thirteen

As soon as we were in the car, Zee asked, “Did you see that woman skulking around, eavesdropping?”

“You caught that too, huh?” The car was an oven. With the driver’s door open, I turned on the engine and set the AC on full blast to try to force some of the hot air out. “I wonder what her story is? Or if she’s just nosy? I would love to have talked to her, but it seemed like an imposition at that moment. She wasn’t exactly friendly. Maybe I can call her later.”

“Ben Church seems like a nice young man,” Zee said. “Do you think he’s right, that Marla Kingston and Burt Sandoval probably never met during that job?”

“He did seem nice, also genuine,” I said. “Not bad on the eyes either.”

Next to me, Zee huffed at my comment. “Odelia! He’s just a few years older than my Jacob.”

“Well,” I said with a chuckle, “I don’t have a son, and Ben Church is a bona fide looker.” I shut the driver’s door. In the few minutes in the car, I could already feel sweat forming on my forehead and the heat baking my body like a doughy dinner roll. “I may be old and married, but I’m not dead.” I punched the address for the next stop, the one in Westminster, into my GPS.

After checking traffic, I pulled away from the curb and thought about Zee’s question. “But I do think it’s possible that Marla and Burt never met at that remodel job. Marla didn’t seem to recognize Burt on Saturday.” I paused as something from my memory emerged from the muck. “Then again,” I began and drifted off, leaving the thought incomplete as I merged into traffic, following the instructions from the GPS to get back onto the 405 Freeway.

“Then again what?” asked Zee, who’d turned in her seat to look at me.

“I was just thinking about something Marla said in the parking lot. It was right after she came screaming up to her car.” Zee waiting patiently while I pieced together my memories of that moment into a whole thought. “When she came up to the car,” I continued, “she immediately pointed at Burt and asked him if he’d broken her window.”

“Did she call him by name?” Zee asked.

I shook my head as I came to a stop at a red light. “Not that I recall. I dismissed it as racial profiling. Here was a white man in a wheelchair, a middle-aged white woman, and a bulky Latino with tattoos, but she immediately zeroed in on the Latino and accused him of the damage.” I turned toward Zee. “Is it horrible that I jumped to that conclusion about Marla?”

Zee lowered her sunglasses so that I got the full effect of her laser- hot eyes. “I’m a black woman living in Orange County, Odelia. Did you really need to ask me that? Women like her always make those ignorant assumptions.” She pushed her glasses back up. “Remember just a few years ago when we were at that day spa in Newport Beach?”

I smiled tightly. “I remember. We were sitting in the lounge in the women’s section waiting for our facial appointments.”

“Yep, and some ditz very much like Marla Kingston breezed in and mistook me for one of the spa’s staff, even though I was wearing a robe.” Zee huffed and puffed. “She asked me to get her some extra towels. And when I refused, she informed me I was definitely not getting a tip and complained to management.” Zee crossed her arms across her chest, clearly still angry by the memory. I was there. It wasn’t pretty, and, I confess, such things never happen to me. I’ve been treated poorly because of my size but never for my pasty complexion.

“Yes, but look on the bright side,” I said, tossing her a grin, hoping to calm the waters. “The spa manager was so mortified by that woman’s behavior, she comped both of our facials and threw in pedicures.”

“Humph,” came from my passenger’s seat.

When the light turned green, I moved through the intersection. “For argument’s sake,” I said, moving on with my thoughts, “let’s say Marla wasn’t profiling Burt and she did recognize him from the job. It still wouldn’t explain why they were both there and why she jumped to the conclusion that he might have been the one to break into her car. After all, the job Church Construction did for the Kingstons was two years ago.”

“I agree,” Zee said as she unfolded her arms and relaxed. “Unless Burt and Marla had an ongoing relationship over the past two years, I think it’s unlikely she’d remember him.”

“Unless,” I added, “they’d had a run-in of some kind when he was working the job.”

