A sick feeling hit me. “Oh, boy.”
“What?”
“My meeting with App, yesterday. If he goes checking and finds out my biography story is bogus, he’ll start to suspect something. If the body is still up at Lowell’s, it could get moved pretty soon.”
“Don’t scourge yourself, I don’t see that it makes any difference. Even if no one touches the body, we can’t. Not even close to grounds for a warrant. And after all these years, there’s probably no body to speak of. Animals get hold of bones, scatter them. If App’s smart, he’ll sit tight and not attract attention to the place.”
“Maybe, but in the past he hasn’t sat things out. He and Lowell eliminate people who get in the way.”
“So why haven’t they bumped off the Sheas and Doris? Answer: They’re discriminating. If Gwen’s story is even true. Don’t forget, all you’ve got to connect App is the Ferrari. Anyone could have been driving it.”
“But Lucy remembers someone ordering Lowell around. App would have been in a position to do that.”
“So would Trafficant. And now that you’ve tossed Mellors into the heap, we’ve got four bad guys. So let’s not start thinking of the dream as gospel.”
“Okay,” I said. “But it’s maddening—getting so close and not being able to grab it.”
“Join the club. Anyway, let me look into Mr. App.”
I gave him the producer’s Century City office.
“At the time of the party his home was in Malibu,” I said. “On the beach side, no doubt.”
I called Lucy. No answer. I got in the Seville and headed south to Topanga Canyon.
Just a quick look to see if any cars other than Lowell’s were parked in front of the lodge house, then I’d turn back.
Or maybe, if it seemed right, another visit to the old man. Checking to see how he was coping with his loss. At worst, he’d curse me and kick me out. If he was taking one of his long naps, I’d try to cajole Nova into another walk.
Into the forest.
Lacy trees.
When I came to the intersection at Old Topanga Road, I had to stop for an oncoming truck. As I waited to turn left, I noticed a car parked in the lot of the market across the road.
Blue Colt. A young woman behind the wheel. When the truck passed, I U-turned and pulled over next to it.
Lucy looked out the window, shocked. Then she smiled.
We both got out of our cars. She had on a plaid shirt, jeans, and hiking boots. Her hair was pulled back in a bun.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
She looked back at her car, guiltily. On the seat were an empty coffee cup and a donut.
“Not much of a lunch,” I said.
“I—you’ll probably think it’s stupid, but I’ve decided to go up there and face him.”
“Not stupid,” I said, “but the timing couldn’t be worse. In the last two days I’ve learned things that indicate Karen Best did disappear at the Sanctum party. And your father paid some people to keep quiet about it. Other men were involved, too. Other people may have died because they knew about it.”
The color left her face in patches. “Why haven’t you told me any of this?”
“I’ve tried to call you several times.”
“Oh . . . I’ve been out.”
“With Ken?”
“No, just driving around by myself. He had to fly up to the home office. He’s been good to me, but I’ve been happy for the peace and quiet. Even though all I do is think about Puck.”
Biting her lip, she crossed her arms and hugged herself.
I stepped closer.
She moved back. “The hardest part was the funeral. Seeing them throw the dirt over him. . . . The funeral’s what crystallized things for me. The way he showed up in that horrid white suit with his bimbo. Making a show of himself, like the whole thing was a big performance. Even at a time like that, he couldn’t be decent. It brought home to me how he keeps doing rotten things and getting away with them. It’s time someone stood up to him. I’m sorry for not consulting you first, but I finally need to do something for myself.”