“Like celebrities,” said Demarest. “Toni’s right, there was nothing attention-seeking about Meagin. Just the opposite, she preferred to stay in the background. Even when we ordered drinks at the juice bar, she’d be the last one and say, ‘I’ll have what she’s having.’ ”
Bowman’s pale eyes widened. “You know, that’s true, never thought about it. She rarely — never, actually — took the initiative. I guess that made her an easy-wear friend.”
“Thanks for the information,” said Milo. “Anything else you want to say?”
Simultaneous no’s.
I said, “When Meagin first met Doug she was with a group of women. Any idea who they might be?”
Lana Demarest said, “Sorry, no.”
Toni Bowman said, “You’re thinking someone she opened up to more?”
I said, “No, just trying to learn as much as we can.”
“Well, obviously we’re not going to be any big help with that. The only thing I can add is my first impression of him. One of those Euro-trashers who come over here to absorb Hollywood glamour or whatever. Big automatic smile as he left the sauna. Signorinas this, signorinas that. I think he actually bowed.”
She looked at Lana Demarest.
Demarest said, “I believe he did. My first impression was I kind of felt sorry for him. Trying too hard. To me that says you’re not confident.”
I said, “Was Meagin confident?”
“Seemed to be. I guess that’s part of what made her so appealing.”
Bowman said, “Exactly, no bullshit, what you see is what you get. You’re right on the money, Lani. Now I want to ask a question. Why wouldn’t you think Doug was behind it? Being that rich he’d have an ego the size of Asia. He finds out Meagin’s cheating on him? Why wouldn’t he consider her a squatter and evict her?”
Demarest said, “Interesting analogy.”
Bowman smiled. “Stick to the familiar. You really don’t think so, Lieutenant?”
Milo said, “What I said before is true.”
“Yeah, yeah, just starting out. Yes, an open mind is good but not so much that your brains drop out.”
Milo laughed.
That threw Toni Bowman. “Okay, sorry if I’m coming across too strong. Or flip. That’s not how I feel. For some reason, learning what happened to Meagin is making me feel like I should be constantly apologizing. And that sucks. But don’t tell me I have nothing to apologize for. I’ll get there on my own.”
Chapter 14
We sat in the unmarked as Milo checked his messages. Only one but it arced his eyebrows. “Alicia got nothing much at the boutique so she recanvassed and found a neighbor who’d seen a small black car driving around the neighborhood around midnight.”
He called back.
“L.T.”
“God will forever bless you, kid.”
Alicia said, “Can I get a footnote in your Bible? First off the shoe store. Gio’s been there exactly once in two years and didn’t do much but flirt with the owner. She’s old enough to be his mother, thought it was amusing, figured him for the family wastrel. And she has absolutely no idea who’d want to shoot him. The car isn’t much, either, just what I messaged. Small, black or dark, no make, too dark for the neighbor to see the tags. Not that she’d try.”
“Who’s the neighbor?”
“Eighty-year-old woman living a quarter mile north with two giant dogs. It’s their barking that got her looking. She said they stayed tense and she got suspicious because it was a no-big-deal compact and the only time you see cheap cars in that zip code is when maids drive them or get dropped off or picked up.”
“Unlikely at that hour,” said Milo. “Was she suspicious enough to call it in?”
“No way,” said Alicia. “Politically incorrect, she didn’t want to be ‘classist.’ She does have a point, what would the complaint be? Insufficient sticker shock?”
“True. Okay, thanks for persisting. If Moe and Sean are still free, let’s aim for a meeting this afternoon — say by four.”
“I’ll get my lasso and rope them in.”
He sat back in the driver’s seat, gripped the steering wheel, released it and pulled out a panatella that he rolled between sausage fingers.
“Gotta say Ms. Toni and Dr. Lana surprised me. I was expecting ladies who lunch and got a couple who probably don’t take much time for lunch. Like Demarest said, best to keep an open mind. Did anything you just hear unlock portals in your brain?”
I said, “More support for Meagin being socially isolated, probably intentionally. The only friends we’ve found know nothing about her. Like Doug, they accepted her as she was because she made herself easy-wear.”
“Sitting back, smiling, ordering whatever juice someone else was having.”
“The other thing is her comment about having enough of older men.”
“Bad experiences,” he said. “Maybe violent experiences.”
“Inflicted by someone who decided to reenter her life.”
“Yeah... lots more to learn about her.”
I said, “About Gio, as well.”
“You still think he coulda been the primary?”
“I wouldn’t count it out. A young, good-looking guy with an appealing accent and plenty of spare time, flirts instinctively, uses the spa and likely other locales to hit on women?”
“Lots of potential jealous guys out there,” he said. “Yeah, even if he favored Meagin his place still coulda been the Airbnb of romance. And I still haven’t heard from his family.”
He looked at his Timex. “Meeting at four leaves plenty of time to visit the spa.”
I said, “You up for an herbal wrap?”
“Only if it’s edible.”
From the street, no way to tell what went on behind Agua Fria’s façade. No signage beyond a discreet AFR and small, blue-steel address numerals.
The building was surfaced with thin, horizontal slats of oiled cedar. Miniature bamboo sprouted from gray stone planters. A tiny black camera perched just above the foliage on the left side researched the street.
Twice as wide as any of the neighboring high-end clothing stores, cafés, restaurants, and designer coffee outlets.
Elegant street, nearly all the foot traffic female, lithe and leisurely.
Santa Monica, good intentions gone awry, has long offered services that have turned it into a magnet for the homeless. But this part of Santa Monica had somehow avoided tents, overflowing shopping carts, manic rants, human excrement turning sidewalks into fetid obstacle courses, and any other symptom of no-good-deed-goes-unpunished.
Milo said, “Maybe they bribe them to go to Pico,” and tried to nudge the door open. Then he noticed a tiny black button to the right, just above bamboo fronds.
If you need to ask...
Five stabs were met with silence. After the sixth, a male voice said, “Yes?”
False curiosity; the camera had swiveled toward us and Milo had offered it a clear view of his badge.
“Police. Could we please come in?”
A beat. “May I ask about what?”
“A client.”
A beat. “May I ask who?”
“Better to talk inside, sir.”
Two beats. “Hold on.”
No click to signal entry. Instead the door swung open and a man stepped out and used his body to prop it ajar.
Bald, stocky, fiftyish, spray-tanned, he wore a black collarless shirt over cream linen pants and sandals.
Black name tag, white lettering. Mikel.
Milo introduced us.
Mikel seemed perplexed as he evaluated the information. Like an antiquated computer straining under the weight of a data storm.