Jonathan Kellerman - Gone

I vowed to forget about all of it, figured the whydunit would stop eating at me eventually.

When it didn’t, I got on the computer.

The woman said, “I still can’t believe you tracked me down that way.”

Her name was Elise Van Syoc and she was a Realtor working out of the Coldwell Banker Encino office. It had taken a long time but I’d found her using her maiden name, Ryan, and a decades-old nickname.

Ginger.

Groovy bass player for the Kolor Krew!

Her identity and a print of the photo I’d seen at the PlayHouse finally surfaced courtesy www.noshotwonders.com, a cruelly mocking compendium of failed pop bands flung by the gargantuan slingshot that was the Internet.

When I called her, she said, “I’m not getting involved in any court stuff.”

“It’s not about court stuff.”

“What, then?”

“Curiosity,” I said. “Professional and personal. At this point, I’m not sure I can separate the two.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“It’s a complicated situation.”

“You’re not writing a book or doing a movie?”

“Absolutely not.”

“A psychologist…whose therapist are you, exactly?”

I tried to explain my role.

She cut me off. “Where do you live?”

“Beverly Glen.”

“Own or rent?”

“Own.”

“Did you buy in a long time ago?”

“Years ago.”

“Have any equity?”

“Total equity.”

“Good for you, Dr. Delaware. A person in your situation might find it a good time to trade up. Ever think about the Valley? You could get a much bigger place with more land and some cash back. If you’re open-minded about the other side of the hill.”

“I pride myself on being open-minded,” I said. “I’m also big on remembering people who’ve extended themselves for me.”

“Some negotiator- you absolutely promise I won’t end up in court?”

“Swear on my trust deed.”

She laughed.

I said, “Do you still play bass?”

“Oh, please.” More laughter. “I got asked to join because I had red hair. She thought it was some kind of omen- the Kolor Krew, get it?”

“Amelia Dowd.”

“Crazy Mrs. D…this is sure taking me back. I don’t know what you think I can tell you.”

“Anything you remember about the family would help.”

“For your psychological insights?”

“For my peace of mind.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a horrendous case. I’m pretty close to haunted.”

“Hmm,” she said. “I guess I can sum it up in one sentence: They were nuts.”

“Could we discuss it, anyway?” I said. “Time and place of your choosing.”

“Would you seriously consider a trade-up?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, but- ”

“Good time to start thinking. Okay, I need lunch anyway, what the heck. Meet me at Lucretia on Ventura near Balboa, hour and a half, I need you to be prompt. Maybe I can show you life on the other side of the hill can be tasty.”

The restaurant was big, pale, airy, nearly empty.

I arrived on time. Elise Van Syoc was already there, bantering with a young male waiter as she nursed a cosmopolitan and chewed on a single Brazil nut. “Ginger” was no longer a redhead. Her coif was puffy, collar-length, ash-blond. Tailored black pantsuit, tailored face, wide amber eyes. A deal-closing smile accompanied a firm, dry handshake.

“You’re younger than you sound, Dr. Delaware.”

“You, too.”

“How sweet.”

I sat down and thanked her for her time. She glanced at a diamond Movado. “Did Brad and Nora really do what everyone’s saying?”

I nodded.

“How about some juicy tidbits?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“But I do.”

“You really don’t,” I said.

“What, it’s disgusting?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Yuck.” She sipped her cosmopolitan. “Tell me anyway.”

I parceled out a few details.

Elise Van Syoc said, “How’d you get all that equity working with the police? It can’t pay very well.”

“I’ve done other things.”

“Such as?”

“Investments, private practice, consults.”

“Very interesting…you don’t write?”

“Just reports, why?”

“It sounds like a good book…I’m afraid this isn’t going to be lunch, just a drink. I’ve got an escrow to close, huge place south of the boulevard. And there’s really nothing I can tell you about the Dowds other than they were all weirdos.”

“That’s a good place to start.”

The waiter came over, lean, dark, hungry-eyed. I asked for a Grolsch and he said, “For sure.”

When he brought the beer, Elise Van Syoc clinked her glass against mine. “Are you in a relationship? I’m asking in terms of your space needs.”

“I am.”

She grinned. “Do you cheat?”

I laughed.

She said, “Nothing ventured,” and finished the last bit of Brazil nut.

I said, “The Kolor Krew- ”

“The Kolor Krew was a joke.”

“How’d you get involved?” I said. “The other three members were sibs.”

“Like I told you over the phone, I was recruited by Crazy Mrs. D.”

“Because of your hair color.”

“That and she thought I had talent. I was in the same class as Nora at Essex Academy. My dad was a surgeon and we lived on June Street. Back then I thought I liked music. Took violin lessons, switched to the cello, then I conned my dad into getting me an electric guitar. I sang like a goose on downers, wrote ridiculous songs. But try telling me, I thought I was Grace Slick. Brad and Nora really killed all those people?”

“Every one of them.”

“Why?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“It’s so bizarre,” she said. “Knowing someone who did that. Maybe I should write a book.”

Something new in her eyes. Now I understood why she’d agreed to meet with me.

“I’ve heard it’s tough,” I said.

“Writing?” She laughed. “I wouldn’t do it myself, I’d hire someone, put my name on it. There are some big best sellers who do that.”

“Guess so.”

“You don’t approve.”

I said, “So Amelia Dowd thought you had talent- ”

“Maybe I shouldn’t give you my story.”

“I have no interest in writing it up. In fact, if you do write a book, you can quote me.”

“Promise?”

“Swear.”

She laughed.

I said, “Amelia Dowd- ”

“She heard me play cello in the Essex Academy orchestra and thought I was some kind of Casals, which tells you about her ear. Immediately, she calls my mother, they knew each other from school affairs, teas at the Wilshire Country Club, acquaintances more than friends. Amelia tells Mother she’s putting together a band- a wholesome family thing, like the Partridge Family, the Cowsills, the Carpenters. My hair makes me perfect, I obviously have a gift, and bass is just another form of cello, right?”

“Your mother bought that?”

“My mother’s a conservative DAR lady but she’s always loved anything to do with showbiz. The ‘secret’ she tells everyone once she knows them long enough is that she dreamed of becoming an actress, looked exactly like Grace Kelly, but nice girls from San Marino didn’t do that even if nice girls from the Philadelphia Main Line did. She was always on me to join drama club but I refused. Ripe for Mrs. D’s picking. Plus, Mrs. D made it sound like a done deal- big record contract pending, interviews, TV appearances.”

“Did you believe it?”

“I thought it sounded idiotic. And lame. The Cowsills ? My taste was Big Brother and the Holding Company. I went along with it on the off chance something would happen and I’d be able to miss school.”