“True,” Zee agreed, “then she might remember him, but if they did have a run-in, she would be the type to report it to the company, and I’d think Ben Church would have remembered that.”

“Excellent point,” I agreed. I glanced at Zee. “You’re pretty good at this detective stuff. Who knew?” I laughed.

“Please, Odelia,” Zee said with a little laugh of her own. “I raised two kids. I’m an expert at interrogation and getting to the bottom of things.”

We rode along in silence for a bit. Just before getting onto the freeway’s on-ramp, Zee said, “I think we’re heading down the wrong path here, Odelia.”

“No,” I told her, “this is the way back south to Westminster. Even without the GPS, I’m sure of it.”

“No, not the way back to Orange County. I think we’re taking the wrong tack with Burt and Marla.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Instead of asking why Burt was in that parking lot on Saturday, maybe we should be asking why Marla Kingston was there. Burt lives in Torrance. It wouldn’t be that out of his way to be at a grocery store in Long Beach. But if memory serves me, the Kingstons’ primary residence is in Newport Coast, and I’ll bet they also have a home in either Beverly Hills or Bel Air. Long Beach is about mid-way between both of those properties.”

“So she could have taken a potty break on her way to one or the other,” I suggested, “or stopped to buy some water or tea or something.”

“True,” Zee said. “Did you see her with anything in her hands?”

I thought about that. “No, I didn’t. She just had her purse. So maybe it was a potty break.” I studied the road and checked out the map on my GPS. Slowly I began moving to the right and exited the freeway.

“Where are we going?” Zee asked.

“To the scene of the crime,” I told her. “It’s not too far from here.”

For once I was happy that the 405 was running slow. If not, we would have been long past the turnoff we needed to get to the shopping plaza. As it was, I was able to exit the freeway and maneuver on city streets to get to the little shopping plaza I knew well.

At the rate we were going, we may never get to check out both Jordon Wests today, but I was following my nose and my nose was saying Zee was right. What was Marla Kingston doing at the shopping plaza nowhere near one of her homes? Not that there is a law against it, but I would think that most high-end shoppers would not end up in Long Beach at a shopping plaza that served the neighborhood.

The plaza that held the grocery store was set up in an L-pattern with a huge parking lot in the middle. The grocery store anchored the longest side. On the short side was a drugstore belonging to a national chain, and between them were various small businesses. I parked my car in the parking spot in front of the grocery store next to the spot where Marla’s car had been on Saturday. The actual spot was currently occupied by an old white Toyota.

Leaving the ignition on for the AC, I looked around at the shops between the two anchor stores and spotted a nail shop and a greeting card store on the short side. On the long side was a pizza place, a clothing boutique, and a dog groomer. In the elbow, a chain coffee shop was wedged between the nail shop and the dog groomer, joining the two sides of the plaza. A few small tables and chairs were out in front of the coffee shop.

“It makes sense,” I said to Zee, “that Marla may have felt it would be okay to leave her dog in the car if it was just for a quick in-and-out. It’s not right by any means, but it makes sense. It doesn’t take long for an animal or small child to become distressed in a vehicle in extremely hot weather.”

Zee was also checking out the stores. “Maybe she went into that Starbucks to use the bathroom or to buy a drink.”

I wasn’t convinced. “Marla had parked her car here,” I said, pointing to the spot on my left. “She wasn’t carrying a drink when she returned to her car. And if she was going to go to Starbucks, especially on a hot day, she would have parked closer, don’t you think? She was wearing ridiculously high sandals.”

“Unless she needed to go to the grocery store too,” Zee suggested. “Or maybe she used the restroom in the grocery store?”

I replayed the scene of Marla screaming and tottering up to her car in my head. “I don’t think she was coming from the grocery store.”

On my phone I opened up the Google app, clicked on the images tab, and searched for an image of Marla Kingston. After picking one that was a fairly current headshot, I saved it to my phone.

“What are you doing?” asked Zee.

