“Is something wrong?”
“No,” said Milo. “Something just came up and we’ve gotta “I can doggy-bag it for you.”
“No, that’s okay.” He handed her the cash.
She frowned. “Oka-ay, I’ll be back with your change, sir.”
“Keep it.”
Her smile was as wide as the beach. “Thank you, sin-we’re offering a complimentary custard dessert, today.”
Milo patted his gut. “Maybe another time.”
“You’re sure, sir? They’re real good.” She touched his arm, briefly.
“Really.”
“Okay,” he said, “you twisted my arm. Pack a couple to go.”
“Right away, sir.”
She ran off and came back seconds later with a paper bag printed with the face of a happy-looking hound and the words FOR BOWSER. Milo carried it and we left the restaurant and headed for the Seville. As I got in the car, I realized he wasn’t with me and I turned back to see him standing over a skinny, barechested kid of around eighteen. The kid was sitting on the breezeway in front of the motel and holding a shirt-cardboard sign that said, WILL WORK FOR FOOD. His tan was intense, his cheeks were sunken, and his hair was a greasy umbrella.
Milo gave him the bag. The kid said something. Milo looked angry, but he reached into his wallet and handed the kid something green.
Then he got in the passenger seat and growled: “Take me to work.”
The bulldog was wedged between her legs, head nestled in her lap, trapdoor mouth open and snoring.
“Beauty and the Beast,” I said, but my voice was weak.
She looked up, smiled, and held out her hand. The dog opened one eye, then let the lid drop.
“Been shopping all afternoon?” I said, taking off my jacket. “The scene in the garage stayed with me during the drive back to L.A. Bad traffic just past Thousand Oaks had me sitting still, Katarina’s mangled body filling my head. I listened to the Seville idle, thought about pain and vengeance and Robin all alone up on Benedict Canyon.
Mr. Silk, whoever he was, had won a partial victory.
Things finally got moving again. I escaped 101, made it to 405 and had a clear sail to Sunset. I was heading up Benedict shortly after nine-thirty when I noticed two red dots floating ahead of me.
Brake lights. A car stopped.
It seemed to be paused right in front of the narrow road that led to my adopted home, though from this distance, I couldn’t be sure. I put on speed, but before I got there, the lights dimmed and the car was gone, traveling too fast for me to catch up.
Probably nothing, but I was stumbling along the thin line between paranoia and caution and my heart was pounding. I waited. Everything stayed silent. I drove up to the white gate, slipped the cardkey in the slot, and raced up the cypress-lined driveway.
The house was lit from within, the garage shut. I approached the front door, wet with sweat, turned the key, and stepped inside, chest bursting.
Robin was stretched out on a sofa reading a design magazine.
tried calling a bunch of times.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Lots of errands. .. Alex?”
. What’s the matter, I told her what I’d found on Shoreline Drive.
“Oh, no!” She propped herself on her elbows. The dog grumbled awake, but he stayed down. “You came so close to walking in on it.”
I sat down. As she squeezed my hand, I recounted what I’d found and what I’d learned from Bert Harrison and Condon Bancroft. She listened with her fingers at her mouth.
“Whoever’s behind this is relentless,” I said. “I want you to move somewhere else temporarily.”
She sat up completely. “What?”
“Just for a while. I’m not safe to be around.”
“We moved so you would be, Alex. How could anyone know you’re here?”
Thinking of the brake lights, I said, “I’m sure no one does, but I just want to be careful. I spoke to Milo. You can move into his place.
Just till things ease up.”
“It’s not necessary, Alex.”
The dog was completely awake now, shifting his glance from Robin to me, his brow wrinkles deeper. The confusion and fear of a kid watching his parents fight.