Emma is giving me a narrow look and I can’t help but grin. Now it’s official: Cleo Rio’s bodyguard was my burglar. And I put out his eye with a dead lizard! Perhaps one day I’ll be flooded with remorse.
“What else did you see?” Emma asks Evan.
“Hang on.” He reaches into a back pocket and takes out his own notebook. “When I got back to my car I wrote down everything so I wouldn’t forget. Let’s see—they had Eminem on the CD player. The TV was on, too. Jerry was watching wrestling.”
“Half-watching,” I quip, avoiding Emma’s gaze.
Evan continues skimming his notes, flipping pages. “Cleo was walking around in her bra, like I told you. I figured they were getting dressed to go out. The guy with the mermaid hair was hogging a blow dryer in one of the bathrooms.”
“Was anything going on?” Emma asks.
“You mean like fooling around? Not in front of me,” Evan says. “Cleo looked a lot different than on the video. No lipstick and really frail, like a ghost—but still she’s way hot.”
Emma smiles patiently. I ask the kid if he happened to notice a Toshiba laptop with a Grateful Dead decal, or possibly an Epson CPU in pieces on Cleo’s dining room table. He saw nothing of the kind, of course. My stolen portable and Janet’s missing computer are probably in a landfill by now, having failed to yield any goodies.
“But the guy with the hair,” Evan says, “I did hear him talking to Jerry about a program. He said he was waiting for an upgrade.”
“Aren’t we all.”
“An upgrade for his ‘Pro Twos'”—Evan, squinting at his scribbles—”whatever that is.”
“Pro Tools. It’s a music-mixing program. The guy claims to be a record producer.”
“Yeah? What’s he done?”
“Exaggerate, mostly.”
“Hey, I almost forgot.” The kid slaps a takeout menu on the table. Emma and I move closer to examine it. Under the table she gives one of my kneecaps a naughty pinch.
“Cleo’s autograph!” Evan exults.
“Nice work.”
“Can I have it back when you’re done?”
“We’ll see.” I pocket the deli menu. “How about some more donuts?”
Emma gets up. “I’ve got a budget meeting upstairs. Jack, we’ll talk later.” Then, to Evan: “You did a great job.”
“Thanks. I just hope I didn’t miss anything.”
And as soon as Emma is gone, Evan asks why I didn’t want her to know the real reason I sent him to the widow’s penthouse on Silver Beach.
“Because she’d just get nervous,” I say, “and there’s no cause for that. So tell me: Where’d you leave it?”
Evan grins. “In the bag with the coleslaw.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“While I was waiting for you to call back,” he says, “that’s when Cleo decided to keep the food. She got a major jones for that meatball sub. But then she took another phone call and the long-haired guy went off with the blow dryer, and Jerry was icing down his face. So for a couple minutes I’m standing there all alone—that’s when I took it out of my jacket and slipped it in the deli bag.”
“Quick thinking.”
“Then you phoned back and said it was okay to give her the food, which was a major relief since that’s where I’d already hidden it,” Evan says. “Can I tell you something? She scared me, Jack.”
“Cleo?”
“You should’ve heard her talkin’ to Jerry when she got off that other call.”
“Was she mad?”
“Mainly just… cold. Her voice, man, I can’t describe it. She’s like, ‘Do it. Get it done and no goddamn excuses this time.’ Cold as ice, Jack. ‘All these fuckups, Jerry, I’m over it.’ Stuff like that. He’s a big sonofabitch, too, and he’s like, ‘Yes, Ms. Rio. Right away, Ms. Rio.’ Like a little kid standing in the principal’s office. Tm sorry, Ms. Rio. I’ll get right on it.’ Really creeped me out.”
“What were they talking about?” I ask Evan.
“No idea,” he says. “But I was shakin’ big-time when I handed her the coleslaw. And waiting for that elevator, Jack, I thought I was gonna wet my pants.”
“You’re a champ, Evan. First-rate job.”