I exhaled. It was exhausting, sometimes, the amount of information Blake divulged on a regular basis. “That’s fine,” I said.
Blake told me that he’d cleaned up afterward and that he was leaving “some awesome food” in my fridge—homemade green juice, half a dozen eggs, frozen bison patties. “You can have as much as you want,” he said. “The eggs are cage-free and organic. The bison is an excellent source of protein.”
“I’m getting hungry just thinking about it,” I said. “Listen, though, can you do me a favor and research somebody for me? I googled him, but I got nothing.”
“Sure.”
“His name is Edward Piro and he lives in New York, on Park Avenue.” I glanced down at my phone and read him Piro’s address.
“What kind of info do you need?” Blake said.
“Anything. Everything. What he does for a living, who his friends and family are, where he went to school. If he’s been married, divorced. Pet peeves, favorite breakfast cereal and prestige TV series, whether he’d choose Kylie, Kim, or Kendall…Everything. His rap sheet, too. I’m serious about that one. I want to hear about every parking ticket.”
“Dude. I’m on it.”
“Most important,” I said, “find out what his connection is to Leila Donnelly.”
“Oh, ho,” he said. “This should be interesting.”
I smiled. Working for me had taken its toll on Blake James’s speech patterns. “It had better be interesting, am I right, dude?”
“Spot on,” he said.
Blake asked me if I wanted him to hang out at my place till I got home. “Rosie might need another walk,” he said, and I realized he was right.
I thanked him. We said goodbye and ended the call. My stomach growled. I realized I’d been running on caffeine all day, with no actual food since the egg-and-cheese sandwich I’d scarfed down during the morning drive to Connecticut. I wasn’t sure I could make it back to Boston without grabbing a bite first. Since Union was on the way home, I opted to drive back to the convenience store. The sandwiches had looked pretty good, and I knew how to get there. That was enough to sell me on the place.
It took just about ten minutes from where I was at this point. On my way, I called Tony and let him know what I’d learned so far. He told me he thought I should call Gleason and share my info about Edward Piro.
“But Gleason wasn’t interested when I told him about the car in the first place. I don’t think he believes I’m telling him the truth about this stuff.”
“Because he’s got such a hard-on for Melanie Joan.”
“Yeah, there’s that,” I said. “I also don’t think he likes me very much.”
“How could anybody not like you?” Tony said.
“It could be because I’m a PI, or because I’m a woman,” I said. “Or because I’m a woman PI.”
“Or because you’re a wiseass,” Tony said.
“That, too,” I said. “The man has literally zero sense of humor.”
“How about if I tell him? I got along with him okay.”
“You did?”
Tony sighed. “He’s been working on a screenplay. It’s about—get this—a State Police detective.” I could practically see the eye roll.
“Ah.”
“Anyway, I can tell him that I heard something about this Edward Piro guy hanging around with Leila around the time she was killed.”
“But you can’t mention me.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he said. “I’ll play the dumb Hollywood guy and tell him that some Park Avenue friend of mine told me. Somebody who knows somebody who knows Ed. I’ll get him to buy it.”
“You’re good at that,” I said.
