The Middle Sister Read online

“You have any idea where she might be?”

  “Nope. I give Lillie a long leash. Couple of days ago I left her a message. I won’t talk to her again until she returns the call. That’s how it has to be with her, and there’s nothing anybody can do about it.”

  “Any friends who might know where she is?”

  “Have you talked to Viola Klein? That’s her best pal.”

  “I’m seeing her at three. Then I’ll see Nikki Wolf. Zara Manning and I talked to people at Katana, Chateau Marmont, Coucher Du Soleil, Sunset Tower.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re covering all the bases. If you didn’t learn anything at all those places, I can’t think of anywhere else. You can just relax and wait her out. She’ll show up pretty soon.”

  I said, “Greta Manning isn’t paying me to relax. She wants her daughter back now.”

  Rod stepped over to the redwood table, clicked off the stereo, and picked up a cell phone. “I’m on a schedule, gotta keep moving.”

  “When you last talked to Lillie, do you remember what day it was and where she was at the time?”

  He gave me a heavy-lidded smile and a mellow tone of voice. “Listen, sport, the private eye questions are just vibrations in the air. They’re not going to accomplish anything. Just relax, she’ll be back.” He walked lazily toward the back door of his house.

  I said, “Aren’t you going to take some more Q-tips and finish detailing the model designation on your Porsche?”

  He half-suppressed a yawn. “In my own good time, sport. In my own good time.” He went inside and closed the door behind him.

  I suppressed the urge to follow him inside and smack him. Instead, I walked back down the driveway, silently moved a plastic patio chair, and stood on it. In the spirit of energy conservation, I loosened the bulb on a motion-detecting security light.

  4

  4

  Viola Klein’s condo was in Beverly Hills, south of Wilshire, near the big department stores. She answered the door barefoot, wearing long white pajamas. Her face was exotically oval. She had big dark eyes and coal-black hair.

  I said, “I’m Jack Salvo.”

  She made a sweeping gesture and spoke in a sullen contralto. “Entrez!”

  In the darkened living room, her skin was ghost-white. She opened the floor-to-ceiling drapes. “Let’s bring some nice natural light in here, and I’ve got to have some coffee. What’ll you have?”

  “Half a cup black.”

  Following her into the kitchen, I observed that her pajamas split the difference between opaque and transparent. You never know when an eagle-eyed observation will turn out to be an important clue.

  I stood at the kitchen-living room border with my back to the wall while she worked on the coffee. Her condo was spotless and well-arranged. On the other hand, it was furnished with French antiques. As far as I’m concerned, you can drop an A-bomb on all French furniture designed prior to the late nineteenth century.

  Sensing what I was doing, Viola said, “How do you like the décor?”

  “I could never keep track of all the periods of French furniture and all the French kings named Louis and all the Roman numerals attached to their names. It confuses me.”

  She yawned, failing to put her hand all the way over her mouth. “I had the same problem at first, but I liked the designs so much, I had to educate myself. My motto is rococo to the max. I ended up with mostly Louis XV stuff. That was one Louis before the one who got his head chopped off. Christ, it’s chilly in here.” She walked back through the living room and into the central hallway. She returned pulling on a black robe and tying it loosely.

  After a little more small talk, we ended up at the kitchen table, holding our china teacups, talking about Lillie Manning.

  Viola said, “Lillie is hot-tempered and stubborn and bull-headed. When she gets mad at her mother, she gets white-hot, and she will not come down to earth until she feels like coming down to earth. We just have to accept it. I haven’t seen her or heard anything from her for two weeks, and I have no idea where she might be holed up. Have you talked to Rod Damian?”

  “I just came from his house. He didn’t have anything for me. Do you know anyone else who might know Lillie’s whereabouts?”

  She shook her head. “Have you talked to Nikki Wolf?”

  “I’ll see her at four.”

  “She might be able to help. They’ve been friends since they were little girls. Did Zara have any ideas?”

  “She’s been making a few inquiries on her own, but nothing has panned out yet. Today we made the rounds of places where Lillie hangs out. We didn’t get any leads, but we put out feelers. We might get a call from someone.”

