she’d been dating someone with money. A starving actress serving fish to make the rent on a North Hollywood dump and a guy with a Porsche? Same for Michaela.”
“Michaela never indicated to you that she was seeing anyone?”
“No, but it wouldn’t have come up. My consult focused on her legal problems. One thing she did make clear: Dylan was no longer her style. Maybe because she’d found someone better.”
“Mr. Hot Wheels,” he said. “Still doesn’t answer the question of how Brad got to pull the reins. Why would the Dowds hand over all that control?”
“Maybe they didn’t but once the parents were dead he wrangled his way in as a trustee of the estate. Cozying up to the lawyers, greasing someone’s palm, making the case that he was the best choice- someone with smarts who had Billy’s and Nora’s best interests at heart. If Nora and Billy agreed, why not? Once he was in, he was set. Trustees don’t come up for review unless someone complains about abuse of fiduciary responsibility. Nora and Billy get their needs met, everyone’s happy.”
“The PlayHouse and the family manse for her, takeout pizza and a wide-screen for Billy.”
“Meanwhile Brad collects the monthly rent checks.”
“Think he’s siphoning off cash?”
“Wouldn’t shock me.”
He strode to the parking attendant’s booth, paid for both our cars.
I said, “Now you’re veering into Mother Teresa territory.”
He gazed skyward and pressed his palms together. “Hear that? How about some evidentiary manna?”
“God helps those who help themselves,” I said. “Time to check the small print on BNB’s letters of incorporation.”
“First, I want to face Brad one-on-one.”
We sat in his unmarked talking about the best approach. The final decision was another chat about Reynold Peaty’s shooting, Milo talking, me scoping out the nonverbal cues. Mentioning the phone calls to Armando Vasquez if the timing seemed right.
We took separate cars to the strip mall on Ocean Park. The door to BNB Properties was locked and no one answered. As Milo turned to leave, the door at the end of the second-floor landing caught my eye.
Posters in the window. Sapphire ocean, emerald palm trees, bronze people hoisting cocktails.
At the bottom:
Milo followed my gaze, had the door open by the time I got there.
A young cat-eyed woman wearing a sleeveless raspberry top sat at a computer station typing. Soft eyes, Rubenesque roundness. A nameplate on the desk said
She smiled at us, said, “Hold on a sec,” to the hands-free mouthpiece. I went over to the rack, found what I was looking for.
Turneffe Island, Belize; Posada La Mandragora, Buzios, Brazil; Hotel Monasterio, Tapir Lodge, Pelican’s Pouch. Housed in adjacent compartments.
“Can I help you guys?”
“Your neighbor a few doors down, Mr. Bradley Dowd,” said Milo, flashing the badge. “How well do you know him?”
“The real estate guy? Did he do something?”
“His name came up in an investigation.”
“White-collar crime?”
“He make you uneasy?”
“No, I don’t know him, he’s hardly ever at his office. He just seems like a white-collar guy. If he did something.”
Dark eyes sharpened with curiosity.
Milo said, “Does he come to his office by himself?”
“Usually with another guy, I think it’s his brother ’cause he seems to be looking after him. Even though the other guy looks older. Sometimes he leaves him there by himself. He’s kind of…you know, not quite right. The other guy.”
“Billy.”
“Don’t know his name.” She frowned.
“Has he bothered you?”
“Not really. Once I was here and the air-conditioning wasn’t working so I had the door open. He came in, said ‘Hi,’ and just stood there. I said ‘Hi’ back and asked if he was thinking of taking a trip. He blushed, said he wished, and left. Only times I saw him after that was downstairs at the Italian place, getting food for his brother. When he saw me he got
“How so?”
“Kind of retarded? You can’t tell by looking, he looks like a regular guy.”
“Has Brad ever come in here?”
“Also just once, a couple of weeks ago. He introduced himself, real friendly, maybe too much, you know?”
“Slick?”
“Exactly. He told me he was thinking of taking a vacation in Latin America and wanted information. I offered to sit down with him and discuss choices but he said he’d start with those.” Pointing to the rack. “He grabbed a handful but I never heard back. Did he leave the country or something?”
“Why would you ask that?” said Milo.
“The places we book,” she said. “In the movies they always have bad guys running to Brazil. Everyone thinks there’s no extradition treaty. Trust me, anywhere without a treaty you wouldn’t want to vacation.”
“I’ll bet. Anything else you want to tell us about him?”
“Can’t think of any.”
“Okay, thanks.” He leaned over her desk. “We’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention we were here asking about him.”
“Of course not,” said Lourdes Texeiros. “Should I be scared of him?”
Milo looked at her. Took in the black curls. “Not at all.”
“Another misdirection,” I said as we descended the stairs. “Wanting us to think Nora traveled with Meserve. Either because he’s protecting her or he made her and Meserve disappear. I’m betting on door number two.”
“All these years he takes care of a coupla mopes who just happen to be members of the Lucky Sperm Club. Why change all that now?”
“Nora had always deferred to him. Maybe that changed.”
“Meserve shows up,” he said.
“And captures her affections,” I said. “Another self-styled player, good-looking, ambitious, manipulative. Younger than Brad, but not unlike him. Could be that’s what attracted Nora to him in the first place. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t giving him up the way she had the others.”
“Meserve worms his way into her affections and her pocketbook.”
“Deep-pocketbook. Brad’s got nominal power but he serves at the discretion of the estate. Nora’s a ditz but it would be hard to claim she’s not of sound mind, legally. If she demanded control over her own assets, it would pose a major complication for Brad. If she convinced
