The Wedding Guest

by Jonathan Kellerman

  I said, “It’s great that you’re here for each other.”

  Serena said, “We go back to elementary. I was in fifth, she moved from Boise, was in fourth—can I tell them the story, Cee?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Nod.

  “Okay,” said Serena. “She’s super hot now but back then she was kind of short and kind of a little chubby and she got ragged on.”

  Claire said, “I was a fat nerd, mean bitches tortured me.” Slowly spreading smile. “You kicked some butt, girl.”

  Serena grinned. “Four brothers, you learn to take care of yourself.” She held up a fist and growled.

  Claire giggled. “Warrior Princess kicks it.”

  I said, “Where’d you guys grow up?”

  “Spokane,” said Serena. “I was always there, like I said, she moved.”

  “How long have you been in L.A.?”

  “Two years. No work in Spokane so first we moved to the west side—Seattle, then down to Portland. Then we learned if you’re serious about working, it needs to be here or New York or someplace like that.”

  I said, “Modeling.”

  “Not the skinny-ass fashion bullshit,” said Serena. “We’re not seven feet tall and we have real boobs and booties.” Running her hands over said assets. “We’re not gonna starve and smoke ourselves into cancer.”

  Claire said, “You could be tall enough.”

  “Five-six?” said Serena. “No way, baby girl.” She laughed. “She thinks I’m giant because she’s an elf—five-two.”

  “And a half,” said Claire.

  Serena smirked. “Right. She’s a toon but she’s got the bod. A lot of the jobs, she gets them first and then she brings me in.”

  “You do fine by yourself,” said Claire. “You got the NAMM.”

  I said, “You guys do trade shows?”

  Serena said, “That’s our specialty. We straight model, which is basically standing around being hot, or we’re brand ambassadors, which is we do demos while being hot. Like the auto show, we did it this year, I got Subaru, she got Kia. You open and close doors, get inside with the geeks, show them what buttons do what.”

  Milo said, “What’s NAMM?”

  I said, “National Association of Music Merchants.”

  He looked at me.

  I played a couple seconds of air guitar.

  Claire’s black eyes sparked. “You’re a musician?”

  “Amateur.”

  “Oh.”

  Serena said, “NAMM’s huge and crazy loud. When we do it next year, we’re bringing earplugs.”

  Claire said, “Loud and boring but we made serious brass.”

  “Serious,” said Serena. To us. “We’re saving up to own a ranch.” Big grin. “Then we get our cowboys, hey?”

  “Hey.”

  “We’ll need them because we are not going to shovel horseshit, they want to get with us, they’re paying dues.”

  Milo grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “It’s an awesome plan,” said Serena. “Rabbits, little ponies, baby goats—they’re friendly like dogs. And they’ll be safe forever, we’re vegan.”

  Claire said, “We love animals but we can’t keep a single pet here. Not even a friggin’ turtle.”

  Serena said, “Landlord’s a dick.”

  I said, “Did Kimbee like animals?”

  Smiles died, eyes dropped. “She never said she didn’t.”

  “Where’d you guys meet her?”

  Serena said, “At NAMM.”

  I’d been to the show with Robin a few times, knew the scheduling. “Last January.”

  Serena said, “Not last, the one before that.”

  “What was she doing there?”

  “Same as us, some guitar thing,” said Serena. “It’s all mostly guitar. You wear a bikini and move a little while these old rockers play.”

  “Mummy Boys,” said Claire, laughing.

  Milo said, “That’s a band?”

  Serena said, “Uh-uh, that’s a description. They have leather skin and wear leather. Their hair extensions do not work. We call ’em Mummy Boys.”

  Claire said, “We like guys clean and lean. Like a military dude.”

  “Your boyfriends are military?”

  “We don’t have boyfriends,” said Serena. “We’re picky.”

  “Mummy Boys hit on us whenever we do NAMM,” said Claire. She stuck out her tongue.

  “Doing it with King Tut?” said Serena. “I don’t think so.”

  I said, “NAMM’s huge. How’d you meet Kimbee?”

  Serena said, “In the lounge, taking a break. I saw her before that. Up on this revolving platform, wearing this leopard thong bikini you needed an excellent wax for and red five-inchers. They put tons of bronzer on her and did like half her head in cornrows. She said it gave her a headache.”

  “What company hired her?”

  “No idea.”

  Claire said, “She didn’t have to move much ’cause of the revolving stage. A real old Mummy’s thrashing and she’s going round and round.”

  “Excellent balance,” said Serena. “Long as you work the legs, they always want the leg thing.”

  I said, “What’s that?”

  Springing up, she set her feet several feet apart. Solemnity gave way to a sexy pout that bordered on hostility, followed by an exuberant hair toss and the lowering of eyelids. Bending her left leg, she put her weight into the stretch.

  “Good for the quads,” said Claire, “but after a while it starts to hurt.”

  Serena said, “You’re making like you’re a cat.” Purring in illustration.

  Claire said, “A wildcat. Like you’re ready to spring and jump on any guy.”

  “Got it,” I said. “So Kimbee was good at the leg thing.”

