portholes, narrow and high, and wedged into a lot
no wider than thirty feet. The exterior was teal
blue wood siding and white trim. Fish-scale shingles
graced the gablelike peak above the door. A
planter brimming with nail-polish pink geraniums
hung from the sill of the front window. A white
.picket fence ringed the dwarf lawn. The door was
inlaid with a stained-glass window. Everything
looked clean and well tended]
This close to the beach the place had to cost a
pretty piece of ch.ange.
11″
“Fulfilling fantasies must be paying we , I said.
·
7”
“Hasn’t it always.
Milo rang the doorbell. It opened quickly and a
tall muscular man in a red-and-black plaid shirt,
faded jeans, and topsiders flashed us a smile satu-
rated with fear, introduced himself (“Hi, I’m Doug”),
and asked us in.
‘ He
bout my age. I’d been expecting someone
gras d was surprised. He had thick blond
youn a
hair, layered and blow-dried to look dashingly
mussed, a full but neatly trimmed reddish-blond
beard, sky blue eyes’, artist’s model features, and
the stomach-shitter. We’re
on that,”
He exited at Furth-Avenue,
Pico, took Pico to Pacific, and continued
ward. into Venice. We passed Robin’s studio, an
unmarked storefront with the WindOws painted
opaque white but neither of us mentioned it. The
neighborhood changed from sleazy to slick as we
approached the Marina.
Doug Carmichael’s house was on a walk-street
west of Pacific, half a block from the beach. It
resembled a landlocked cabin cruiser, all peaks and
portholes, narrow and high, and wedged into a lot
no wider than thirty feet. The exterior was teal
blue wood siding and white trim. Fish-scale shingles
graced the gablelike peak above the door. A
planter brimming with nail-polish pink geraniums
hung from the sill of the front window. A white
picket fence ringed the dwarf lawn. The door was
inlaid with a stained-glass window. Everything
looked clean and well tended
This close to the beach the place had to cost a
petty piece of ch.ange.
“Fulfilling fantasies must be paying well,” I said.
“Hasn’t it always?”
Milo rang the doorbell. It opened quickly and a
tall muscular man in a red-and-black plaid shirt,
faded jeans, and topsiders flashed us a smile saturated
with fear, introduced himself (“Hi, I’m Doug”),
and asked us in.
He was about my age. I’d been expecting someone
younger and was surprised. He had thick blond
hair, layered and blow-dried to look dashingly
mussed, a full but neatly trimmed reddish-blond
beard, sky blue eyes’, artist’s model features, and
142 Jonathan Kelleman
poretess golden skin. An aging beachboy who’d preserved
well.
The interior walls of the house had been torn
down to create a thousand square feet of skylit
living space. The furniture was bleached wood, the
walls oyster white. The scent of lemon oil was in
the air. There were maritime lithographs, a saltwater
aquarium, a small but well-stocked kitchen, a
partially folded futon bed. Everything in its place,
neat as a pin.
In the center of the room was a sunken area
half-filled by a bottle green velvet modular couch.
We stepped down and sat. He offered us coffee
from a pot that had already been set out on the
table.
He poured three cups and sat across from us, still
smiling, still scared.
“Detective Sturgis ” he looked from me to Milo
who identified himself with a nod–“over the phone
you said this had to do with Nona Swope.”
“That’s correct, Mr. CarmichaeL”
“I have to tell you at the outset, I’m afraid I
won’t be of much help. I barely know her–”
“You messengered with her several times.” Milo
pulled out his pencil and pad.
Carmichael laughed nervously. “Three, maybe four
times. She didn’t stick around very long.”
“Uh huh.”
Carmichael drank coffee, put the cup down, and
cracked his knuckles. He had iron-pumper’s arms,
each muscle defined in bas relief and roped with
veins.
“I don’t know where she is,” he said.
“No one said she was missing, Mr. Garmichael.”
-“‘Jan
about She said you took m3
“Does that bother you, Mr.
‘eYes, it does. It’s private and I
has to do with anything.” He was trying to assert