At the foot of the driveway, Waldo hit the intercom button while Lorena held the Uber in case Stevie Rose wasn’t at home.
“Hello?” It didn’t sound like Stevie. Waldo signaled to Lorena, who got out of the Honda. She walked over to Waldo as the car turned around and headed down the hill.
“Hi, is this Ms. Rose?” he said into the intercom.
“Yes?”
He noticed a tiny camera atop one of the gate stanchions, tilted down toward the intercom, and turned to show himself. “Hi, my name is Charlie Waldo, and this is Lorena Nascimento.”
“Yes?”
“We’re private investigators.”
“Could you leave your information in the mailbox? This isn’t a good time for us.”
Waldo and Lorena looked at each other. He said, “We’ve been working with your daughter.”
“With my daughter?”
“Stevie?”
Lorena added, “She hired us?”
“Do you have any identification?” Lorena took an ID card from her purse and held it to the camera. The double gates parted for them.
They walked up the Roses’ private hill. A woman in her early forties waited at the open door. The tan might have been natural but the tousled and highlighted amber hair hadn’t come cheap. She wore an opal pendant on a thick gold chain, and knee-length khaki shorts and a sleeveless blouse showing off calves and arms that had taken some investment, too. “We just got back.”
Lorena said, “Are you Stevie’s mom?”
“Paula Rose.” She held out her hand and shook each of their hands with a firm grip. “What did you say your names were again?”
Could any parent at Alastair Pinch’s daughter’s school not know who Waldo was? What did that say about Stevie Rose’s mother? “Charlie Waldo. This is Lorena Nascimento.”
A man appeared behind her, twenty years older but not quite her height, in shorts, sandals and a Hawaiian shirt buttoned tight over a thick chest. He had bountiful hair for his age, curly and dark, graying at the temples. “Charlie Waldo? Jesus, come in, come in. I’m Joel.” He gestured down the steps toward the sofas where they’d sat with Stevie and elucidated for his wife as they followed. “Honey, this is the guy who figured out Monica Pinch.” He turned to Waldo. “I’m a huge fan. Huge. And that other thing? The way you ripped the LAPD a new one? You’re a rock star.” He must have been talking about Lydell Lipps and everything after. The adulation made Waldo queasy. “Can I get you something to drink? I’m not sure what’s in the fridge. We just got back from Hawaii.” Waldo and Lorena both declined. “We just bought a pineapple farm. Well, not just—about a year ago.”
Paula sat beside her husband. “It gives us a reason to spend more time there. We love Hawaii.”
“Plus we’re doing good, you know?” Joel lowered his voice conspiratorially, though there was no one around to listen in. “We outbid Dole for it. They just brutalize their unions. We can give them better wages, better medical . . .”
“Well,” said Paula.
“Well, not crazy better, but you know.”
Paula said to Waldo and Lorena, “They see a private owner come in, especially when they see ‘rich, Hollywood private owner,’ these union people think they can walk all over you.”
“We’re not going to let them walk all over us,” Joel said to his wife.
Paula kept explaining to Waldo and Lorena. “They start demanding all these things you can’t give them. Paternity leave? Really? I mean, okay, if people are gay and they adopt, I get it, but how do you decide which parent should get the leave? I mean, why should that fall on us? Like if one works on our farm, and the other works on a golf course or something.”
“We’re not going to give them paternity leave.”
“But if they strike . . .”
“They’re not going to strike.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because if they strike, we’ll just sell to Dole.” He turned back to Waldo and lowered his voice again. “We won’t—not really—but we’ll make them think that.”
“Fuckers,” said Paula.
“They’re not going to strike.”
“Fuckers,” she said again. Then, realizing the fuss she was making in front of strangers, she said to Lorena, “I’m sorry. But this one guy Kekepania we met with when we were out there? He is not a good person.”
“Um,” said Lorena, “is Stevie here?”
“I don’t know,” said Paula. “We haven’t checked.”