“Saving a photo of Marla to show to some of the shop people.”

“Great idea, Columbo,” Zee said with a grin.

I shook my head and grinned. “Columbo didn’t have a cell phone. But think how much more he could have done with one?”

I turned off the ignition and reluctantly got out of my cool car. Zee climbed out of the passenger’s side and joined me by the rear of the car next to mine.

“I’m pretty sure,” I said, pointing off to the left of the market, “that Marla came from the left of the store, from one of those shops. “We were standing about here, and she was screaming long before she reached us, so we all turned to see what the ruckus was about.”

“That meant she had to be inside one of those places when the dog was being rescued,” Zee said, shielding her eyes with a hand above her sunglasses. “If she’d been outside, she would have noticed people standing by her car long before the glass was shattered. We’re not that far from the front of the market.”

“Exactly,” I confirmed. “So that leaves the pizza place, the boutique, and the groomer. She couldn’t have been at the groomer because she would have taken Maurice with her. And I doubt Marla is into greasy pizza.”

“You never know,” Zee said, looking at me. “With that misogynist husband of hers, maybe she sneaks in some of her favorite foods at out-of-the-way places so he doesn’t rag on her about getting fat. You’ve heard some of the things he’s said about women.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a possibility.” I started walking toward the line of shops. “Let’s start with the boutique. I think that’s our best chance.”

The clothing boutique was called Kelly’s Fashion Corner. In all the years I’d been shopping at the nearby supermarket, I’d never noticed it. As soon as we entered, a light bell sounded. The shop was crowded, with racks of clothing against walls painted a soft blue-green and with several round racks down the middle, and it was blissfully cool inside. I pushed my sunglasses to the top of my head and started looking around, Zee on my heels. Besides nicely displayed clothing, there were shelves and tall narrow rotating racks displaying various accessories. Everything was cute and well-presented and moderate in both price and quality—definitely not the sort of place Marla Kingston would shop. Near the back was a small glass display case, behind which a pleasantly plump woman was bent rearranging jewelry in the case.

“Be with you in a sec,” she said in a cheerful voice without looking up.

A few seconds later, satisfied with the positioning of several bracelets and necklaces, she looked up and greeted us with a smile. “Hello, ladies. Can I help you find something?” She was mid to late forties with light brown hair cut into a chin-length bob. Her face was round and friendly, her cheeks two dots of rosy blush the same color as her lipstick. Around her neck glasses hung from a sparkly chain of multicolored stones.

“I hope you can help us,” I answered back with my friendliest voice. “Were you working this past Saturday?”

“Why, yes, of course,” she answered. “I’m Kelly, the owner. I’m here every day but Sunday, 10 to 6, except I close on Saturday around 4.”

I produced my phone and showed her the photo of Marla. “Was this woman in here this past Saturday?”

Kelly slipped her glasses onto her face and examined the photo. “Humph,” she said once she’d removed her glasses. “Hard to forget a piece of work like that.”

“Was she in here?” I asked again. “Around noon or so?”

“Oh yes, she was here about that time,” Kelly said. “I remember because I usually grab a quick bite to eat between 11:15 and 11:45. I don’t have any employees, so if it’s quiet, I eat in the back with my feet up and listen for the front doorbell. I get a lot of customers from those large office buildings across the street, so I like to be free from about noon until 2 during the week. If it’s very busy, I wait and eat later. Saturdays can be dead or very busy; hard to tell.” She tapped my phone, which I still held out between us. “This one came in just before 11:30.”

“Are you sure?” Zee asked.

“Positive,” Kelly replied. “It was very slow this past Saturday. It usually is on very hot days.”

“Did she buy anything?” I asked, thinking maybe Marla made a small purchase that would fit into her handbag.

“Nope,” Kelly said. “She roamed the store, pulling out this and that, but I don’t think she was really interested. When I asked if I could help, she waved me away like I was a servant.” Kelly paused. “Frankly, I think she was waiting for someone and ducked in here to keep cool.”

