“Definitely. She was still a tourist—going over to Hollywood Boulevard, looking for movie stars.”
“How’d she get up to Sanctum?”
“Someone picked her up.”
“At the Dollar?”
“No, on PCH.”
“Where on PCH?”
“PCH and Paradise Cove.”
“Right at the turnoff to the Dollar?”
Nod.
“Who picked her up?”
“I don’t know.” Another look away.
“This isn’t very helpful, Gwen.” Travis was staring at me. I winked at him. He laughed, and the box slipped from his fingers again. I returned it to him, then stared at Gwen. Making it a hard stare was no effort.
“I saw a car,” she said. “We did—Tom and me. Pulling away just as we got there. But that’s all. I couldn’t see who was in it. I don’t even know if that’s the one that picked her up. She left twenty minutes before we did. Someone else could have picked her up.”
“What kind of car?”
“Tom said a Ferrari.”
“Tom said?”
“He’s into cars. To me it was just a car and taillights. Tom was all excited.”
“What color?”
“It was nighttime—Tom thought it was red. He said most of them are red, it’s Ferrari’s racing color.”
“Convertible or hardtop?”
“Convertible, I think, but the top was up. We couldn’t see who was inside.”
“Did you ever see the car again?”
She played with her earrings and twisted her fingers, as if wringing them out. “There was one up there.”
“Up where?”
“The party. There were all kinds of fancy cars there. Porsches, Rollses. Valets parking them up and down the road, total chaos.”
“Who did the Ferrari belong to?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at her.
“I don’t know,” she said. “What do you want me to do, make something up?”
“Did it have customized plates?”
“No . . . not that I noticed. I couldn’t have cared less, cars don’t interest me. My head was into the party, making sure everything went okay.”
“Did it?”
“What?”
“Did the party go okay?”
“People seemed to be having fun.”
“What about Karen?”
“What about her?”
“Was she having fun?”
“She was there to work,” she said sharply. “Yeah, she seemed happy.”
“All those big shots.”
She shrugged.
“Did she sleep at Sanctum on Friday night?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did you go up?”
“Saturday morning.”
“Was she there?”
Nod.
“How early in the morning?”
“Seven-thirty, eight. We drove up early to start getting the food ready. She was already up and running.”
“What kind of mood was she in?”
“A good one. She’d set up the tables and chairs and was goofing around.”
“How?”
“Playing with some kids.”
“Whose kids?”
“Lowell’s. At first, I thought they were his grandchildren, ’cause they were so little, but Karen said no, they were his. She was jazzed about that.”
“About what?”
“That she was playing with a famous guy’s kids. That’s the way she was, really starstruck. She started telling me how famous the guy was, won the Nobel Prize or something. Everything was a big deal to her.”
“Pretty impressed with Lowell, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“What else did she say about him?”
“That’s it.”
“Did you get the feeling they’d spent the night together?”
“I have no idea.”
“Did she mention any other people she’d met?”
Headshake.
“How many of Lowell’s kids was she playing with?”
“Two.”
“How old were they?”
“Little, three or four, something like that.”
“Boys or girls?”
“I don’t remember. Why?”
“Boys or girls?” I repeated.
She shrugged. “Probably girls. They both had these long mops of blond hair. Cute kids.”
“And Karen was baby-sitting them.”
“No, just playing around with them—laughing, chasing them. She wanted to baby-sit instead of serving. Said Lowell’s regular baby-sitter got sick, some kind of emergency operation. But she was too ditzy, so I said no.”
“So who baby-sat the kids?”
“Another girl.”
“Name?”
Hesitation. “Another waitress.”
Short dark hair. Grumpy.
“Doris Reingold?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
“Why Doris?” I said.
“She was older, had two of her own. I figured she’d know what to do.”
“Were there any other kids around?”
“Not that I saw.”
But I knew of two. Locked in their cabin.
“So what did Karen do then?”
“Worked with the food, like the rest of us. We slaved like dogs. It was a huge party, four hundred people, tons of stuff. The ice ran out and Tom had to make a bunch of trips down to Malibu to get more. The caterer was some little gay guy with a bad temper, brought in some illegals to help out, no one spoke any English. Then all these bands started showing up. Setting up their equipment, doing sound checks, trying to see who could play loudest. Portable fans and lights, a generator, electrical cables all over the place. By the time the people started coming, it was already getting dark. Berserk. Unless you’ve worked food service, you wouldn’t understand.”