“We just got home,” said Joel, telling them again.
Paula looked at a wall clock, said, “She’s usually back from school by now. I’ll go up and look,” and left the room.
“So,” said Joel, “did I hear you say you were doing something with Stevie?”
Lorena said, “Yes, but let’s see if she’s—”
“I don’t want you to have to tell it twice. Let’s wait until Paula comes back.” He turned to Waldo. “Can I ask you a question? Has anyone contacted you about TV rights? To your story—the Pinch case, I mean. And the other stuff, as background. Is it true that you live in a tree house or something?”
“No, I haven’t talked to anybody about TV rights.”
Joel perked up. “Really?”
“I wouldn’t be interested.” He’d taken some money for the rights to the original Lipps case; it had become one more thing to regret.
“Are you sure? You could give the money to charity. You know, some of it.” He actually winked. “I’m a TV producer. Well, you already know that; I mean, you’re here.” He dropped into the conspiratorial voice again. “By the way, we got picked up for two more seasons. That’s not for public consumption yet, but you’ll see it in the trades this week.”
Waldo said, “I’ll look for it.”
Lorena said, “What’s the name of the show again?”
Joel Rose’s face froze for a fraction of a second. She had quietly wrecked him. “Malibu Malice.”
“Oh yeah,” she said, putting on enthusiasm, though all three of them knew she’d never seen it.
Paula returned. “She’s not here.”
Waldo said, “Any idea where she is?”
“I checked my phone—she didn’t leave a message or anything. But she usually doesn’t. She might just be running a little late. Her friend’s mom drives her when we’re away.”
Lorena said, “Mr. and Mrs. Rose—”
“Paula and Joel. Please.”
“We should tell you what’s going on. Your daughter called me while you were out of town and hired us to look for her brother—”
“Her brother?”
Joel said, “I talked to her brother this morning. He’s in Chicago.”
Lorena said, “She made up a whole story—that you two had died in a car crash, and that her brother was only a little older, and lived here, and went to UCLA, and was Stevie’s legal guardian. And that he was missing.”
Paula said, “Why would she . . . ?”
Joel said, “And she paid you?” He looked at Paula. “With what?”
Paula said, “I always leave her some money for emergencies.”
Waldo said, “What she really wanted was for us to go talk to Victor Ouelette. She was frustrated because your conversations with Sebastian Hexter didn’t go anywhere.”
The Roses squinted at him in matching confusion.
“Do either of those names mean anything to you?”
Joel said, “Say them again?”
“Victor Ouelette, Sebastian Hexter.”
“Wait!” Paula said, pleased with herself like she was about to nail the Daily Double on Jeopardy! “Sebastian Hexter—he’s the headmaster at Stoddard.”
“Have you ever gone to talk with him about a problem Stevie was having with a teacher?”
Joel said, “Never. She’s a great student. She’s made honor roll.”
Paula snickered. “Honor roll? Like in fifth grade.”
Joel said, “Not fifth grade. Junior high.”
Paula said, “Fine,” and rolled her eyes.
Waldo said, “So, Victor Ouelette—that name doesn’t ring a bell?” They both shook their heads. “She had him for history last year.”
Joel said, “Oh, then I’m sure we met him. We always go to back-to-school night.” He asked Paula, “Was he the African American fellow? I liked him.”
“No, that was Mr. Bynoe. Algebra.” She said to Waldo and Lorena, “There are so many teachers every year, you meet each one for ten minutes.”
So Stevie had gone to the headmaster about Ouelette but hadn’t mentioned him to her parents. Even the story under her story was springing fresh holes by the second. Lorena said, “You left Stevie alone while you went to Hawaii?”
Paula said, “We’ve always tried to nurture her independence.”
Waldo said, “How’s that working out?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Is it possible she’s a little too independent?”
“There’s no such thing.”
“There’s a lot out there that kids get exposed to . . .”
“Sex and drugs are part of kids’ lives. Parents who think they can hide all that from them are just fooling themselves.”
