“Moving?”
“Soon as I can get the movers over here. They say by tomorrow, but they’ve already missed one appointment. The house is already sold, I’ve got to vacate by next week. What did Roy do?”
“You’re assuming he did something.”
“You’re here, right? I didn’t do anything, and neither did Lorelei. My daughter. She’s four years old, and if she wakes up from her nap, I’m going to kick you guys out.”
“Your name, ma’am?”
“Ma’am,” she said, amused. “I’m Lisa. Nichols, still. I’ll probably go back to my maiden name, which is Jenrette, and I always thought was a lot prettier than Nichols. Right now I’ve got other things to keep me busy. So what’s he done?”
“Could be nothing. We just want to talk to him.”
“Then go over to his job site. He’s working in Inglewood. On Manchester, near the Forum. They’re fixing up an office building. I know he’s making good money but try getting a penny out of him. Thank God his parents are cool. They want Lorelei to live decently, even though she’s not theirs, biologically. I told ’em I’d stay in L.A. and they could see her if they make it easy for me; otherwise, I move back to Tucson, where my folks are.”
“Roy’s tight with a buck,” said Milo.
“Roy’s like a stingy old man except when it comes to his projects.”
“What kinds of projects?”
“His truck, his single-malt collection, fixing up the house. Did you have a look at this place—he never stopped fooling with it. If there weren’t so many boxes, I’d show you all the paneling he did in the back rooms. Rosewood paneling, expensive stuff, in all three bedrooms. Made it dark as a funeral parlor, but he claimed it would help the resale value. So what happens, we put the house up for sale and we get a buyer and the first thing they’re going to do is rip out the paneling.”
“That couldn’t have made Roy happy,” I said.
“Roy’s not happy about anything.”
“Moody.”
She turned to me. “Sounds like you know him.”
“Never met him.”
“Lucky you.”
*
Milo asked if she’d seen Roy recently.
“Not for a month. He’s living with his parents, four blocks away. You’d think he’d drop by to see Lorelei.”
“Not a single visit?”
“I bring Lorelei over once a week. Sometimes Roy’s there, but even if he is, he doesn’t play with her. To him it matters that she isn’t his.” Her eyes misted. She shifted her weight, uncrossed her arms, looked down at the carpet. “Listen, I’ve got calls to make. Why won’t you tell me what he’s done? I mean, if he’s dangerous, shouldn’t I know?”
Milo said, “You see him as potentially dangerous?”
“What are you,” said Lisa Nichols, “some kind of shrink? We went to one, ’cause of the divorce. The court ordered it, and he did that—the shrink. Asked questions instead of giving answers.”
“Roy hasn’t done anything. We just want to talk to him about a former girlfriend.”
“The one who got murdered? Flora?”
“You know about her.”
“Just what Roy told me.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “You’re not saying . . .”
“No, ma’am. We’re reviewing the case and are talking to everyone who knew her.”
“I’ve got a four-year-old,” said Lisa. “You’ve got to be straight with me.”
“You’re afraid of Roy,” I said.
“I’m afraid of his temper. Not that he ever did anything to me. But the way he gets—crawling into himself.”
Milo said, “What did he tell you about Flora Newsome?”
“That she was . . .” She folded her upper lip between her teeth. “It’s going to sound . . .”
“What, ma’am?”
“He said she was cold. In bed. Not good sexually. He said she probably came on to some guy, then wouldn’t come through and that’s what happened to her.”
“That was his theory, huh?”
“Roy sees everything in terms of sex. If it was up to him . . .” Her head flipped away from us. “I’ve got to finish up packing. Lori will be up soon and my hands will be tied.”
She gave us Roy Nichols’s parents’ address and phone number. Milo called there, spoke to the mother, lied about being a general contractor looking for framers and got the location of Nichols’s current job site.