“Not only did Mid-City not have an office anywhere,” Ann said, “they had no insurance agents.”

“I don’t get it,” Nancy said.

“Someone who said he represented Mid-City Insurance hired Connie’s answering service to take their calls. Once a day the man phoned for messages. If Connie received any mail, she was to send it on to a post office box. She said they got one large envelope once a week. That was it.”

“Didn’t she think that was odd?”

Ann snorted. “What did she care? It was a cushy job, and she was being paid well.”

Bess looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should start an answering service.”

“Why not?” Ann said. “Anybody can. Anyway, by tracing who paid Connie, and then tracing the post office box, I finally stumbled onto the parent corporation. That was where several names popped up. Names I’d seen before-all tied to organized crime and all on the board of directors of Mid-City.”

Bess sat down. “It does sound suspicious, but I have to admit I can’t see what they were doing wrong,” she said.

“I couldn’t, either, at first. But I managed to sneak a look at the message log Connie kept on Mid-City. All the calls to Mid-City were from three local businesses.”

“So?” Bess asked.

“There were only calls from these three.”

“Oh,” Nancy said. “You figured at that point that they were paying their premiums to a company that didn’t exist. And that’s when you wrote the articles.”

“Right. And they launched the grand jury investigation.”

“And you testified?”

“I gave them everything I had and was thanked for my cooperation. They dismissed me. Didn’t even press for the name of my source-not then, anyhow.”

“Why’d they change their minds about wanting to know your source?” Ned asked.

Ann looked bewildered. “I’m not sure. I had put the Mid-City thing behind me and was following up a lead on something else. Then someone left a message at the Record for me to go talk to a woman out at Crimson Oaks-that retirement village on Wilson Avenue. It was about Mid-City.”