“All of them are doing everything,” said Joel. “The trick is to get them to be responsible about it. That’s truly all you can ask.”
Paula added, “You need to be open; that’s the key. If your child feels they can do anything at home that they’d want to do anywhere else, then they don’t have to keep secrets. And they’re less likely to get into some situation that they can’t handle.”
Lorena said, “Listen, Stevie’s in some trouble. She wanted us to talk to that teacher, Victor Ouelette, and shortly after Waldo went to see him, he was murdered.”
Paula said, “Murdered?”
“The police want to talk to Stevie.”
Joel said, “How was he killed?”
“He was shot.”
Joel said, “Oh,” and the Roses looked at each other, relieved. Joel said to Waldo and Lorena, “Our family is totally anti-gun.”
Paula said, “I’m on the board of the Center for Sensible Handgun Policy. I got Lady Gaga to sing at our benefit at the Beverly Hilton—I know her manager.” Waldo began to wonder how close the bathroom was and whether it had a big enough plunger to pull this lady’s head out of her ass. She said, “That poor teacher, though. The police really have no idea who did it?”
Joel, who was starting to understand, snapped at his wife. “They think Stevie may have done it.” He turned to Lorena. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
“They want to talk to her.”
Joel was getting more agitated and turned on Paula. “Goddammit. We should have insisted that boy stay here.”
Waldo said, “What boy?”
Paula ignored Waldo, answered Joel. “We didn’t have a choice. His parents said no.”
“We should have called and talked them into it.”
“Stevie didn’t want us to.”
Joel shifted in his seat, distressed. “This is our fault.”
Paula got short with him, too. “She didn’t shoot anybody. This’ll get straightened out.”
Lorena asked the question again. “Who’s the boy?”
Joel said, “This new boyfriend Stevie’s got. I wanted him to stay here while we were in Hawaii. Truth is, I don’t like leaving her all by herself.” He shook his head and added, “But apparently his parents wouldn’t go for it,” sneering bewilderment in his voice.
Lorena said, “What’s this boy’s name?”
“Koy.”
Joel said, “I thought it was Ky.”
“No, Koy. I think Koy.”
Lorena said, “Last name?”
“Ling. Or maybe Lee. Ling or Lee.”
Lorena wrote down all four names. “I take it you never met him.”
“No, I met him,” said Paula, with tone, clearly irked by the implication of irresponsibility. “I wouldn’t ask a high school boy to stay alone with our daughter in our house if I hadn’t met him.”
“Of course not,” said Waldo. He didn’t give them time to decode his tone. “Look, the police have given us a window to keep a little control of this thing. If we don’t, they’re going to find Stevie and bring her in without us. She won’t return our calls; could I ask you both to try her, and text her, and let her know it’s critical that she come back here right away?”
The Roses nodded and sat there looking at him, earnest.
Waldo said, “I mean, now.”
“Oh,” said Joel, and they took out their phones and dialed.
Paula said, “She never answers.”
Joel said, “And her voicemail is full half the time.”
Lorena said, “That’s why you should text, too.” She and Waldo waited while Joel and Paula simultaneously listened to Stevie’s outgoing message, then watched them both text. Waldo said, “Why don’t you try calling the school, too? Maybe she’s still there.”
Paula dialed and walked into the other room to talk. Joel said to Waldo and Lorena, “She’ll probably be home from school soon. You could wait if you want. I think Naomi Shapiro’s been driving her.”
“Who’s that?”
“Her husband’s a feature lit agent.” They looked at him patiently until he understood that that description wasn’t pertinent. “Her daughter’s a friend of Stevie’s. They live on Dixie Canyon.” He said, “How serious is this? I mean, do you think Stevie’s actually involved?”
Waldo didn’t have an answer for him.
Paula returned, worried. “Stevie didn’t go to school today, or yesterday.”
Joel asked Waldo, “When was the teacher killed?”
Waldo said, “The night before that.”