  “We all are, it’s part of the job.”

  She rose with identical grace and assumed the same pose, her back to her friend. Feline bookends.

  “It’s no big deal,” said Serena. “Not like ballet where you’re torturing yourself. That’s what Kimbee studied.”

  Claire bit her lip. “You’re police so the way it happened—it was bad, huh?”

  Milo said, “Unfortunately, you’re right. This is a homicide investigation.”

  She sighed. Both women seemed to wither. They settled back down on the floor.

  “It’s crazy,” said Claire. “Why would anyone hurt her? She was easy, real nice.”

  I said, “Good roommate.”

  “She was cool,” said Serena.

  Milo took out his pad. “Where’d she study ballet?”

  “New York, that place—Juilliard.”

  “When?”

  “She didn’t say. Just that it was crazy hard. And painful.”

  “Where else did she live besides New York?”

  Claire said, “All she mentioned was Vegas.”

  “What’d she do in Vegas?”

  “Dancing.”

  Milo said, “Any idea where in Vegas?”

  Shrugs and head shakes.

  Serena said, “We didn’t talk about it much. She didn’t talk much, period.”

  Milo gave me eye-encouragement.

  I said, “So you met her at NAMM and decided to live together.”

  Serena said, “Not then. She didn’t need a place, then. Around a year later.”

  Claire said, “We didn’t need a roommate. We didn’t have a real bedroom, just the garage. The landlord converted it but it’s kind of…not gross, but it’s…”

  Serena said, “Totally ghetto. We told her before she saw it. She said no problem, she needed somewhere quick, would take a look. She did and said, Perfect. We only charged her a hundred a month, we even
paid the utilities because you can’t separate it from the house.”

  I said, “What was Kimbee’s rush?”

  “Bad boyfriend,” said Claire.

  “Domestic violence?”

  “Nah,” said Serena. “More like they were over and she needed a place. But sometimes she’d be gone, so maybe she went back to him, like off and on?”

  Milo said, “Did she write you rent checks?”

  “Nope, cash. Five twenties.”

  “Did she have her own mailing address?”

  “Nope, we get all the mail. If there was something for her, we gave it to her.”

  Claire said, “She didn’t get anything, really. We don’t, either, except catalogs. Everything important’s online.”

  Serena said, “Once in a blue moon she’d get clothing catalogs. Like what we get.”

  “No personal mail.”

  “Nope.”

  “You think she might’ve gone back and forth to her boyfriend.”

  “Or got herself another,” said Serena.

  Milo began working his phone.

  Claire said, “She didn’t want to work NAMM the second time, said it gave her a headache, she had another gig. A couple of times we told her about conventions she said the same thing.”

  “She asked us if we ever wanted to do Vegas. We said no, thanks. We get enough work in California.”

  Claire said, “We don’t travel. In Portland we had to do sci-fi conventions, putting on space alien costumes and smiling at geeks.” She nudged Serena. “Remember the one, the green body paint didn’t want to come off?”

  “Green with plastic scales. Gross. Smelled like hot glue.”

  I said, “Anything else you can tell us about Kimbee?”

  Claire said, “When she was here she liked the pool.”

  “Her car’s here.”

  “She didn’t drive it much.”

  “How’d she get around?”

  “Probably like everyone. Uber, Lyft, whatever.”

  Serena fluffed her curls. “That worked out good because if she wanted to pull out, we’d have to move the ’82 Vette—the red insides, that one starts.”

  Claire said, “We don’t like to drive, either. The Vettes burn gas. We only registered the ’82. The ’81 needs an ass-load of work.”

  Milo typed away. I said, “What made you guys decide to buy both?”

  “We didn’t buy either,” said Serena. “My stepdad gave them to me and whatever I have is hers.”

  “Nice gift.”

  “He owns a used-car lot and needed a tax write-off or something. We drove the ’82 down from Spokane, it broke down twice. We didn’t want the ’81 but he flat-bedded it to us anyway. The deal was we find out what it needs and he pays for it, if it’s reasonable. We’ve been too busy to hassle with it. We’ll sell both of them for our ranch.”

  She smiled. “Want to buy it?”

  “Tempting but no, thanks.”

  “Greg’s an okay stepdad. He was Number Four and my mom screwed up by divorcing him. Now she’s on Number Five, he’s a total dick.”

  Claire had spaced out during the car talk. She refocused and said, “How did she—how did it happen?”

  Milo said, “It took place at a wedding.”

  “No way. Like at the ceremony?”

  “At the reception.”

  “Wow. That’s crazy. Someone shot her in the middle of a party and you still don’t know who?”

  “It’s a little more complicated, Serena. It happened last Saturday. You said the last time you saw her was a week and a half ago. Any idea what she was doing the few days before Sunday?”

  “Nope. We can’t even say she was or wasn’t here, just that we didn’t see her. She could come and go without us seeing her.”

  Milo’s phone buzzed a text. He read the screen.

  I said, “Did she talk to you guys about going to a wedding?”

  Head shakes.

  “Can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt her? Anyone at all?”

  “I can’t, sorry, sir,” said Claire. Glancing at Serena.

