New face at the front desk: a fuzzy-bearded boy-man around five four in place of the pretty young Latina who’d been there the first time. Milo’s long legs outpaced him and after struggling to keep up, Fuzzy said, “I’m just a temp,” and returned to his post.

Like the first time, Fellinger was waiting out in the hallway. The moment he saw us, he ducked into his office.

When we entered he was behind his desk, sitting up straight, trying to look calm and authoritative. Futile attempt; he’d sweated navy splotches all over his pale-blue shirt, his tie hung off center, and patches of his hair had come unslicked.

An empty Old-Fashioned glass sat at his elbow, next to a fifth of Johnnie Blue.

“Thank you for responding quickly. I hope I’m overreacting.”

Milo said, “To what, sir?”

“Merry’s disappearance,” said Fellinger. “Maybe it’s nothing, I hope it is, but this isn’t like her.”

“Merry being—”

“Meredith Santos, our receptionist.”

“Pretty girl—”

“Gorgeous girl,” said Fellinger, eyes sailing to the right.

More than professional feelings? Catching himself, he looked directly at us. “By that I mean gorgeous inside as well as out. She’s a real class kid, terrific worker, military vet, never took a sick day. You don’t see that often. I try to reward exemplary employees by taking them to dinner, just did that for Merry.”

“The problem is—”

“She hasn’t shown up for work for three days running and no one can reach her.”

Fellinger kneaded some of the extra flesh beneath his ears. “Maybe that doesn’t sound like a big deal, Lieutenant, but as I said, you’d have to know Merry. Calls, texts, nothing. It’s just not like her.”

“Does she live alone?”

“No, in Venice,” said Fellinger. “Oh. That was a non sequitur, wasn’t it? Sorry.” Deep breath. “She lives in a house in Venice with two roommates, girls around her age. Problem is, they’re both traveling, couple of weeks in Europe. This morning we called Merry’s folks in Phoenix. Her parents were getting worried, too, and I’m afraid we did nothing to calm them down.”

“Has anyone been by her apartment?”

Fellinger blushed. “I did. On the way home from work, last night. I knocked, rang, no answer. Looked through her mail slot and saw mail on the floor.”