she heard her on the phone again. “Laurie’s on her way, Dana. Try to keep him from having a stroke before she gets there.”