At two p.m. I drove to the Aggiunta/March murder house. The street was quiet but for one gardener watering a blood-red azalea hedge several properties north.
After dark this would be a ghost town. Nice for someone who craved bucolic privacy. Even better for someone out to end life.
The yellow tape had been removed and the driveway the killer had used to gain entry was now blocked by a chain-link rent-a-fence.
Barn door, horse.
I drove a few aimless blocks before heading toward grander digs.
A bit more activity in the estate section of Bel Air. Multiple gardeners, delivery trucks, and uniformed maids strolling, leashed to dogs.
At the house the Marches hadn’t bothered to pretend was home, a maid with no canine in tow walked along the stone wall engaged with her phone. When she reached the edge of the property, she reversed and continued, still talking.
The older domestic — Irma Ruiz.
I pulled up alongside her and rolled down the passenger window. She gave a start, turned, muttered something to the phone and slipped it into her pocket.
“Hi, Ms. Ruiz.”
“Hi.” She forced a smile with vibrating lips. Wide eyes blinked rapidly before settling on a point well to my left.
I said, “Everything okay?”
“You need to come in?”
“Not right now, thanks.”
My answer revved up her anxiety. Then why are you here!
I said, “Is Mr. March home?”
“No, no, sir.”
“Any idea where he is?”
“No.”
“He didn’t say where he was going?”
“A car pick him up.”
“To go to the airport?”
Nod.
“When was this?”
“Seven in the morning.”
“Any idea where Mr. March was flying?”
She hesitated. “I hear Ohio.”
“Which city?”
Head shake.
“Okay, thanks — is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“No, no,” she said. “No. I got to go back to work.”
She lifted a remote control from the same pocket that had captured the phone, pressed a button, and squeezed through the opening gate as soon as space permitted.
I called Milo. “Doug March left this morning for Ohio.”
“How do you know?”
I told him.
He said, “Wife’s dead a few days and he’s back to business just like he told us. She have anything else to say?”
“No but she was antsy from the moment she saw me.”
“Think she knows something?”
“Could be or she’s just affected by Meagin’s death. Also, living in that house with just one other person could feel creepy.”
“The more meat, the more worms, huh?”
“Where’d that come from?”
“Jewish proverb,” he said. “Rick’s grandfather’s favorite. Okay, I’ll eventually do a recontact. Meanwhile, Sean found someone who actually dated Gio. So to speak. She’s on her way to the station. Wanna meet her?”
“So to speak?”
He explained.
I said, “On my way over.”
Chapter 20
Milo looked at Sean. “Bring her water, Detective Binchy. An energy bar, too.”
“Got it, Loot.”
Rhonda Montel said, “I told you I was fine.”
“Just in case.”
“What, you feel guilty for hassling me then freaking me out?”
Milo said, “You just got even more valuable to us.”
“Really?” A hard look gave way to a smile.
“Really, Rikki. Whatever you can tell us about Giovanni and Meg will be hugely helpful.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” she said. “Two of the sweetest people. Him, I just knew as a date.”
“But you were close to Meagin.”
“We liked each other,” she said. “There was nothing not to like about her.”
“You called her the baby.”
“She was younger than the rest of us. But we all liked her.”
Milo smiled. “You met her in Vegas.”
“We all met in Vegas. The two others — Frankie who’s in New York and cooking her little heart out and Cherry who died — they were both showgirls. Tall drinks of water. They got dumped, the way showgirls always do when they have the nerve to develop a wrinkle. That happens, you do what you have to — do not judge.”
“Wish I could convince you, Rikki. We couldn’t care less about anything except murder.”
“Murder,” she said. “What a fucked-up job you have — anyway, that’s it about Vegas. We hung out there then decided to try L.A. My idea because I was born here. Huntington Park. I figured why not try something new and the others agreed.”
“Including Meagin.”
“Especially Meagin,” she said. “She was always about a new adventure. One time, in Vegas, she spent some serious bank on a skydiving lesson. Showed us a video and I nearly puked just looking at her.”
“A risk-taker.”
“But not when it came to work, she was careful about work, steered clear of anyone who even smelled of creepy. Said she’d had enough of weird.”
“How so?”
Rhonda Montel shook her mane. “That’s all she said.”
Milo waited.
She said, “It’s not going to change because you’re doing the silent-treatment thing. She never said and no one pushed. None of us liked those stories — ours or anyone else’s.”
“Got it. What else can you tell us about her, Rikki? Starting with her name before she got married.”
“She actually married him? Shit. I just thought they were playing house.”
“No, they were legally married a year and a half ago.”
“Right after she bagged him... man, talk about working fast. Her and him matrimonying... talk about the odd couple.”
“How so?”
“You meet him?”
“We have.”
“Then why’re you asking? She’s gorgeous up the waz, he’s a nerd looks like he’s got low T — testosterone. Got to tell you, it’s a surprise. I’m sure she could’ve got another rich guy who wasn’t a nerd — did she love him? I mean anything’s possible, but still...”
“Who knows how she felt about him, we can’t ask her,” said Milo. “But the fact that she was partying with Gio—”
“Means nothing,” said Rhonda Montel. “Love is here.” Another breast pat. “What happens here” — dropping to her crotch — “is from a whole different nervous system. A guy I know, a brilliant doctor, told me. Wires and glands, it’s complicated.”
“Learn something new every day,” said Milo. “So what was her maiden name, Rikki?”
“In Vegas she went by Jones.”
“Meagin Jones.”
“Was that real? No idea.” Shrug.
Milo said, “I think we both have an idea.”
“Yeah, well, can’t blame her, lots of weirdos in Vegas. We all had dancing names. Mine was Ravenette, hers was Ash. Coincidence, we thought it was funny, both of us using our hair for the idea. Hers was ash back then, almost white, she ironed it, it hung down her back. Not as long as mine but long.”
“Where’d she dance?”
“By the time I knew her she’d stopped so can’t give you any names.”
“New career,” said Milo.
“Don’t judge!”
He shifted his chair inches from her knees. “Rikki, stop worrying about that. So she was working a casino.”
“Bunch of casinos. The good ones. She had the looks and the style for that. Made enough bank to pay off bellmen and whoever.”
“The good ones being...”
“Caesars, MGM, Bellagio, Venetian, whatever. She never said, all I know is she did well.”
“Moving around.”
“Why not? Who wants to be a sitting duck?” Her face crumpled. “Don’t bullshit me: did she suffer?”