“Put your dress back on before Hector sees you.”

“Is he here?” she shrieked.

“He’s sitting out front in his car,” I told her and motioned to the picture window.

Meredith scurried over to the side of the window and peered around the frame. She tugged at the curtain with both hands as she studied the black sedan.

“You better go easy,” I said, “the other drapes are getting jealous.” She didn’t seem to hear me and wrung the fabric tightly into a coiled up piece of rope. “Is this an act or does this guy actually make you nervous?”

“How much do you know about him?” she asked.

“I know about the murder in 1963,” I answered and successfully spoiled whatever surprise she had in store for me.

“You heard about that?”

“Yes,” I replied, “and will you please put your clothes back on. It doesn’t seem like you have any intention of sleeping with me and if that’s the case I’d rather not have to study the goods I know I can’t afford.”

I had no intention of trying to get this transaction transferred to the bedroom, but Meredith seemed like the kind of woman who needed to know she was wanted. She let out a good, honest laugh and gathered her dress up.

“I thought about staying the night,” she said as she zipped up the dress, “but I didn’t think you’d have the stamina.” In a strange way it didn’t sound like she was trying to be hurtful.

“Sit down and tell me why you are here,” I instructed.

“Is he going to come in?” she asked and stared out the window once more.

“Not unless he breaks in, which, after what’s happened today, I don’t see as all that remote a possibility. Now will you answer the question?”

“What was it?” she pretended to forget. I let silence help jog her memory. “It really is hot in here,” she said.

“Come on, lady—”

“I want you to help find my daughter,” she blurted out.

“That’s it? You came all the way here to ask me that?”

“Yes,” she said, “will you help?”

“Of course I’ll help. I’m already working on it.”

“But I need you to work for me.”

“Does it matter whom I work for as long as Jeanette gets home safely?”

“Yes, it does.”

Meredith rambled incoherently as she explained the difference. None of it made any sense but there was something beneath the surface that was being left unsaid and her words walked delicately around it.

“Forgive me if this is too forward,” I interrupted, “but when I first spoke to you regarding your daughter, you didn’t seem to give a damn. What’s changed?”

“She needs our help.”

“Of course she needs our help. She’s been away from home for over a week.”

“No, I think she’s in trouble.”

“Lady—”

“She texted me.”

That got my attention.

“When?”

“This morning.”

“What did she say?”

Meredith pulled it up on her phone and handed it to me. It read, Tell papa to leave me alone.

“Who’s papa?”

“My father. Your employer,” she added.

I went into the contacts folder and pulled up the phone number attached to the text. Then I checked it against the one given me by Valenti.

“What are you doing?” Meredith asked.

“Nothing,” I said as I riffled through the folder of documents.

“It’s her number,” she said icily.

She was right. The numbers matched.

“You didn’t have to check,” she said looking hurt as she took her phone back and shoved it in her bag.

“I just wanted to be sure.” I gave her a moment to get over it. “What do you think she means by the text?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are there any problems between your father and Jeanette?”

“She was the golden child,” she said with a tinge of animosity.

“I know about the will,” I told her. “Jeanette is the sole beneficiary. Jeanette and that museum, of course.” She seemed impressed at the level of information I had gathered in such a short time. “Did they have a falling out?”

“I think so.”

“What does that mean?”

Meredith explained how, on the day Jeanette disappeared, she first went to her grandfather’s home. She was gone for a short time but when she got back she appeared very upset but didn’t want to talk about it. She locked herself in her room. When Meredith went to check on her several hours later, the room was empty.

“Why didn’t you tell me this when we first spoke?”

“I don’t know.”

“What aren’t you telling me now?”

“Nothing,” she cried. “I just need you to help me get her home.”

“Fine, let’s go to the police and tell them what’s going on. We can use the local news to get the word out.” I grabbed the photo of Valenti and Jeanette. “We take this photo and plaster it on the ten o’clock news. Someone is bound to call in a tip.”

“No, that wouldn’t be appropriate. Dad wouldn’t allow it.”

“She’s your daughter, Mrs. Schwartzman.”

“You won’t understand. And please don’t refer to me by that name. I went back to my maiden name after the divorce.”

“Where does your ex-husband stand in all this?”

“Wherever he needs to stand to hold onto that silly job,” she replied.

“Funny, but I can’t see you two together.”

“Dad hated him,” she responded to the question implied by my comment. “That alone was a good enough reason to marry him.”

“What about this fellow with the goatee?”

“Sami?” she blushed. “Did you guys meet?”

“We had a long conversation. About what, I can’t be sure.”

“That’s Sami. He’s actually very brilliant.”

“Did Jeanette experience any of this brilliance?”

“He’s there for anyone who needs it. I’m helping him open a spiritual center out in Reseda where clients can come and practice in a nurturing environment while seeking artistic self-fulfillment.”

I began to understand and sympathize with the old man’s wariness that his daughter was blowing through his fortune. Sami was probably one of many parasites latching onto the socialite and riding on her currency coattails to carve out their lucrative life endeavors.

Money, as it often is, was starting to feel like the root of the whole thing. Cut off from the main pipeline, Meredith now saw an opportunity to get tapped in again. Her warming up and interest in her daughter coincided with the text she received asking Valenti to ease off. Where there was friction there was opportunity.

“Were you and your father ever close?” I asked bluntly. She seemed like the kind of person who needed blunt questions. She answered this one honestly.

“Once. It was a long time ago. And it was very short-lived.”

I left it at that. There was a deep sadness in the way she said it despite her attempt to matter-of-factly brush it off.

“What about enemies?”

“Me?”

“Or your dad.”

“It’d be quicker to count his friends,” she smiled. “Good old dad never realized that making so many enemies would eventually come back to haunt him.”

Before I could explore what exactly she meant by that comment, Meredith’s phone buzzed and she instinctively picked it up. I saw her read through a text and a wry smile crossed her lips.

“Jeanette?” I asked.

She shook her head and stared at whatever message came in. Her eyes brightened in the glow cast off by the phone.

“Dad is going to flip when he sees this,” she laughed and rose and headed for the front door. Whatever it said, the text was important enough that she didn’t need to talk with me anymore about working for her.

“You’re going out the front door?” I reminded her. In her haste, she had forgotten about Hector sitting in the car outside.

“Of course I am,” she said while standing in the foyer. “He doesn’t control what I do,” she stated and then stridently turned around and slipped out the back slider just like she had when she originally came in.

***

I slept in on Saturday, which for a corporate guy meant seven-thirty. I brewed up a strong pot of coffee and enjoyed the cool morning air coming through the kitchen window. One thing about Los Angeles was that despite some excruciatingly hot days, the nights and mornings were always pleasant. It was overcast, a staple of Southern California summers, and the grey sky hung heavy above. I took my first cup of coffee to the living room and gazed out the front window.