“Why do you say that?” Zee asked.

“Because she kept glancing out the front window,” Kelly explained. “She’d wander around, pick something up, then saunter to the window and look out, like I was too stupid to notice.”

“Do you know who she is?” I asked, showing her the photo again.

“I sure do,” Kelly answered with an uptick to her tone. “She’s that annoying Marla Sinclair from that tacky TV show. The one who married that creep Kelton Kingston. I watched that show a few times before I got tired of their snotty attitude toward us common folks.” Kelly studied me. “Hey, didn’t I see you on the news? Aren’t you one of the people who rescued that poor dog of hers?”

I nodded. “Actually, it was my husband who smashed her car window.”

“Well, your husband deserves a medal, in my opinion,” Kelly said with authority. “Who in their right mind leaves a poor animal in a car in heat like this?” She shook her head. “If she’d brought it in here, I’d have understood.”

“Did she ever make contact with anyone while she was in here?” I asked. “Or place a call or anything like that?”

Kelly shook her head gently from side to side. “Not that I noticed. She’d pick up a blouse or something, pretend to be looking at it, then go to the window and look out. Then she’d discard the item, pick up another, and go through the same motion. She did that for almost thirty minutes.” She took a breath in her narrative and came out from behind the counter. She started straightening a table of neatly folded knit shirts that did not need straightening. “That woman touched these things like they had vermin. If she ever comes in again, I’m going to ask her to leave.”

“Do you know what caused her to leave?” Zee asked. She’d been fingering some light, summery scarves.

Kelly looked up from the table. “I believe it was the smashing of her car window.” She went to the front window of the shop and gazed out. “She’d picked up another garment and brought it back to the window right here. She wasn’t here but a few seconds when she dropped what was in her hands and ran straight out the door.” Kelly turned back to us. “I tried to see what was going on, but I couldn’t see much except a crowd starting to form. One of the kids from the pizza place dashed over there, then filled me in on what had happened when he came back. Later that night my husband and I watched it on the news.” She paused. “I do hope they took that poor dog away from that horrible woman. Do you know if they did?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, but Marla Kingston did get a hefty fine for leaving him in her car.”

Zee held the scarf in her hand toward Kelly. “Kelly, I’ll take this. I think my daughter would love it.”

“Aw,” the proprietor said with a smile, “please don’t feel obligated to buy something just because I’m answering your questions.”

“I’m not. I really do think this would look lovely on Hannah,” Zee told her. “She just had a baby, and it would be nice for her to get a gift not baby-related.”

“Alrighty then,” Kelly said, clearly pleased. She took the scarf to the back counter to ring it up.

While Zee and Kelly were transacting business, I stood by the window and looked out toward the parking lot where my car was parked. I couldn’t see it clearly because of the other rows of cars, but the parking row was angled just enough for me to note that it was my car through the gaps of other parked vehicles. I could see the car parked next to me more clearly, but not by much. On Saturday, that’s where Marla’s Mercedes would have been parked. But even then, looking out this window on Saturday, Marla would only have been able to see a crowd gathering, not what was actually going on. But a crowd would have been enough to alarm her into leaving the shop and rushing toward her vehicle.

After thanking Kelly, Zee and I left the shop and stood outside under the awning protecting the storefronts. “What do you think?” Zee asked. “Do you think Marla was waiting for someone?”

“Sure sounds that way,” I said with a slight rise of my shoulders to show I wasn’t 100 percent sure. “She could have been waiting on someone but keeping out of sight and keeping cool in Kelly’s place. Maybe she kept checking out the window to see if Maurice was okay, although at this distance she’d never be able to monitor his condition.”

“Do you want to check out the other places?” Zee asked as she tucked the small bag with the scarf into her handbag.

“No,” I said, turning to scan the other businesses. “It seems like she might have gone only to Kelly’s. You know, maybe she was going to meet someone at Starbucks but was keeping an eye out for him or her.”

