Guilt

“Easy.”

“Cook healthy for her and the kids? No maniac E.C.-executive chef-going nuclear on me, no asshole customers trying to prove they’re important by sending perfectly good plates back? Yeah, it’s easy. Plus she pays me great. More than I made working twice as hard at restaurants.”

“She’s a nice lady.”

“You bet. Especially,” said Georgie Weiss.

“Especially, what?”

“Especially considering.”

“Who she is.”

“I mean face it, she could get away with anything, right? But she’s like a real person.”

“What about him?”

“Who?”

“Donny Rader?”

“Never seen him, actually.” She looked to the side. “They don’t live together-don’t quote me, I need to be whatyacallit-discreet.”

“Of course. They live separately?”

“He’s like next door so I’m not sure what that is. I mean, it’s not far, there’s like an empty property and then his place.” She shrugged.

“You ever cook for him?”

“Never. That’s all I know, don’t quote me, okay?”

“No prob,” said Milo. “What about Mel Wedd?”

“What about him what?”

“He easy to work for?”

“I work for Prema, he does his thing, we really don’t interact.” Another sideward glance. “Can I tell you something but really please I mean it don’t quote me.”

“Sure.”

“Seriously,” said Georgie Weiss.

“Seriously.”

She scratched her head. “Mel. He’s not the friendliest guy but that’s not what I’m talking about. Officially, I think he works for Prema. At least he seems to, he’s like here all the time. But … I think he could also be hanging with him. Donny, I mean. Because I’ve seen him drive over there. At night.”

“After hours.”

Nod. “That’s another thing. About Prema. When the day’s over, it’s over. Some of them, they think they own you, it’s like slavery, you know? Do for me twenty-four-seven?”

“Not Prema.”

“Prema makes the rules and you’re expected to keep them but she keeps them, too.”

“She doesn’t exploit the help.”

“Trust me, that’s rare,” said Georgie Weiss. She rattled off the names of two other actresses and a male star. “Spent some time P.C.ing-private chefing-for them. Slavery.”

“Nice to know someone’s different.”

“You bet. Maybe it’s ’cause she has kids. She’s totally into them.”

“Eating healthy?”

“She’s like … an involved mom. But not crazy-healthy like every anorexic Westside bitch, they see a glass of juice they have a seizure. It’s reasonable stuff, just watch out for too much sugar and fat. That’s my food, anyway.”

“Good deal.”

“The best. I love it. Hope you find that woman.” She began to close the door.

Milo didn’t try to stop her physically. His voice was enough. “So you think Mel Wedd is going behind Prema’s back after hours?”

She studied him. “You’re trying to say he did something to that woman?”

“Not at all,” said Milo. “Just checking everyone out.”

“I just thought it was weird, Mel going over there. Because he works for Prema and obviously they’re not-it’s not like they’re a couple-so what could he be doing over there?”

“Mel’s the estate manager,” I said. “Maybe the entire property’s considered the estate.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Guess so.” Nervous smile. “Whatever, keep me out of it, okay? I just want to cook my food.”

The second hallway contained three rooms, instead of four. A utility closet at the rear housed the water heater and the A.C. unit.

The first door was unlocked. Bare mattress, empty nightstand and dresser. A portable crib stood folded in the corner.

Milo gloved up, had me wait as he went in, emerged shaking his head. “Nothing and it’s obviously been cleaned. But I’ll have it processed, anyway.”

The second room was locked. He said, “Stay here, make sure no one goes into Simone’s,” and left the building. Ten minutes later, he returned with a large ring of keys.

“Stored in the laundry room but none of the maids would tell me that, so I had to bring Prema down.”

“She inspires loyalty,” I said. “How’s it going with the computers?”

“Hard to tell with Burns, he’s so damn grumpy.”

“How come?”

“You’re the shrink.” Selecting a key, he unlocked the second room.

Tightly made bed, Bible on the nightstand. Framed pictures on the dresser.

Regloving, he ran through the same solo search. Opened a closet door wide enough for me to view the contents from the corridor.

Sparse supply of bland-looking garments.

He went into the bathroom, called out, “Nothing sexy here, either.”

Returning to the dresser, he opened drawers, inspected the framed pictures. Stepped closer and held them out for my inspection.

Adriana and her church group, including the woman she’d known as Qeesha D’Embo but had come to accept as Simone Chambord because friends in need did what was expected of them.

The two women stood heads together, beaming.

Qeesha cradled a tiny brown infant.

The baby had a round face, inquisitive black eyes, a sweet mouth, graceful, long-fingered hands, a full head of dark hair.

Beautiful child.

Finally, the bones had a face.

Cordelia.

My throat clogged.

Milo raced out of the room.

Melvin Jaron Wedd’s quarters veered toward messy but smelled okay. Probably the Armani cologne in his medicine cabinet.

The fragrance shared space with Viagra for fun, Lunesta for sleep, five varieties of caffeine pills for energy. Tube of lube in the top nightstand drawer. In the second, a short stack of gay porn.

Nothing interesting in the dresser until Milo kneeled low and pulled a small blue leatherette spiral notebook out of the bottom, right-hand drawer. Stashed under a stack of beefy sweaters too warm for L.A.

The book bore the gold-imprinted legend of an insurance broker with an office in Beverly Hills. Probably one of those Christmas giveaways.

Inside was an appointment calendar, complete with holiday notations, dated the previous year. Wedd hadn’t