“I beg to differ,” I groused. “I’m a professional maverick.”
Day grunted something that might have been agreement or a laugh. Either way, I liked him better for it.
“Didn’t say what she wanted?” Fairchild asked.
“Nope. Just to call her at ten the next morning. She didn’t want to talk with anyone else around. Said it was private.”
I went through the two calls that went to voice mail, Danya’s return call sending me to the house on Elmcrest Drive, which was empty except for one Vincent Ignacio, tabloid creep.
“Hold on a second.” Fairchild’s face was white. Whiter than usual anyway; guy didn’t get nearly enough sun. “Who?”
“Reporter for Celebrity News. That’s a tabloid rag, in case you didn’t know. After I dragged him off the fence and tossed him into—well, against—a garbage can, he told me his name was Bill Hogan. But his driver’s license was for Vince Ignacio, so he’s a liar—not an expert liar like an entrenched politician, but a liar all the same.”
“Ah, jeez.” Fairchild ran fingers through his hair.
I told him about chasing Vince off, going in the house, having a quick look around, then Shanna at the entrance to the bedroom. I didn’t tell him about the knife. Didn’t think that needed to enter the narrative. But the shower deal, that seemed unavoidable since the shower was wet—not the kind of thing to try to hide, which would just cause another round of particularly annoying questions. But I managed to avoid details about the eyeful I’d gotten, or the memory that might stick with me the rest of the year.
“She showered, huh?” Fairchild said, squinting at me.
“She’d just come back from the gym and a six-mile run. Girls are picky like that, Russ. Little sweat and they lose it.”
“Right. With strange guys in the house, they shuck their clothes and hop in the shower.”
“You think I’m strange?”
“I think you’re unprecedented.”
“Anyway, if you were recording this you could play it back. I never said she shucked her clothes. That was you. I’m not even sure what that would look like—shucking, I mean.”
He stared at me like I was from Neptune. I get that a lot.
“Fact is, Russ, I think you’re stranger than me. We should take a poll. I could be wrong. And when she shucked or removed her clothes, I wasn’t in the room. About then I got a call from Danya. I told her about the News guy and she freaked, wanted me to give the phone to Shanna.”
“Which you did, of course. In the bathroom, right?”
“Terrific deduction, since that’s where the shower’s located and she was in the shower. Whatever they’re paying you, it isn’t nearly enough.”
“And how’d that go?”
“The handoff went okay. I left and they talked for a minute. I couldn’t make out any words, then Shanna told me to come back and get the phone. She said Danya wanted to talk to me.”
“So, she gave you the phone. When she was in the shower. How’d that go?”
“Pretty good. I’m thinking she might’ve run track in school because we didn’t lose any time on that handoff either. Before I went out the door, she told me she and Danya were married.”
“What!”
“Married,” I repeated, thinking I’d enunciated clearly enough the first time. “Since sometime in April, she said.”
“Jesus, what? Sonofabitch.”
“Uh, let me guess. You didn’t give Danya away. She didn’t tell dad about the nuptials.”
“Ho-ly Christ.”
“Or, Russ—Shanna could’ve been lying. Not sure why, but it could’ve been misdirection, put me on a different track.”
That slowed him down. Stopped him, actually. He paced, not easy in a room that size, but his legs were short.
He stopped and looked at me. “I’ve met Shanna. Lots of times. I thought they were just roommates. Now you tell me they’re married. But—lying? You think she might’ve been?”
“You want an expert opinion?”
He glared at me.
“She showed me a ring. Which doesn’t actually mean a thing, but . . . who knows.” I hesitated. “You and Danya haven’t had any long father-daughter talks in the last year or two, huh?”
“Well, shit. But you still didn’t give me that opinion.”
“Best guess—yeah, they’re hitched.”
“Sonofabitch.” He left the room.
I looked at Day. “I’m thinking that’s his favorite word.”
“For you, yeah.”
Five minutes later, Russell was back. “Then what?” he said.
Took me a moment to figure out where we’d left off. “Okay, I went into the living room and Danya wanted to know how much I charge for gumshoeing.”
“For what?”
“Gumshoeing. She might’ve called it investigating.”
“Jesus.”
“While we were discussing rates, I saw Ignacio roll by in that Chevy Cruze. Ignacio’s that tabloid guy, who I’m starting to think knows more about all of this than you or I do.”
“Sonofabitch,” Russ growled.
I looked over at Day. “Okay, that wasn’t me.”
“Might’ve been,” Day replied.
Russ stared at me, then at Day. “Hah?”
“Nothing. So then, Danya hung up on me for no reason, which is sort of her MO, and I ran outside, tried to catch up with Ignacio, but he took off. I went back in the house, looked around a little, then Shanna came out in a towel and chased me outside.” I didn’t have to mention the towel, but spinning Fairchild around a time or two has been a significant part of our relationship, so the towel stayed in.
“Christ. I oughta be a private eye,” Russ said, then he caught himself, possibly because he had twenty-five years on Shanna, who might also be his daughter’s spouse, which would make her his son-in-law. And, shit—there goes my political-correctness merit badge.
“Okay,” Russ said once he’d collected himself. “She comes out in a towel so you go outside.”
“Right, and we did it in present tense, just the way you said it. I looked around the yard, didn’t see anything, then she came out in jeans and a shirt, no towel.”
I decided the note demanding a million dollars didn’t need to come into it, especially since it had been stuffed up a drainpipe, so I passed over that part.
“About then I caught a whiff