“Maybe someone she’s cheating on Kingston with?” Zee suggested. “It would make sense why she would pick a place this far away from one of her homes.” Zee and I both turned our heads toward the coffee shop, which was right next door to Kelly’s. The clothing store would be a perfect place to scout out anyone heading in or out of Starbucks.

“Feel like an iced coffee?” I asked her.

Zee smiled. “Lead the way.”

Starbucks wasn’t very busy. A few tables were occupied by people with laptops. Zee and I laid claim to two of the upholstered chairs by the entrance. While she held down the fort, I went to the counter to order our iced drinks.

“I asked the girl at the counter if she recognized Marla’s photo,” I said when I returned with the drinks and took my seat, “but I struck out. She wasn’t here Saturday and never recalled seeing her any other time.”

We were kicked back in our comfy chairs, enjoying our iced coffee drinks and tossing out possibilities, when someone I recognized entered the coffee shop. It was a young guy, late teens or early twenties, but this time he didn’t have a skateboard with him. He went straight to the counter and ordered his drink. Without a word to Zee, I got up and went to the counter.

“I’ll pay for his order,” I told the girl at the counter.

The kid turned to check out his benefactor, and I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Remember me, Charlie?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, from Saturday. You and the guy in the wheelchair rescued that dog.” He turned back to the cashier. “If she’s paying, throw in a couple of those big cookies and bump my drink up to the largest size.” The girl looked at me and I gave her the okay.

After paying and waiting for Charlie to get his cookies, we moved over to stand in the area where the drinks were picked up. “Can I ask you a couple of questions, Charlie?”

He shrugged. “Sure, you’re paying.” He pulled one of the cookies out of the bag and took a big bite. I glanced over at Zee, who was only a few feet away and watching us.

“Do you hang around here a lot?”

Charlie shrugged. “Enough. Don’t live very far away.”

“You know the woman whose dog we rescued?” I held up my phone with Marla’s photo. “This one. Have you ever seen her here before Saturday?”

He studied the photo while taking another bite of the cookie. “Don’t think so.” He looked up at me. “She’s some famous bitch, isn’t she?”

“Sort of,” I said. “But you don’t recall seeing her around before?”

“Nah.” The barista called Charlie’s name and he picked up his drink. It was an iced something topped with whipped cream and drizzled with caramel sauce. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen her before Saturday. Why you asking?” He stuck a straw into his concoction and took a long drink. He was taller than me by several inches. Sweat and heat radiated from him.

I took a second to think of something to say. “Her husband is making things difficult for my husband and me because of the broken car window.”

“But even the cops said you were in the right with that,” he said.

“I know, but that isn’t stopping them from harassing us.”

“So why ask if she hangs out around here? It’s a free country. She can be anywhere she wants to be.” He polished off his cookie.

Charlie had a point. Marla Kingston could be anywhere she wanted to be, so my explanation seemed lame. I wasn’t sure about telling him that I was trying to put Marla here for a reason, to try and link her somehow to Burt Sandoval. I wasn’t sure I wanted to bring up Burt.

“True,” I told him. “I guess we’re just grasping for straws—anything to get Kingston off our backs.”

His eyes brightened. “You looking to blackmail them to stop bugging you? That could be cool. I could get into that.”

“No, no,” I quickly said. “Nothing like that.” It was a bit scary how eager this kid was to jump on the blackmail wagon. “We are just trying to see if she’s done this before.” It was a lie and not a very good one, but it was all I had up my sleeve at the moment. “Do you work around here or are you off from college or something?” I asked. It was a deflection, but also I was curious. Charlie was at that awkward age. He was either on the tail end of high school or recently passed it and waiting out the summer to move on to the next phase in his life. Like before, he was dressed in beach clothing—board shorts and a T-shirt—but except for the sweat that all of us were wearing, his clothes were clean. It looked like he took decent care of himself. He could also still be living at home.

