Read Online The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) by John R. Maxim - Free Book Online
Authors: John R. Maxim
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are always stories. If you listen long enough, you'd even find people who'd try to tell you Rock Hud son was a fag."
"You want me to ask?" Donovan tried not to smile. "What people are saying about you, I mean?" "I couldn't really give a shit."
Donovan signaled for his waiter. "Give me a day or two. I'll call you about Loftus."
"Hey, Buzz." Lesko looked down at his fingernails. "How about checking one more name while you're at it."
Donovan motioned to the waiter for two more of the same as he reached for his notebook and pen. "Shoot," he said.
"Paul Bannerman. Spelled like it sounds, I guess. He has a travel agency up in Westport, Connecticut."
"Is this connected to the other thing?"
"No. No connection."
"So who's Paul Bannerman. And what are you look ing for, exactly?"
Lesko squirmed in his chair. "This is strictly per sonal, all right? It's a guy Susan's seeing. All I want to know is he's clean."
Donovan stared over his glasses. "If Susan gets wind of this, Ray, she'll have you for breakfast. And me for dessert."
Lesko sat back. "I know. I'll tell you what. Just forget it. ”
"I'll see what I can do."
CHAPTER 4
Susan had told her father that she had met Paul Ba n ner man through Allie Gregory. It wasn't precisely true. It wasn't quite a lie, either.
True enough, she was in Westport at the time, still searching for some common cause behind the town's extraordinary suicide and accidental death rates. Still poring over records at the town hall and newspaper accounts at the library. But for want of a single bit of hard information that might turn a statistical oddity into a bylined feature story, Susan was rapidly becoming discouraged.
By autumn, however, Westport itself had become the attraction. The fall colors of New England were reaching their peak. Lawns parched by summer were made lush again by September rains. Road stands were bursting with potted mums, pumpkins, Indian corn and plastic jugs of fresh apple cider. And because the weather was at last cool enough for people to climb to their attics and clean them out, there was the usual last great rush of garage sales before winter. Allie Gregory loved scouting the garage sales. They'd helped her fill many bare corners of her new home at a fraction of the cost of new furnishings and accent pieces.
It was at one of these, with Allie, that Susan first took notice of Paul Bannerman. It was a perfect Saturday morning and the place was a brown-shingled, nine teenth century farmhouse that had a separate garage at the end of a long, steep driveway. The owners had set up one table full of knickknacks, and another, two- thirds of the way up, for taking money. The larger pieces of furniture were displayed just beyond. There was more in the garage itself. Allie lingered at the knickknack table, too long a time to suit Susan. Newly arriving buyers had already gone past them. And new arrivals had a way of snatching up exactly the things Susan might want to buy, just before she spotted them. She pushed on toward the garage. She was hoping to find an old-fashioned plant stand for her apartment. Or some books. You can find some marvelous books at ga rage sales.
There was no plant stand, but the books were there. Three cartons of them, plus a great stack of those won derful hardbound American Heritage magazines. And it happened again. A tall, youngish man, one of those who'd passed her in the driveway, had reached them first. He was standing over them, dressed in a blue shirt, jeans and deck shoes, a look of dreamy pleasure on his face as he leafed through the illustrated pages. As she waited her turn, his obvious delight made Susan smile. He looked up at her. A nice face. A gentle face. Maybe n ot quite so young after all. Eyes somewhere between blue and green. Intelligent eyes. He was the type who always seemed to marry his college sweetheart right after graduation. She'd be blond and she'd still have her figure after having two bright and
"You want me to ask?" Donovan tried not to smile. "What people are saying about you, I mean?" "I couldn't really give a shit."
Donovan signaled for his waiter. "Give me a day or two. I'll call you about Loftus."
"Hey, Buzz." Lesko looked down at his fingernails. "How about checking one more name while you're at it."
Donovan motioned to the waiter for two more of the same as he reached for his notebook and pen. "Shoot," he said.
"Paul Bannerman. Spelled like it sounds, I guess. He has a travel agency up in Westport, Connecticut."
"Is this connected to the other thing?"
"No. No connection."
"So who's Paul Bannerman. And what are you look ing for, exactly?"
Lesko squirmed in his chair. "This is strictly per sonal, all right? It's a guy Susan's seeing. All I want to know is he's clean."
Donovan stared over his glasses. "If Susan gets wind of this, Ray, she'll have you for breakfast. And me for dessert."
Lesko sat back. "I know. I'll tell you what. Just forget it. ”
"I'll see what I can do."
CHAPTER 4
Susan had told her father that she had met Paul Ba n ner man through Allie Gregory. It wasn't precisely true. It wasn't quite a lie, either.
True enough, she was in Westport at the time, still searching for some common cause behind the town's extraordinary suicide and accidental death rates. Still poring over records at the town hall and newspaper accounts at the library. But for want of a single bit of hard information that might turn a statistical oddity into a bylined feature story, Susan was rapidly becoming discouraged.
By autumn, however, Westport itself had become the attraction. The fall colors of New England were reaching their peak. Lawns parched by summer were made lush again by September rains. Road stands were bursting with potted mums, pumpkins, Indian corn and plastic jugs of fresh apple cider. And because the weather was at last cool enough for people to climb to their attics and clean them out, there was the usual last great rush of garage sales before winter. Allie Gregory loved scouting the garage sales. They'd helped her fill many bare corners of her new home at a fraction of the cost of new furnishings and accent pieces.
It was at one of these, with Allie, that Susan first took notice of Paul Bannerman. It was a perfect Saturday morning and the place was a brown-shingled, nine teenth century farmhouse that had a separate garage at the end of a long, steep driveway. The owners had set up one table full of knickknacks, and another, two- thirds of the way up, for taking money. The larger pieces of furniture were displayed just beyond. There was more in the garage itself. Allie lingered at the knickknack table, too long a time to suit Susan. Newly arriving buyers had already gone past them. And new arrivals had a way of snatching up exactly the things Susan might want to buy, just before she spotted them. She pushed on toward the garage. She was hoping to find an old-fashioned plant stand for her apartment. Or some books. You can find some marvelous books at ga rage sales.
There was no plant stand, but the books were there. Three cartons of them, plus a great stack of those won derful hardbound American Heritage magazines. And it happened again. A tall, youngish man, one of those who'd passed her in the driveway, had reached them first. He was standing over them, dressed in a blue shirt, jeans and deck shoes, a look of dreamy pleasure on his face as he leafed through the illustrated pages. As she waited her turn, his obvious delight made Susan smile. He looked up at her. A nice face. A gentle face. Maybe n ot quite so young after all. Eyes somewhere between blue and green. Intelligent eyes. He was the type who always seemed to marry his college sweetheart right after graduation. She'd be blond and she'd still have her figure after having two bright and
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