Джонатан Келлерман - Serpentine

“I’m going to make some coffee.”

Milo said, “Make some for us, too.”

—

Mel Boudreaux was reading his phone in the entry hall. Sports scores. He clicked off.

Milo said, “You mind waiting in the kitchen, amigo?”

Boudreaux said, “Don’t mind at all, ready for a snack.”

He followed Ellie in but emerged a few moments later in the lead. Carrying coffee, cups, and accoutrements on a tray.

Long legs covered a lot of ground. She hurried to keep up. “You really don’t have to, Mel.”

“Need the exercise.” Boudreaux placed the tray on the living room coffee table, saluted, and returned to the kitchen.

Ellie said, “I’ll pour. Cream, sugar?”

Milo said, “Two blacks.” He sipped. “Good stuff.”

“Fazenda Santa Inês from Brazil.” She flinched. “Brannon used to like it.”

“Used to?”

“He got fanatical about training and gave up caffeine.”

“Fun guy.”

“He was,” she said. “At the beginning.” Her face began to crumple.

Milo reached for one of the clean hankies he keeps in his jacket pocket. But, again, she composed herself and put down her cup.

“That deputy chief—Martz—called me and asked if I was happy with your progress. Like she was checking up on you. I hope I didn’t put you in a weird position.”

“Nah, business as usual.”

“I told her I was happy. But if you do have something new, I wouldn’t mind hearing about it. Maybe a little more data than the last time?”

Milo placed his own cup near hers. “We’ve uncovered some minor question marks but nothing close to evidence. If you’re up to it, I have more questions for you.”

“Sure. What?”

“The necklace you showed us. Your father told you your mom left it behind?”

“No, what he told me was he bought it for her, I assumed she left it. How else would Dad have it?”

“Did she leave anything else behind?”

Her eyes slid to the right. “The dress. The one she wore with the necklace in that forest photo. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t think it was important. Also, I wear the necklace once in a while but never the dress. It’s in a zip bag in a storage locker back home. Could it be relevant?”

Milo said, “In terms of the murder, highly unlikely. If at some point we get past that and want to learn more about your mom’s background, a label in the dress could theoretically help.”

“It does have a label and I was thinking the same thing so I tried to do some research on my own. The manufacturer was Jenny Leighton, Fort Lee, New Jersey. They were in business until twenty-four years ago. Even with my garment-biz connections, I couldn’t find out if they sold locally or jobbed nationwide. That’s the way it is with the rag trade. Here, today, gone…” She smiled. “If you want, I can fly up and bring the dress back.”

“Not necessary.”

“You think it’ll be another dead end.”

“I wouldn’t call it high priority.”

“Fair enough. So what are those minor question marks you mentioned?”

“We learned something curious about the necklace.”

He withdrew a folded sheet of paper from his jacket.

The photo from The Azalea.

Reluctant to get into details with Ellie but willing to reveal her mother with Des Barres and two other women?

Then as he handed it past me I caught a glimpse. The copy he’d made in the station blanked out Des Barres and the other two blondes.

She studied the image. Her eyes got wet. Several tears got loose. “This is only the second photo I’ve seen of her. She’s wearing a wig…where was it taken and how’d you get it?”

“A nightspot in L.A. It was in a pamphlet about L.A. nightlife but don’t try to find another copy. I did and zilch.”

A mix of truths and lies. He’s good at that. So am I. Deceit in service of the greater good.

Ellie said, “A nightspot in Hollywood?”

“Don’t know.” What a tangled web we weave…

“The necklace,” she said. “I get it. If she left it when she came to L.A., what’s it doing in L.A.?”

“Exactly.”

“So she came and went more than once.”

“Only thing we can think of.”

“Hmm,” she said. “So maybe it wasn’t a onetime thing. Maybe they had problems from the beginning. And maybe Dad didn’t like her dangling him back and forth. So when she comes back the last time he said enough and took back the gift he gave her. The dress, too—maybe that was also a gift? Or she tossed it in his face.” Sad smile. “It is a pretty ugly dress. Listen to me. Hypothesizing.”

Milo said, “Join the club.”

“A bad relationship,” she said. “But he saved the necklace and the dress. Maybe he still missed her.”

Maybe a trophy.

“The going back and forth—does it change anything?”

Unwilling to grasp the implications of Stan Barker’s rage after repeated abandonment.

Milo said, “Not really, we’re just trying to clarify details.”

She reexamined the photo. “A party wig and a party dress but she doesn’t exactly look festive…just the opposite. Same as in the forest shot. That always struck me. How serious she was.”

That made me wonder about something. I filed it for later.

Ellie’s eyes remained on the photo. “In the forest, I assumed they already weren’t getting along. But here she is without Dad and she’s got the same expression…unless, maybe he was here? In the club? Is that possible?”

Milo said, “Did he ever mention going to L.A. with her?”

“Never. But he didn’t talk about those days. I mean it’s possible he was there, right? They had a date. Trying to patch up—though I don’t know why she’d wear a wig…whatever. He went to the bathroom or something when the photo was taken? Maybe by one of those table-hopping photographers who charged per shot?”

“Anything’s possible, Ellie.”

She tapped the photo. “This little number, bare shoulders and all that…she really was beautiful. Despite not having fun. The truth is, Daddy was a good man but he wasn’t much fun.”

She looked at Milo. “Sorry for running on with stuff that doesn’t lead anywhere.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “And thanks for being patient.”

“Do I have a choice? Sorry, that was snippy. I should be thanking you for your patience. Grateful for whatever you find. Like this. Another view of her. May I keep it?”

“All yours.”

We stood and she did the same. Circling the coffee table, she hurried to Milo, stood on her tiptoe, and kissed his cheek. A millimeter from his lips. He was caught off-guard but he smiled.

She turned to me, weighing etiquette equity— Can I kiss one and not the other —versus gut reluctance: The cop’s working for me. What’s the shrink actually doing?

I tried to get her off the hook by adding space between us and smiling.

She got it. Smiled back.

Then she danced over and kissed me, too.

—

As we drove away from the house, I said, “She’s pretty enamored of you.”

“Poor kid,” he said.

He cruised past the spot where Twohy had been shot without giving it a glance, waited for the non-fatal left turn on Los Feliz.

“Probably best in the long run,” he said. “Brannon bailing. Guy lacked substance, she’s vulnerable, deserves better.”

From angry conscript to protective uncle.

“I never saw much depth in him,” I said. “You’re right about vulnerability. She’s in self-protective mode, doesn’t see the possibility that Dorothy was with another man and Barker came to L.A. and killed her. Something else: When she called it ‘the forest photo,’ I wondered if it was taken in the same park where Barker tumbled. Maybe a place he and Dorothy went repeatedly so he returned there to die.”