  Serena said, “We didn’t talk about personal stuff. Cee and me only do that with ourselves.”

  I said, “She did tell you she needed to get away from her boyfriend.”

  “Because she was looking for a place.”

  “Did she seem at all afraid of her boyfriend?”

  “You think he did it?”

  “We need to look at everything.”

  “Who is he?”

  Milo said, “We were hoping you could tell us.”

  “You don’t know anything?” said Serena.

  “It’s a tough one, guys.”

  “Wish we could help you. I mean that. A friend of ours, Kevin, he got shot over a meth thing in Spokane. They never found out who did that and it ate up his parents. How are Kimbee’s parents doing?”

  “Wish we could tell you. What did she say about her boyfriend other than needing to get away from him?”

  Claire said, “Nothing. Except she called him a brain.”

  “The Brain,” said Serena. “She was living with The Brain, needed a change.”

  I said, “Did she ever bring anyone home?”

  Serena said, “Not that I saw.”

  Claire said, “Me, neither.”

  “No one was stalking her,” said Serena, “if that’s what you mean. We look around all the time, we’re careful because both of us had stalkers. Cee had two.”

  “Here in L.A.?”

  “Uh-uh, Spokane. High school. So now we look out, someone was hanging around anyone, we’d know. That’s why we like it here, weird stuff sticks out, it’s quiet. Until the A-H on Loma Bruna bought that place.”

  Milo stood. “I’ll see what I can do about him.”

  Claire said, “Hey. I just thought of something. Sometimes she said she was going to the library to read.”

  “Was she in school?”

  Both girls shrugged.

  “Out by the pool,” said Claire, “we’d sometimes see her with books.”

  I said, “Books about what?”

  “Big ones.”

  “Which library did she go to?”

  Claire said, “It wasn’t like a big conversation, look at me, I’m so smart I’m going to the library. It’s just once, I went out to move the ’82 ’cause she did want to use her car. She said the library.”

  Serena said, “Another time, I saw her walking and I’m like, Hi, wassup and she points to her backpack and is like, I’m going to the library. I thought it was cute.”

  “That she liked to read?”

  “That she’d admit it.”

  Claire placed a hand on her belly. “I don’t like the way I’m feeling. I’m going to miss her.”

  “Aw, girl,” said Serena.

  “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  Claire left.

  Serena said, “She’s going in there to cry. This reminds her of her mom. I better go in and help her.”

  Milo said, “Sure. Thanks for your time. We’re going to check out her place. You guys have an alarm. Did she?”

  “Nope.”

  “Didn’t see a lock on the garage door.”

  “There isn’t one because it’s not a real door,” said Serena. “You slide it up then there’s a wall with a regular door and that one has a lock. The landlord did it to hide turning it into an illegal dwelling. That’s why he doesn’t charge us for a two-bedroom. If he could, he would, he’s a total dick.”

  “Who’s the landlord?”

  “Dr. McClurg, he’s a dentist.” She shifted bare feet. “Do you have to tell him about Kimbee? He doesn’t exactly know about her.”

  Milo said, “If he had nothing to do with her, don’t
see why we’d need to tell him anything.”

  “He didn’t. Promise.”

  “No prob. So it’s okay for us to look in the garage?”

  The question surprised her. “Sure, of course.”

  “How about a key?”

  “It’s easier to use the back door, same key, I’ll get it for you.”

  She hurried off, filmy top billowing over coltish legs.

  I said, “All that phone work was getting the victim warrant?”

  “Judge Klee, God bless him.”

  “You asked Serena permission because with one address, technically you need her or Claire’s approval.”

  “Which I just obtained smoothly and unobtrusively.”

  “Crafty devil.”

  “Charm,” he said. “Everything I know, I learned from you.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  Serena returned with a hot-pink key on a matching chain.

  Milo said, “Very cool.”

  She said, “So we can see it easily.” Small smile. “Also, style’s the thing, we try to put style into everything. When we own goats on our ranch, they’re going to get groomed like show dogs. Can you guys go out by yourself? Cee’s pretty sad, I want to stay here for her.”

  * * *

  —

  The garage’s rear door was approached via a narrow strip where the fencing was blanketed by clematis. Two plastic garbage cans sat a few feet away. Milo gloved up and checked them. Force of habit.

  He headed for the door.

  I said, “Nothing interesting.”

  “Gluten-free imitation something and enough bottled water to hydrate South Africa.”

  He inserted the key. I stood back as he stepped inside.

  Seconds later: “C’mon in.”

  * * *

  —

  Suzanne “Kimbee” DaCosta’s hundred bucks a month had bought her two hundred square feet of whitewashed drywall, plywood ceiling, and concrete floor glossed by translucent spray-on coating. Where the gloss wasn’t covered by a fake Persian rug, structural cracks were suspended, like gristle in aspic.

  One corner was hidden by two walls of plastic shower curtains. Behind the curtains were a prefab shower, a mirrored medicine cabinet bottomed by a glass shelf, a small sink, and a toilet. A freestanding full-length mirror took up the opposite corner. A red silk scarf had been draped over one side.