Free Bannon Brothers by Janet Dailey Page B

interview you live.”
    â€œNot just yet.”
    â€œIf you did, you’d be fielding tougher questions.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œLike,” Kelly paused for effect, “what’s in it for you?”
    Bannon smiled coolly, thinking of his meeting with Montgomery and his lawyer. “Maybe I just like trouble.”
    Her dark eyes widened in approval. “Intriguing answer. A touch of mystery. Don’t lose it.”
    There was more than a touch of mystery to this case. But Bannon didn’t voice that thought.
    Kelly twisted in her seat and got a fat sheaf of paper out of the printer. “Here you go. Stay in touch, Bannon. And let me know what happens.”
    â€œSure thing.” The phone on her desk rang. Bannon stood. Picking up the receiver, Kelly waggled her fingers in a blithe good-bye.
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    Back home, Bannon forced himself to look again at the TV segment, pulling it up from a video website on his laptop. Ann Montgomery’s adult face just didn’t seem real. The station’s graphic artist had started with a photo of Ann as a child and had gone overboard. Computer-generated imagery was only as good as the person who created it, RJ thought sourly.
    He paused the segment on the CGI face. Generic, not smiling but confident, with a rich-girl glow. It didn’t remotely jibe with his sense of who Ann Montgomery might be now, not that he had a damn thing to go on. If she was alive, the resemblance to her baby pictures could be definite or not there at all. Some faces really changed as kids grew. No matter how much people wanted to believe in age progression, it wasn’t a science.
    Bannon wondered what Hugh Montgomery had thought of it. He could add that to the list of questions he was never going to get to ask.
    He went into the kitchen and found a forgotten container of takeout lasagna. Good enough. He’d nuke the germs out of it. Food was food. While it was in the microwave, he returned to the living room and sent the TV station list from his laptop to his huge plasma TV.
    One click opened the file and then the microwave beeped.
    He got up to deal with his dinner and slung the lasagna on a plate, returning to the living room. He waited for the food to cool off some while he got comfortable. Scrolling down through the e-mails, he wasn’t surprised by what he saw. A couple of wackos the intern hadn’t caught. Fans of cop shows who wanted to be detectives. Natural-born busybodies. And, of course, a few that began, “I am Ann Montgomery.” Yeah. And he was Captain Kangaroo.
    Bannon clicked it closed and concentrated on his food. It was delicious, for week-old lasagna.
    The thing to do, he decided, was to go with the verifiable ones first. If the name, address, occupation, and other personal data could be checked out, that might cut the huge task down to manageable size. If the responder sent an image or described a woman who was too young or too old, nothing doing. If some sightings by different people recurred in a geographical area, that counted as a clue right there and a further verification.
    He had a monumental task ahead of him. And for what? He pushed the dirty plate away, feeling the lasagna settle in his stomach like a lump of cement.
    The whole thing had started out as a favor, more or less, for Doris. Yet, in just one week, he’d made an enemy out of Montgomery, and he wasn’t even getting paid for this.
    He dragged a hand through his hair and tossed a glance at Babaloo. “Can curiosity really kill a cat?”
    The phone rang. Bannon flung himself over the end of the couch to reach it, peering at the number. Doris’s cell number. So she was back from the storage facility.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œRJ?”
    â€œWho else? I’m glad you’re back.”
    â€œAre you? You sound awful.”
    â€œI just ate the Lasagna of Death. I may not make it until morning.”
    She didn’t laugh. “RJ, you have to get