She let Noel take her upstairs. Milo said, “Did it happen the way she said?”
I nodded. “They were a couple of real sweethearts. Came on concerned, then eased into the Grand Plan. Kind of stupid, though, showing their cards like that.”
“Not necessarily,” he said. “In most cases it would work, because the average eighteen-year-old would be intimidated and agree to let a couple of suits handle everything. And plenty of shrinks would go along with what they offered you. For the right compensation.” He scratched his nose. “Be interesting to know what they’re really after.”
“I’d say filthy lucre’s a good guess.”
“Question is how
“Or maybe,” I said, “they made some bad investments and want to keep it quiet.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said. “But the thing we’ve got to consider is, despite all these maybes, do they still have a valid point- one that would look good to a judge.
“I’m not sure. She’s gone from drowsy to enraged awfully quickly. But nothing pathological when you consider what she’s been through.”
“Say it in court that way, and she’s finished.”
“Forty million dollars would be tough for anyone, Milo. If I were King of the World, I wouldn’t give any kid that much. But no, there’s no psychological justification for declaring her incompetent. I could back her up.”
“Anyway,” he said, “what’s the worst thing that could happen? She pisses it away, has to start from scratch. She’s smart enough- could do something useful with her life. Maybe it would be the
“Financial collapse as a therapeutic technique? Good excuse for doctors’ raising their fees.”
He smiled. “In the meantime, I’ll do what I can to check out Anger and the other guy. Though it’s gonna be damned hard to pierce that kind of armor quickly. She really needs legal help.”
“I thought I’d call someone on that.”
“Good.” He lifted his briefcase.
“That new?” I said.
“Picked it up today. Got an image to uphold. This private-eye business is heady stuff.”
“Did you get the message I left with your machine a couple of hours ago?”
“ “Several things to talk about’? Sure, but I’ve been a busy little private bee, scooping up honeycombs of information. How about a share-fest?”
I motioned to one of the overstuffed chairs.
“No,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here, breathe some normal air- if it’s okay for you to leave.”
“Let me check.”
I climbed the stairs, went to Melissa’s room. The door was partially open. As I raised my hand to knock, I looked through the crack and saw Melissa and Noel, stretched out on the bed, fully clothed, entwined. Her fingers in his hair. His arm around her waist, rubbing the small of her back. Bare feet, toes touching.
Before they noticed me, I tiptoed away.
Milo was in the entry hall, refusing a plate of food from Madeleine.
“Full,” he said, patting his belly. “Thanks anyway.”
She regarded him as if he were a wayward son.
We smiled and left.
Once outside, he said, “I lied. Actually, I’m hungry as hell and her stuff’s probably tastier than anything we’re gonna get somewhere else. But the place gets to me- after a while, I OD on being taken
“Me, too,” I said, getting into the car. “Think how Melissa feels.”
“Yeah,” he said, starting up the engine. “Well, now she’ll be on her own. Any suggestions, cuisine-wise?”
“As a matter of fact, I have just the place.”
Start of the dinner hour. La Mystique was empty. As I pulled up in front, Milo said, “Gee. Are we gonna have to wait at the bar?”
I said, “That’s the Gabney Clinic,” and pointed to the big brown house. The windows were dark and the driveway was empty.
“Ah,” said Milo, squinting. “Little spooky.” He turned back to the restaurant. “So what’s this place, your lookout post?”
“Just a warm, kind resting spot for the weary sojourner.”
Joyce was startled to see me again, but she welcomed me as if I were long-lost kin and offered the same front table. Sitting there at this hour would have turned us into a window display, so I asked to be seated at the back.
She took our drink orders and came back with two Grolsches. As she poured, she said, “We’ve got poached striped bass and veal
I said, “I’ll have the bass.”
Milo scanned the menu. “How’s the
“Excellent, sir.”
“That’s what I’ll have. Bloody rare, with double potatoes.”
She stepped behind the partition into the kitchen and began cooking.
We touched glasses and drank beer.
I said, “According to Anger, Chickering said the search for Gina is over.”
“Not surprised. Last time I checked with the Sheriffs was one-thirty this afternoon. They were pretty much winding down- not a trace of her anywhere in the park.”
“Lady in the lake, huh?”
“Looks that way.” He ran his hand over his face. “Okay. Time to share. Who first?”
“Go ahead.”
“Basically,” he said, “it’s been hooray for Hollywood. Spent most of my day talking to movie people and ex- movie people and associated hangers-on.”
“Crotty?”
“No, Crotty’s gone. Died a couple of months ago.”
“Oh,” I said, thinking of the scrawny old vice cop turned gay activist. “I thought the AZT was working.”
“We all did. Unfortunately, he didn’t. Sat on the porch of that little farm he had up in the hills and ate a gun.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah. In the end, he did it like a cop… Anyway, what I learned in cinemaville: Apparently Gina and Ramp and McCloskey were all pretty chummy back in the good old days. There was this group of contract players at Apex Studios during the mid- to late sixties. McCloskey wasn’t exactly part of it, but he hung out with them, started his modeling agency by getting the others photo gigs- pretty faces, both sexes. From everything I hear, they were a wild bunch, lots of boozing and doping and partying, though no one has anything bad to say about Gina specifically. So if she sinned, she did it quietly. Most of them never went anywhere, career-wise. Gina was the most likely to
