Guilt

sound from behind any of them. Gold Standard Professionals’ neighbors offered electrolysis, bookbinding, tax preparation, and gift counseling.

Milo said, “Gift counseling? What the hell does that mean?”

I said, “Maybe they tell you who’s been naughty or nice.”

“Next there’ll be laxative counseling. ‘We open new channels of communication.’ Okay, here goes nothing.” He rapped on Gold Standard’s door. A male voice said, “Who’s there?”

“Police.”

“What?”

“Police. Please open up.”

Another “What?” but the door cracked.

Jack Weathers had added a clipped white mustache and some wrinkles since his Clarion interview. He was tall, well built, seventy to seventy-five, wore a white polo shirt under a sea-green cashmere V-neck, taupe linen slacks, calfskin loafers sans socks. His skin was shiny and spray- bronzed, his eyes a deeper tan. A wedding band crusted with pave diamonds circled his left ring finger. One pinkie hosted a white-gold emerald ring, the other a rose-gold creation dominated by a massive amethyst. The gold chain around his neck was curiously delicate.

He said, “Police? I don’t understand.”

Milo flashed the badge. “Could we come in, please, Mr. Weathers?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course, sir.”

A female voice said, “Jack? What’s going on?” Before Weathers could answer, a woman came up behind him and shoved the door wide open.

A foot shorter than her husband, Daisy Weathers had on a black jacquard silk top, cream gabardine slacks, red stilettos that advertised a virtuoso pedicure. Serious bling glinted at all the predictable spots. The white in her hair verged on silver-plate. The style was some cosmetologist’s ode to meringue. Her eyes were glacier-blue, oddly innocent. Small bones and a sweet face had kept her cute well beyond the expiration date.

Jack Weathers said, “They’re the police.”

Daisy Weathers said, “Hi, boys. Collecting for the law enforcement ball? We give every year.” Sultry voice. She winked.

Milo said, “Not exactly, ma’am.”

Jack Weathers said, “They don’t send guys in suits for the ball, Daze. They send kids-scouts, cadets, whatever you call ’em.”

Daisy Weathers said, “Cute kids, they’re making ’em bigger nowadays. What can we do for you boys?”

Milo said, “We’d like to talk about Adriana Betts.”

She looked puzzled. “Well, I can’t say I know who that is.”

Jack Weathers’s face darkened. A fist punched a palm. “Knew it-it was one of you who called earlier, right? If you’d left a number, I’d have called you back.”

I said, “Got cut off, couldn’t get through after that.”

His eyes danced to the right. “Well, I don’t know about that. Our phones are working fine.”

Daisy said, “Jack, what’s going on?”

“All they had to do was call, this really isn’t necessary.”

“He says he did.”

“Well, all he had to do was try again.” Maybe Weathers was usually truthful, because lying didn’t sit well with him. I counted at least three tells in as many seconds: lip-gnaw, brow-twitch, foot-tap. Then his eyes got jumpy.

“Anyway,” I said, “we’re here, so no harm, no foul.”

Milo moved toward the doorway. Jack Weathers considered his options and stepped aside.

Daisy Weathers said, “What was that name, boys?”

Milo said, “Adriana Betts.”

“Is that someone I’m supposed to know, Jack?”

The eyes turned into pinballs.

She touched his wrist. He jerked reflexively.

“Jackie? What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, baby.”

I said, “So she did work for you.”

“No one works for us,” said Jack Weathers. “We’re facilitators.”

“Ja-ack-ee?” said his wife. “Again?”

Weathers looked away.

“Jack!”

“No big deal, Daze.”

“Obviously it is a big deal if the police are here.”

He cursed under his breath.

She said, “You boys better come in and straighten this out.”

The single-room office was furnished with two cheap desks and three hard-plastic chairs. The walls were hospital-beige and bare. A lone window half covered by warped plastic blinds looked out to an alley and the brick wall of the neighboring building. One desk was set up with a multi-line phone, a modem, a computer, a printer, and a fax machine. The other held a collection of bisque figurines-slender, white-wigged court figures engaged in spirited nonsense. Daisy Weathers took a seat behind the porcelain and lifted a lute-playing lady in a ball gown. One of her six rings clinked against the doll. Her husband winced.

Then he slipped behind the bank of business machines and eased his long body as low as he could manage.

Milo said, “Tell us about Adriana Betts.”

Daisy said, “Yes, do, dear.”

Jack said, “She came with good recommendations.”

“Did you do the screening, Jackie?”

“It was an urgent one, Daze.”

She slapped her forehead. “Bending rules. What a shock.” To us: “My sweetie pie, here, has a heart softer than a ripe persimmon.” That sounded like a line from a movie.

Jack said, “Someone comes to me in need, I try to help.”

“He really does, boys. I wish I could get mad at him but you need to know him, he’s a people-pleaser.”

Milo said, “What kind of screening do you usually do?”

“Comprehensive screening,” said Jack. “Just what you do.”

“What we do?”

“Er … what I’m sure you do when you hire police officers.” Weathers’s smile was a pathetic grope for rapport. “To ensure the best fit, right? Everyone knows BHPD’s the best.”

“I’ll pass that along to them,” said Milo. “Actually, I’m LAPD.”

“Oh,” said Jack Weathers. “Well, I’m sure the same applies to you, we used to live in Los Angeles. Hancock Park, lovely, we had a gorgeous Colonial with a half-acre garden, the police were always helpful.”

“Great to hear that, sir. So with Adriana Betts you decided to forgo the usual screening.”

Daisy let out a prolonged sigh. Jack shot her a look that could’ve been a warning. Or fear.

“As I said, there was urgency.”

I said, “Someone was in need.”

“That’s what we do,” said Jack. “We fill needs.”

“In Ms. Betts’s case, child-care needs?”

He didn’t answer.

Daisy said, “No matter who you are, finding the right people is always a challenge.”

I faced Jack. “Meaning someone important. Who’d you send Adriana to?”

He shook his head.