Abandoned in Death (In Death, #54)(52)

What passed as the lobby area looked more like a loungy living area in someone’s upscale home. Sofas, chairs, tables arranged in conversational groups, a bar area offering choices of water and soft drinks, coffees, teas, lent an air—certainly deliberate—of casual hospitality.

A man and a woman worked at the counter, chatting away on earbuds. The woman said, “Hold please,” and tapped hers as Eve and Peabody approached. “Hi! How can I help you?”

Eve held up her badge, and the woman hopped up before she could speak.

“You’re here about M.K. Is she okay? Sly! It’s about M.K.”

Her coworker’s eyes widened as he ended the call. “Is she okay?”

“We haven’t located Ms. Covino. We’d like to see her work space and speak to her immediate supervisor.”

“I’ll take you right up. I’ve got this, Andi. We only heard about her being missing a little while ago.”

He led them to a freight elevator. Eve looked longingly at the iron steps leading up to the open upper floors, but got in.

“Were you and Ms. Covino friends?”

“We’re all friends here. We all thought she was at the beach for a few days with her boyfriend.”

“Has anyone come in asking about or for her?”

“Her roommate, Cleo, called this morning, and a detective from the police a little while ago.”

“Before that. In the last few weeks?”

“No. I mean, clients, accounts, that sort of thing. Her sister, her brother, or her mom or dad drop in now and again. And Cleo—her roommate—sometimes. Linny’s chill with family or friends visiting.”

The elevator door clanked open into spacious work areas. No cubes so staff mixed and mingled as they worked. Offices had doors open. Sly led them to one with a corner view.

The woman behind the desk had her feet, clad in red sneaks, on it and her eyes on a screen where what looked like a family of four enjoyed a rollicking breakfast.

“Linny, sorry, the police are here.”

“Hold vid.” Linny swung her feet off the desk, rose to a good six feet in height.

She wore her ink-black hair in a skullcap, had a tiny red stud winking on the right side of her nose and enormous silver hoops in her ears.

She thrust out a hand. “Linny Dowell, thank you so much for coming. I’ve got this, Sly, thanks. And close the door.” The minute it did, her brisk welcome turned to fear. “I recognize you. Mary Kate … please say it fast.”

“Ms. Dowell, we haven’t located Mary Kate. We’re here because her possible abduction may be connected to another case.”

“She’s not dead. You’re not here because she was murdered?”

“The NYPSD is actively looking for her.”

“All right.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes a moment. “When I saw you … Roarke Industries is the Holy Grail of any marketing firm, so I recognized you, and thought … Please sit down. Can I get you some coffee, a soft drink?”

“We won’t keep you long.”

“Whatever you need. We all thought M.K. was on her little vacation.”

“We’re just following up, and we’d like to see her work space, have a few minutes with her supervisor.”

“You could say I’m everyone’s supervisor, but you’d want Jim—James Mosebly. Accounts manager, and M.K.’s mentor. Hold on.”

She went to the door, poked her head out. “Hey, Nat, go grab Jim for me, would you? They just nailed down a major ad campaign,” she told Eve. “Jim, M.K., Alistar, and Holly. Jim took M.K. under his wing when she came on board, and he heads most of the projects she works on.”

“How about outside the office?” Eve asked. “Any socializing?”

“Sure, and quite a lot actually. We’re a friendly group here. My philosophy is community and cooperation over competition. When we hire, we don’t just look for talent and work ethic, but personality. Will this person fit? No sharks need apply,” she added with a smile.

“I worked at a firm for eight years, and that tank was full of sharks. You couldn’t be sure, from day to day, if somebody might swim up and bite your leg off. I climbed out of the tank, juggled finances, talked the bank into a start-up loan—and I talked Jim and Selma into coming on.”

“It looks like it worked out,” Peabody commented.

“We’re small, but happy. Hey, Jim. Jim Mosebly, Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody.”

Eve gauged Linny at mid-fifties, and put her colleague about fifteen years her senior. He had flyaway gray hair crowning a round, cherubic face. He wore baggy jeans and a royal blue polo over a solid, sturdy body. Like Linny, he wore sneakers—his on the battered side.

“Mary Kate,” he said in a voice with the faintest drawl. “You found her.”

“We haven’t located her as yet.”

“What can I do? What can we do?”

“You worked closely with her. Did she ever mention anyone bothering her?”

“She didn’t. She was wrapped up in that slick bar owner. Stars in her eyes, and it wasn’t like her.”

“How so?”

“She’s grounded. Smart, steady. He’s just a blip. Not that I said that to her. You don’t hear sensible advice when you’re in a haze.”