  “Tell me all the places you went with Zara. Maybe I’ll think of someplace else.”

  I gave a quick rundown and told her about Zara’s plan to drop by The Bungalow in Santa Monica.

  Viola listened carefully. When I finished, she nodded and said, “Those are the same places I would go. I don’t think I can add anything. I wish I could be more helpful.”

  I pushed my business card across the table and got on my feet. “This evening, I’ll go back and cover the same territory Zara and I hit today and talk to some of the night-shift people.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. Lillie is more of a night person. If I hear anything, I’ll certainly call you.” She stood up and tied her robe more securely. “I’m sorry you have to go so soon. I was hoping to hear about some of the cases you’ve solved.” She cocked her head and smiled mischievously. “Maybe a thrilling murder.”

  “Most private investigation work is boring. It’s like working in an office or doing homework.”

  Still barefoot, she walked me all the way to the elevator. Halfway down the hall, a gray-haired, sixty-something woman wearing a mink jacket approached us. She had a face that could petrify Medusa. She looked down at Viola’s bare feet and shot us a knowing smirk when we passed.

  Viola looked back over her shoulder and said sharply, “What’s that battle-axe staring at?”

  The woman in question made a noise somewhere between a harrumph and a snort before entering her apartment.

  Viola pushed the elevator button for me. “I don’t understand why all the women in this building are compelled to be so grumpy and forward and intrusive and judgmental. I just don’t understand it.”

  I said, “I think I’ll stay neutral in this conflict.”

  I went down the elevator muttering to myself. Viola had been cooperative, but her story was too similar to Rod’s. Maybe they coordinated their stories. Maybe their stories were the only ones to tell. All I could do was keep plugging away.

  5

  4

  Most of the homes on Nikki Wolf’s block were two-story Spanish houses, with a few duplexes mixed in. Her house was a single-story Tudor. As I approached the front door, it opened, and Nikki appeared. She was pretty, but too thin. Her long cardigan and wide-leg pants hung on her like a collapsed tent.

  She said, “Hello, Mr. Salvo,” and offered a firm handshake.

  I stepped back and paid extra attention to the front of the house. “I’ve always liked Tudor. It looks solid, like it’s firmly planted in the ground.”

  “I love my house. It was built in 1936. Back then, they used thicker, denser building materials. The walls are really thick. In the summer I don’t have to use the air conditioner very much.”

  We went inside, and two small mutts yapped at me. Nikki spoke to them, and they backed off and kept their distance.

  She pointed at them. “Mutt and Jeff are rescue dogs. They were kicked around by their previous owner.”

  I said, “Abusing animals ought to be a capital offense. How long have you had them?”

  “About six months. They are much better now, but I’m starting to think they will always be a little standoffish. Actually, they’re better with women and children now, but they don’t like men.”

  Everything in the living room was stylish and well-coordinated, but the
room wasn’t the sort that invites you to take a load off your feet and make yourself comfortable. We sat on an off-white leather sofa near a fireplace that looked like it had never been used. I somehow managed to keep my size-twelve gunboats off the glass coffee table.

  I pointed at her dining table, which was covered with carefully arranged books, papers, and electronic devices. “How’s your master’s degree coming along? Zara said you were getting close to the end of the road.”

  “I’m up to my neck in paperwork. Every time I think something’s ready for submission, it turns out there’s just one more little thing to fix. And then when you fix the damn thing, there’s a ripple effect that leads to other changes. It drives me crazy, but I like it.”

  Nikki couldn’t have been more gracious, but she gave me nothing on Lillie. She said she hadn’t seen her for a month, and she hadn’t communicated with her for at least two weeks.

  When I asked for the name of anyone who might be able to steer me toward Lillie, she said, “I’ve known her since we were four years old, but I am totally separate from her social life.”

  I didn’t want to lean on her too hard, because I might want to come back for a follow-on visit. For the next few minutes, we chatted about the weather and pro football. She was a big LA Chargers fan. She had nothing to offer on the question of Lillie’s whereabouts.

