Dating Is Murder

“Hi, it’s Joey. Listen, something’s bothering me. Since Rico spent time around B.C., why is it the cops haven’t shown up there to question anyone? You think the Feds told them to back off? And check this out: Elliot’s at a meeting with Bing and Larry at Bad Seed Productions and he just called to say they need the whole cast and crew working tonight. How weird is that? And oh-we made the news this morning. That guy in San Pedro ran his videocam the whole time. Our housekeeper screamed and woke me up.”

“Wollie: Fredreeq. What in the name of Jesus Christ on the cross were you two doing? I swear, I leave you alone to rob one little office, and- There’s my other line. This is very bad for the show. Very, very bad. And we might be working tonight, did you hear that? Call.”

“Wollstonecraft, it’s Uncle Theo. Dear, I saw you and your friend Joey on the television this morning. Congratulations. It’s always so wonderful to see you.”

“Yeah, uh… hold on. Okay. Wollie? It’s Cziemanski. I saw that thing on the news and I’m a little-okay, I guess you’re okay. Call if you need anything. Well, I mean, not anything, but-okay. I gotta go.”

“Joey again. I forgot to say I didn’t find anything incriminating on Sava

I gasped. Sava

She’d put her astrological symbol on the drug she’d developed. Euphoria.

She was Little Fish.

One pill co

Because he wasn’t looking for them. He wasn’t concerned with Little Fish’s victims; to him, Little Fish was bait. For Big Fish.

And when it was over? When the big meeting took place, tonight’s meeting, when Simon got what he needed, surely then he’d turn her over to the Sheriff’s Department-

Or not. I thought of Sammy “the Bull” Gravano, a confessed killer, living in the witness protection program, having ratted out the mob. If Sammy could do it, why not Sava

The Feds could make a deal to get her to testify against Tcheiko, offer immunity, and turn a blind eye to the plight of one little German girl. Who wasn’t a citizen anyway, so who cared? Maybe to the FBI, it was the cost of doing business, a small price to pay for a guy everyone wanted. Sava

Simon’s conflict of interest. The thing that would so appall me I wouldn’t want to know him after tonight: that Rico, despite his prominent father, would never be found, or his case solved. That A

And everything I’d found was of no use to anyone because the Feds didn’t care and the cops didn’t know, and without evidence-

But I had evidence. I’d had it since yesterday. In my dirty, malfunctioning Integra.

And now I knew what to do with it.

I walked out of the Mansion, introduced myself to Esterbud, and asked him to buy me some paint rollers. He wouldn’t take the twenty-dollar bill I offered. Special Agent Alexander, he said, had told him he might have to do a paint run.

But the cab driver was happy to take my money, forty dollars of it, to get me home.

Only the pill wasn’t there. Not in the Integra’s front seat, not in the back. I found the Williams-Sonoma shopping bag that had been rattling around in the car for ages, I found coins, paper clips, a valet-parking receipt, but I couldn’t find the evidence Britta had so kindly donated to the cause. I tried sitting in the driver’s seat to re-create the circumstances of the flying pill, and I still couldn’t find it. It was here somewhere, someplace I couldn’t see without dismantling the car.

Great. So now I was in permanent possession of an illicit drug.

There was only one thing left to do. I fastened my seat belt and started up the car. My pill had a twin, and if I was lucky Maizie Qui

38

The entire block of Moon Canyon where the Qui

I did as advised, wedging my car between an Explorer and a Lexus in front of an Italianate castle, and approached the Qui

I carried the Williams-Sonoma shopping bag. Since I was never going to return the utensils I’d bought there, I’d offer them to Maizie. If ever there was a person for kitchen gadgets, it was Maizie Qui

I reached the back of the Qui

I tried to pick up the packages, but there were too many. I took the Williams-Sonoma gadgets out of their shopping bag, stuffed them in the pockets of my jacket, forced the Martha by Mail box into the shopping bag, picked up the other two packages, and squeezed through the gate.

I followed a path through a profusion of fauna that must’ve taken some tending, to be blooming in late November. It was quiet here, the foliage seeming to mute the sounds of the film shooting out front. The door of the artist’s studio was open. I knocked and stuck my head in.

“You look like Santa Claus,” Maizie said, welcoming me. “Is all that mine?”

“Left at the back gate.” I handed her the shopping bag and the packages and moved past her into the room. A fire blazed in the fireplace, making me want to stay forever.

“That damn film.” Maizie headed to the kitchen area. “My across-the-street neighbors rented out their house. On and off for weeks. Just when we think we’ve seen the last of it, they’re back. So inconvenient. Some workers don’t even try to get through. Service people just take the day off. Garbage trucks. I’ve actually faxed the UPS people maps to the backyard. I can’t live without my deliveries. Hot cocoa?”

“Yes. Great.” I sneezed. “What are you making?” Wood in interesting shapes covered the studio floor, getting a coat of primer. The sawhorse and circular saw I’d seen a week earlier had been replaced by a professional sander. Maizie wore a denim apron over her white shirt.

“Lawn ornaments. I’ve never found a really satisfactory Santa and reindeer, so I’m making some. It shocks me, how people have gorgeous homes and landscaping, then stick a plastic- Cat, move.” She made a pass at the yellow cat, who leaped out of the way, something in his mouth. She stood, hands on hips, then turned to me. “What’s up?”