It was the only thing he could have said that could have torn me away from my dog. “What?”
“Yo, spoiler alert,” Blake said.
I looked at Blake. “You really found Piro?”
“Took, like, forever,” he said. “I had to use that search engine we pay for. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay,” I said. “Who is he?”
“I mean…I didn’t find out that much, yet. But it’s something.”
Spike said, “Does anybody want coffee? Or whiskey? Whiskey and coffee?” All of us took the third option, except for Blake, who, because of his dietary restrictions, could drink only water after eight p.m.
Spike went into the kitchen.
“You sure it’s the same Edward Piro?” I asked.
“Yes,” Blake said. “He’s on Park Avenue. Same address. I got a phone number for him, too. A landline.”
Spike returned from the kitchen with whiskey and coffees for himself, Tony, and me, as well as a glass of water, without ice, for Blake. He carried them like the food service professional he was, not spilling a drop. I was impressed. When I got mine, I took an enormous swallow. Whiskey and coffee was one of those things you didn’t realize how much you needed until you had it.
“Does he have an arrest record?” I said.
“No,” Blake said.
“That’s surprising,” I said.
“Why?” Spike said.
I explained to the three of them why I wanted information on him in the first place, starting with my first sighting of the Porsche—and how it had disappeared after the murder.
“I remember that car,” Spike said. “When you and Melanie Joan were talking to Leila, I kept thinking about how out of place it was next to that house. What type of person Book Babe had to be to lavish all her money on that one showy car.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t hers,” I said. “And once I was able to find out who the car was registered to, things took a turn…”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning somehow Piro learned that I’d found him out, put a tracker on my car, and started harassing me.”
“God,” Tony said. “And I thought my job was stressful.”
“Did you see him?” Blake said.
“That’s a tricky question.”
“What do you mean?” Tony said.
“I saw him once in silhouette, and then a second time, he came up behind me and held a gun on me, but I never got a look at his face.”
“Jesus,” Spike said.
“I know,” I said. “It’s been quite a day.”
“Okay, well, in that case, I don’t think the guy who stalked you was Edward Piro from Park Avenue,” Blake said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because Edward Piro from Park Avenue is ninety-two years old.”