“Got a summer job working nights,” he said without enthusiasm. “Nothing great, but it’ll do until school starts. You know, make a few bucks. Then I’m off to Santa Barbara for college in the fall.” That information told me that he was about eighteen. “If I do see the crazy bitch,” he continued, “do you want me to call you or something?”

I thought about giving him my contact information but changed my mind. Not that I was worried he’d use it, but he seemed the type to become too enthusiastic, and not in a good way, should something come up.

“No, that’s okay,” I told him. “I don’t think she’ll be back.”

Charlie grunted and left, and I returned to my seat next to Zee. “Who was that?” she asked as soon as I sat down.

“His name is Charlie. He’s the kid who took the video Saturday that showed up on the news.” I took a long pull off my iced coffee. “I was hoping maybe he’d seen Marla here before, but no such luck.”

“Unless she came to this plaza a lot, people probably wouldn’t notice her,” Zee said.

“Ha,” I scoffed. “Marla Kingston is hardly an incognito type of personality. She’d stick out like a sore thumb in this place. She did Saturday the way she was dressed and acting.” I finished my coffee. “Just to be thorough, let’s show her picture to the other shops in this place.”

No one in the other businesses remembered seeing Marla. Striking out, we picked up a couple of bottles of cold water from our last stop, the drugstore, and returned to my car.

“Westminster, then home?” asked Zee.

“First I’d like to swing by Holly’s mailbox place,” I said, unscrewing the top from my water bottle. I took a drink and set the bottle into one of the cup holders in the console. “It’s not that far from here.” I turned to her. “Do you mind?”

Zee took a swig from her own water bottle. “Not at all. Lead on.”

The mailbox place was an independent business, not one of the big chains. The name of the place was Your Office. In addition to mailboxes and mail forwarding, it offered all kinds of business assistance, like packing and mailing packages, notary services, office supplies, and even computer time rental. It was in an old building that housed two other small businesses—a computer repair shop on the bottom floor next to it and a small accounting firm taking up the top floor. The floor of Your Office was scarred linoleum and the walls needed painting, but it was clean and the inventory neatly displayed. To one side was a bank of individual mailboxes, small ones on top with larger ones on the bottom. To the left of the space was a service counter. A young black man was seated behind it reading a graphic novel. Both his head and his face were clean shaven. A loose black T-shirt covered a thin but wiry body. He glanced up with sharp eyes when we approached. Close up, he didn’t look much older than Charlie.

“Can I help you?” he said. He put the book down but remained in his seat.

“I have this address for someone and didn’t realize it was a mail place,” I lied. “I was hoping to speak with her in person.”

“A lot of people use our address as theirs,” was his response, delivered in a bored voice.

“Can you tell us,” Zee chimed in, “if a Holly West has a mailbox here? Maybe we simply have the wrong address.”

The young man eyed Zee and then me, then said, “I’m sorry, but we don’t give out the names of our customers. Most use a box for a reason, get my drift?” Zee and I glanced at each other. We both got the drift, and it was one I’d expected.

Zee dug a twenty-dollar bill from the depths of her bag. She smoothed it and set it flat on the counter but kept her fingers on top, holding it down tight. She looked at the man but said nothing.

Again, he looked at both of us. “But there are two of you.”

I got that drift too. Reaching into my tote, I dug out a twenty of my own and set it on the table next to Zee’s. “That should buy information and you keeping your mouth shut about our visit here,” I told him.

The guy leaned forward. “That last part will cost you another twenty.”

It was Zee’s turn to lean in. She removed her sunglasses and latched her eyes onto his. “Didn’t your momma ever teach you that greed is one of the devil’s tools?”

He leaned forward more, their dark faces close, their eyes unflinching. “Only thing my momma taught me was to grab what you can when you can from whoever you can.” He leaned back, keeping his eyes on Zee. “I’ll bet that’s not what you taught your kids, is it?”

