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equipment needs too.
What bothered her was the caravan style and the name Sachs
Engineering painted on the sides of the trucks.
    Squelching the impulse to pursue, she turned
her Toyota Camry onto Central Avenue and aimed for City Hall
instead. With less than seven thousand residents within its
borders, the City of Tejon was definitely a smaller town. Known as
a “general law” city in California, it had the various departments
common to cities of all sizes. It also had a city council composed
of five elected representatives, one of whom was selected to serve
as mayor. This year that privilege fell to Anne, beginning her
third term on the council.
    City Hall itself was a single-story building
composed of slump stone topped with a red Spanish tile roof. Built
in 1980, it had weathered well but was starting to show wear. Two
council members were proposing renovations—refurbishments the city
couldn’t really afford.
    Anne parked her car and entered the building
through the double glass doors of the lobby. Turning right, she
followed the corridor to her office at the southwest corner. June,
her part-time secretary, was absent. It was Tuesday, and since Anne
only came to the office Wednesday through Friday, there was no need
for her to be there. The full-time receptionist who sat in the
information booth near the lobby took messages for Anne.
    The office was a twelve-by-fifteen affair and
simple in décor. A large color photo of snow-dressed hills hung
prominently on one wall. On the other was a photo of Oak Glen
Avenue, the locale’s main street in 1922, the year the city was
chartered.
    In the center of the small office was an oak
desk, scarred with age. It had once belonged to her father. Several
pink message slips were laid out on her desk awaiting her
attention. She stacked them and put them aside. Lowering herself
into the leather executive chair behind the desk, she snatched up
the phone and dialed a two-digit number.
    “Bob Vincent,” the voice on the other end
said.
    “Bob, it’s Anne. Are you aware of a large
construction project going on in town?”
    “No. Should I be?”
    “I just saw a caravan of trucks go by, and
some of them were transporting large equipment.”
    The director of the planning department
asked, “What kind of equipment?”
    “I saw a backhoe and dozer and something I
didn’t recognize. There were also a couple of semis and a bus.”
    “A bus? You’re kidding.”
    “Straight-up truth, Bob. I assume that
they’re bringing their own workers in.”
    “That’s possible. Makes me curious.”
    “Me too,” Anne agreed. “Have you ever heard
of Sachs Engineering?” She spelled the name.
    “Can’t say that I have, but that doesn’t mean
much. Engineering can mean anything. It’s like companies with
‘Communication’ in their name. That covers speechwriters to
telephone companies. Have you tried the Internet?”
    “Not yet; I wanted to see what you knew.”
    “Sorry I can’t be more help. You want me to
call the county and see if they know anything?”
    “That’d be great. I’ll see what else I can
find.”
    Anne was on her computer within seconds of
returning the phone to its cradle. Keys clicked and clacked until
she was on the Internet searching for “Sachs Engineering.” A list
of over 150 hits appeared on her screen. Most were dead ends. She
wanted the business site and found it near the top of the list. A
mouse-click later she was looking at a professionally designed,
brightly colored web site. Across the top of the page were photos
of skyscrapers, industrial centers, and airport terminals.
    “Wow,” Anne said to herself. She studied the
web page and found a button titled About Us. She clicked it and
watched as the screen dissolved to yellow then reassembled itself
into a grouping of text and photos. She read quickly, mumbling the
words aloud.
    “Sachs Engineering . . . founded in 1975 by
Henry Sachs . . . specializing in major construction projects
around the world