  As I walked back to my car, I thought she might be holding out on me. She didn’t show any of the usual body-language tipoffs for evasiveness, but life-long girlfriends know everything about each other, they cover for each other, and they can be very skilled at their little white fibs. Since I started working the case, I had spoken with six of Lillie Manning’s friends and relations, not counting the people Zara and I had encountered. My batting average for the day was zero.

  6

  4

  I drove to my office, checked my mail and messages, and powered up my computer for some research.

  When Zara told me Rod Damian inherited his house from his con-man father, she got it right. Damian Senior had been busted twice for real estate scams and did some time for the second conviction. He died of a heart attack at age fifty-eight.

  Rod Damian was twenty-eight years old. He had earned an AA degree from Pierce College in Woodland Hills and had worked as a personal trainer and male model. He had been arrested for misdemeanor assault, but there was no record of conviction. No other legal problems. He had landed small roles in two movies. No acting work in the last two years. A gossip columnist referred to Rod as “Lillie Manning’s flavor-of-the-month for the past few months, an animate mannequin whose utility is not dissimilar to that of a Chihuahua she might keep in her Tom Ford shoulder bag.”

  Viola Klein was twenty-four years old and had no record of accomplishment other than her BA from Berkeley, her status as Lillie Manning’s friend, and a two-year-old DUI. The same columnist referred to Viola as “Lillie Manning’s loyal subordinate—a well-groomed, female version of Gabby Hayes.”

  Nikki Wolf, at the age of twenty-four, was already a mover-and-shaker in the world of child protection and animal rights. She had accepted a job offer from a prestigious speech pathology clinic, even though she was five months short of her master’s degree.

  A call came in, and the voice said, “This is Arden Manning. I’m sorry I had to run out on you this morning. How is your search going?”

  “Slowly. Zara and I checked out Lillie’s favorite haunts, and I interviewed some of her friends. We didn’t turn up any hot leads.”

  “I’d like to hear more details. It might pry a memory from my brain, and maybe I can come up with something. Have you eaten yet?”

  “I was going to grab a sandwich at a deli on the way home from my office.”

  “I have a better idea. Isn’t your office on Pico Boulevard?”

  “Between Bundy and Barrington.”

  “My condo is not too far from your office. I’m driving home from school now, and I was just about to order Japanese food for home delivery.”

  “I’ll have chicken teriyaki with brown rice.”

  “That’s exactly what I was going to order. How about six o’clock?”

  At five-fifty, I was in the lobby of Arden’s high-rise. She lived in a Wilshire Boulevard condo on the “Golden Mile,” a string of tall residential structures between Westwood and Beverly Hills. A blazer-clad security officer phoned Arden, determined I was not an ax-murderer, and sent me up to the eighteenth floor.

  She came to the door wearing a ruffled pullover and sweatpants. “Hello, Mr. Salvo, please come in. The food should be here any minute.”

  I stepped inside and drifted toward the south-facing windows. “I’ve never seen the view from a Golden Mile high-rise on the south side of Wilshire, only the north.”

  “We south-of-Wilshire people definitely have the better view, and I never get tired of it. Let’s take a look.”

  From the south-facing windows, the city lights twinkled in the dusty desert wind all the way down to the Palos Verdes Peninsula.

  Arden slid a door open, and we stepped outside. The building sheltered us from the northeasterly wind, which seemed to be fading. A half mile to the south and a little below our altitude, an illuminated, gold-covered statue was perched at the top of the Los Angeles Mormon Temple. It was the first time I had seen it from an aerial perspective.

  She pointed to the west. “It’s dark now, but there’s a pretty good ocean view during the day, and some times of the year, the sun reflects off the water in the afternoon. I always look forward to that. And I love this Santa Ana wind. It’s so positively invigorating. All my friends hate it when the static ruins their hair. They think I’m crazy, because I don’t care if my hair blows around and stands up.”

  “I’m on your side. When a really hot one starts to blow, it makes me want to howl at the moon.”