Zee reached into her bag for her wallet, but he stopped her with, “No, I want the other twenty from her.” He jerked his chin in my direction. “The white lady.”

With a nod to Zee, I pulled out another twenty, glad I’d hit the ATM before picking her up this morning. “There,” I said putting it on the counter. “So what do you know about Holly West?”

He scooped up the three twenties. “Tough chick but kinda cute. She comes in once a week to pick up her mail. Every Wednesday around 6, just before we close.”

“Never any other time?” Zee asked.

He shrugged. “Not that I can tell. She could come in after hours. Our clients all have a security code that lets them into the box section. But I don’t think she comes in except on Wednesday.”

I glanced back at the bank of mailboxes and noticed for the first time the sliding gate that ran from one side of the front door to the short wall next to the boxes. When extended, the gate would cut off the inventory and counter from the box area and front door, allowing customers access to only that area when the place was closed.

“Why don’t you think she comes in after hours?” I asked.

“Because her box is always full until Wednesday,” he told us. “I put the mail in the boxes every day, Monday through Saturday. She don’t get much, but her box is never emptied until Wednesday night. Starts clean on Thursday.”

“And you said she’s a tough chick,” I said to him. “Does that mean tattoos, piercings, stuff like that?”

“Nah,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “I’ve never noticed anything like that. I mean, she’s not gangsta or anything like that.” He paused. “It’s more her attitude. She’s not very…um…approachable. You know what I mean?”

“You mean,” Zee said, “that you hit on her and she rejected you, right?”

For the first time, the guy smiled. “Hey, like I said, she’s cute. Pretty long hair, got that half Asian, half white thing going on. You know. But man, she’s cold. Whenever I speak to her at all, I mean, even for business, she doesn’t talk. Just gives you this steely look that can freeze a man’s balls.”

Back in the car, I called Greg and put him on speaker. When he answered, I asked without any lead-in, “Hi honey, was Jane Newell Asian?”

“Yeah, she was,” he said. “Korean. She was adopted when she was a baby. Why?”

“The guy at the mailbox place just told us that Holly West is half Asian, half white, so I wanted to check that out with you.”

There was quiet on the other end of the line, then, “Who is the other half of the us, Odelia?”

“Me,” chimed in Zee. “I’m helping out Odelia a little bit.” An audible groan came from the phone.

“Gee, Greg,” Zee shot back at the phone, “tell me how you really feel.”

There was a slight chuckle from the phone. “You know I love ya, Zee, but Seth is going to have our heads if anything happens. You know how he feels about you chumming along with Odelia on this stuff.”

“I do,” she replied, “but nothing is going to happen, and I’m a grown woman. I don’t need my husband’s permission to hang out with my best friend.” She took a breath. “Besides, that last incident was not Odelia’s fault.”

“All right,” Greg said, “I’m just pointing out a fact. Have you girls found out anything?”

“Little threads here and there,” I told him. “Not much more. And those threads don’t tie together at all. There’s a Jordon West in Costa Mesa, but he says he’s not related to Holly West. We’re on our way to check out another Jordon West who lives in Westminster, then I’m dropping Zee off and heading home. I’ll give you a full report over dinner.”

“Sounds good,” he said, “although you’re going to be right in the thick of rush hour. You’re already facing the start of it now.”

“Well,” I said, “it can’t be helped. We’re on a roll of checking off the obvious leads.”

“Since there’s no leftover Chinese food from last night and you might be late, how about I pick up a pizza for dinner?”

“Sounds good to me,” I told him. “Half and half?”

Again Greg chuckled. “Half and half,” he assured me. My husband loves pineapple and ham pizza, which I dislike. I’m a purest: I prefer pepperoni. In all our years of marriage, this is one of the few things we haven’t been able to compromise on. Both of us like green peppers, mushrooms, and onions on our pizza, so our usual order is half and half with the veggies on both sides.