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“I married someone else. That didn’t work out so well either. Now, I’ve got me a nice little act in a casino in Reno. You should catch it sometime.”
“You heard about Trudie Crenshaw?”
“Aw, yeah. A shame there. But Ned, he’s gonna be okay? He’s an all right guy. Just got mixed up with Didi, like me. Can’t hold it against him.”
“We hope he recovers. Your cell number came up several times on Trudie’s call list, about a year ago, when Trudie was probably doing research for the book.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure, I talked to her. Even met with her a couple of times. She was writing the book and needed some information on the year me and Didi were together, y’know. We did parts of our acts together and . . . well, it was a good time until it wasn’t.”
She asked him more questions about Trudie and Ned, but she seemed to have drained him of information about them. And he swore again that he’d never met Karen Upgarde, never even heard of her, and he had solid alibis for the day she jumped. He started growing distracted, talking to people around him, and when Settler tried to get his attention, he admitted he was trying to rehearse. The club owner, a couple of waitresses, and an audio tech were in the building.
“Just a couple more questions,” Dani assured him.
Martinez had driven down the hill, and they were skirting the waterfront on the Embarcadero, the San Francisco–Oakland Bay Bridge stretching across the churning waters of the bay. White caps formed and the surface of the water rippled with the storm that was brewing. Quickly, Dani asked, “So what do you know about Didi’s disappearance?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you know she had twins?”
“No. I mean that hasn’t been proven, has it? There were rumors she had a baby, but she wouldn’t tell anyone who the father was. Kind of her MO, y’know. She never revealed who her older daughter’s dad was, either. That always bugged me, and I’m sure it bothered Remmi. It had to. But as flamboyant and out-there as she was, Didi could zip her lips when she wanted to.”
“So you don’t know who she was dating about the time the babies were conceived.”
“Nah . . .” Then a pause. “Well, there was one guy. I heard about it from Rimes—Harold, y’know. We both used to work for him. What was his name? . . . She bragged about him. Like he was this big high roller. Let me see, I remember because his name was like some TV personality, like . . . no . . . oh, maybe a game show personality that had been around for a while, kind of an icon, if you know what I mean. Not Downs . . . or Trebek or . . . you know, I think his last name was Hall. Yeah, that was it. Brandon Hall. Shit, where did that come from?”
Settler slid a glance at Martinez. “Hall. You’re sure.”
“Pretty damned sure,” Kasparian said. “Yeah.”
Brandon Hall. The guy who had rented the Mustang that burned in the desert. The unidentified body. She asked Kasparian a few more questions, then told him he would have to make an official statement to a cop from Reno. Groaning about Didi still invading his damned life, he reluctantly agreed. “I’ll go down to the station today,” he promised before disconnecting, but the guy had a reputation for being as slippery as an eel, so Settler called the Reno P.D. and gave them a heads-up.
If he didn’t show up, they promised to track him down.
She filled Martinez in as he found a spot to park near Fisherman’s Wharf. It was noon, so they grabbed fish and chips at a restaurant with a view of Pier 39, where they watched the seagulls land and sea lions bask on the floating docks.
Through bites of fried halibut and thick salty fries, they were discussing the case when Settler’s phone went off again. She read the screen—Las Vegas Police Department—and answered. “This is Detective Settler.”
“Lucretia Davis. I’m going to cut to the chase, okay? This morning at a construction site, an old white Cadillac was uncovered, buried in the desert. License plate indicates it belonged to Didi Storm.” Davis’s voice was grim, and Settler waited for the next bit of information, but she still felt a bit of a shock when she heard, “Looks like Didi was at the wheel.”
“In the car?”
“Yep. The body was reduced to a skeleton, but there was a sizable hole in the back of her skull and what looks to be a bullet where her brain used to be. So, I guess one mystery is solved: Didi Storm was definitely murdered.”
CHAPTER 29
“You did what?” Remmi demanded as they drove away from the cottage in Walnut Creek where she’d grown up. She was at the wheel, heading toward the freeway, when Noah had dropped the bomb that he’d bugged Aunt Vera’s house.
“It’s a very small camera, complete with audio.”
“In Aunt Vera’s house?”
“Yep, on the mantel of the fireplace when you, Vera, and Jensen went in to look at the baby. A tiny spot between a picture of Monty and Jesus, right in the center of the room, panoramic view.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
Shrugging, he said, “Whatever we get wouldn’t be of any use in a court of law, but I’m a private citizen, and so are you. We’re not the police, so any information we collect can’t be used as evidence. But we could use it to steer the police in the right direction.”
“What if she finds it?”