  She took me on a quick tour of her three-bedroom condo. The decor was warm and friendly—quite different from the wackiness of Lillie’s pad, the pretense of Viola’s place, and the cool austerity of Nikki’s house. There was a sizeable bookcase in Arden’s living room. When she was in the kitchen, I checked out some of the books. In contrast to the books displayed in most living rooms, these appeared to have been read. Impressive for a nineteen-year-old.

  When the food arrived, Arden tried to pay for it. I elbowed her out of the way.

  She groaned and said, “The next one’s on me.” She carried the food to the microwave, started warming it, and arranged flatware on the dining table.

  During the meal, I summarized my first day on the job, describing Zara’s escorting me through Lillie’s condo, lunch at Coucher de Soleil, and all the other places we visited. Then I gave my personal assessments of Rod, Viola, and Nikki.

  Arden listened carefully and tossed in a few sensible comments. When I was finished, she said, “Rod Damian is not just a cold fish, he’s a frozen fish. He puts a shiver up my spine. When I first met him, my instincts told me to turn around and sprint. I’ll bet he knows where Lillie’s hiding out. She probably has him running errands and delivering food.”

  “That’s what I think. How credible is Viola Klein?”

  “Not very. She’ll do whatever Lillie says.”

  “Your sister said Viola is smart and talented, but somewhat lacking in drive.”

  Arden forced back a giggle. “Viola isn’t lacking in drive when it comes to her social life. I think Zara put it best when she once said, ‘Viola Klein is well-rounded and round-heeled.’”

  I said, “What’s your take on Nikki Wolf?”

  “Nikki is a very nice girl, but boring. I hate to say it that bluntly, but that’s the way I see it. I get the impression she’s practicing to be an old lady, and she can’t wait to get there. I think Lillie subconsciously clings to Nikki as an emotional counterweight to her inner wild-child. Nikki is a little angel sitting on Lillie’s shoulder, whispering sensible advice into her ear, but the advice mostly goes out the other ear.”

  I handed Arden
the list of business names I had copied in Lillie’s condo. “These were on Lillie’s phone. Do you know any of these places?”

  She read the names out loud and gave me a full accounting. She had eaten at Pedro’s Pizza once, a year earlier. She had purchased some small items at Computer Scene, during the past year. She had heard of Squeaky Cleaners, but never patronized them. She claimed no knowledge of Bobette’s Nails, Hair Today, or Cohen’s Liquor.

  I said, “Would you possibly know anyone at any of these places who might give us a clue?”

  “Hmmm. Let me think. I might, but I am absolutely buried with schoolwork through tomorrow morning. You said you and Zara went to Computer Scene, but you didn’t have any luck. I think I know a girl who works there. She used to work at a bookstore I liked, but the store closed. I don’t actually know her as a friend, but I’m sure she would talk to us.” She looked at the card again. “And who knows? Overnight, I might think of something else.”

  “When are you off the hook from your schoolwork?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon, two o’clock.” She counted on her fingers. “Better make that three.”

  “Let’s pencil that into our schedules for tomorrow afternoon and keep in touch. I’m going to let you get back to your studies now, and I’m going to go out and do some sneaky undercover work.”

  I drove to the Sunset Strip and revisited some of the territory Zara and I had covered earlier in the day. I also spoke with two bartenders at other establishments, a liquor store owner, and the manager of a gas station. No luck.

  On the way home, Zara called me.

  I said, “I assume you went to the Fairmont this afternoon.”

  “No, you inferred it.”

  “Did you hide in any hotel room closets?”

  “I took a more dignified approach. The day-shift people at The Bungalow and other parts of the hotel didn’t know anything. I went back tonight and pulled a Jack Salvo. I gave a parking valet a hundred dollars. He made a phone call and was told by a friend that Lillie had brunch at the Fairmont on Sunday with her boyfriend Rod. My informant said he will definitely call me if he gets any more information. I am also in the process of making a few more inquiries, and I’m waiting for a call-back right now. Are we still on for ten tomorrow morning?”