Milo said, "I'll be as tidy as possible. You want to watch, that's okay."
Ramp said, "No, that's fine. Go ahead. This way." Pointing to the staircase.
The two of them began climbing, side by side, sharing the same wide marble step but keeping maximum distance.
I followed two steps behind, feeling like the guy who introduced Ah to Foreman.
When we got to the top, I heard a door open, saw a sliver of light slant across the floor of one of the corridor spokes, two doors down from Gina Ramp's room. It widened to a triangle, then was darkened by shadow as Melissa walked out into the hall, still in shirt and jeans, socks on her feet. Walking groggily, rubbing her eyes.
I called her name softly.
She started, turned. Ran toward us. "Is she Ramp shook his head.
"Nothing yet. This is Detective Sturgis.
Dr. Delaware's... friend. Detective, Ms. Melissa Dickinson, Mrs. Ramp's daughter."
Milo held out a hand. She barely grazed it, withdrew, looked up at him. There were crease marks on her face the false scars of slumber.
Her lips were dry and her eyelids were swollen. "What are you going to do to find her? What can I do?"
"Were you here at home when your mother left?" said Milo.
"Yes."
"What kind of mood was she in?"
"Okay. Excited about going out by herself actually, nervous, and she was covering it by trying to look excited. I was worried she'd have an attack. I tried to talk her out of it, told her I'd go with her.
But she refused she even raised her voice to me. She'd neter raised her voice to me..
Biting back tears.
"I should have insisted."
Milo said, "Did she say why she wanted to go by herself?"
"No. I kept asking her that, but she refused. It wasn't like her at all I should have known something was wrong.
"Did you actually see her drive away?"
"No. She told me not to follow her ordered it." Biting her lip.
"So I went to my room. Lay down and listened to music and fell asleep just like I did now. I can't believe it why am I sleeping so much?"
Ramp said, "Stress, Meliss."
She said to Milo: "What do you think happened to her?"
"That's what I'm here to find out. Your stepdad will be calling the staff together, see if anyone knows anything. In the meantime, I'll be checking out her room and making phone calls you can help with some of those, if you want."
"Calls to where?"
"Routine stuff I " said Milo. "Gas stations, the auto club. The Highway Patrol. Some of the local hospitals just to be careful."
"Hospitals," she said, putting a hand on her chest. "Oh, God!"
"Just to be careful," Milo repeated. "The San Labrador cops have already called a few. So have I, and she hasn't been reported injured.
But it pays to be careful."
She said "Hospitals" again and began crying. Milo put a hand on her shoulder.
Ramp pulled out a handkerchief, said, "Here." She glanced at it, shook her head, used her hand to wipe her eyes.
Ramp looked at the cloth, put it back in his pocket, and took a couple of steps back.
Melissa said to Milo, "Why do you want to see her room?"
"To get a feel for the type of person she was. See if anything's out of order. Maybe she left some clue. You can help me with that, too.
"Shouldn't we be doing something be out there looking for her?"
She turned on him. "That's your opinion."
"No, it's Mr. Sturgis's opinion."
"Then let him tell me himself."
Ramp squinted, motionless except for tiny flexes along the jawline.
"I'll go get the stafi," he said, and walked away quickly down the left-hand corridor.
When he was out of earshot, Melissa said, "You should be keeping an eye on him."
Milo said, "Why's that?"
"She's got a lot more money than he does."
Milo looked at her. Ran a hand over his face. "You think he might have done something to her?"
"If he thought it might get him something, who knows? He sure likes the things money can buy-tennis, living here, the beach house. But everything belongs to Mother. I don't know why they got married they don't sleep together or do anything together. It's like he's just visiting-some damned house guest who refuses to leave. I don't see why she married him."
"They fight much?"
"Never," she said. "But big deal. They're not together enough to fight. What could she see in him?"
"Ever ask her?" I said.
"In a roundabout way I didn't want to hurt her feelings. I asked her what to look for in a man. She said kindness and tolerance were the most important things."
"That describe him?" said Milo.
"I think he's just smooth. Out for luxury."
"Does he get her money if something happens to her?"
It was more than she was willing to confront. Her hand flew to her mouth. "I... I don't know."
"Easy enough to find out," he said. "If she doesn't show up tomorrow morning, I'll start looking into her finances. Maybe I'll find something up in her room right now."
"Okay," she said. "You don't really think something happened to her, do you?"
"No reason to. And in terms of what you mentioned before going out there looking for her your local cops are already patrolling extensively. I saw them on the way over and it's what they do best.
Ramp said, "Waste of time."
There are also countywide bulletins out for her-I checked myself, didn't take that on faith. Dr. Delaware will tell you I'm the original skeptic. That doesn't mean all those police departments are gonna go out of their way to look for your mother. But a Rolls-Royce may just catch their eye. If she's not back soon, we can have the bulletins expanded, can even tell the papers she's missing but once those guys sink their teeth in, they never let go, so we've gotta be careful."
"What about McCloskey!" she said. "Do you know about him?"
Milo nodded.
"Then why don't you go out there and pressure him? Noel and I would have done it if we knew where he lived maybe I'll find out and do it.
"That's not a very good idea," said Milo and repeated the speech he'd given Ramp.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but she's my mother and I've got to do what I think is right."
"How do you think your mother would like seeing you in a drawer in the morgue?"
Her mouth dropped open. She closed it. Drew herself up. Next to Milo she looked tiny, almost comically so. "You're just trying to scare me.
"You're right."
"Well, it won't work."
"Damn shame." He looked at his Timer. "Been here a quarter hour and I've done diddly. Wanna stand around talking or work?"
"Work," she said. "Of course "Her room," said Milo.
"Over here. C'mon." She ran down the hall, all traces of sleepiness gone.
Milo watched her and muttered something I couldn't make out.
We followed her.
She'd reached the door, was holding it open. "Here," she said.
"I'll show you where everything is.
Milo walked into the sitting room. I went in after him.
She slid past me and faced Milo, blocking the door to the bedroom.
"One more thing."
"What?"
"I'm paying you. Not Don. So treat me like an adult."
Milo said, "If you don't like the way I'm treating you, I'm sure you'll let me know. In terms of payment, work it out with him."
He pulled out his pad again and looked around the sitting room. Went to the gray couch. Poked at the pillows, ran his hand under them.
"What is this, a waiting room for visitors?"
"A sitting room," said Melissa. "She didn't have visitors. My father designed it this way because he thought it was genteel. It used to be different very elegant, lots more furniture but she cleaned it out and put this in. She ordered it from a catalogue. She's basical
ly a simple person. This is really her favorite place she spends most of her time here."
"Doing what?"
"Reading she reads a lot. Loves to read. And she exercises there's equipment back there." Crooking a finger in the direction of the bedroom.
Milo peered at the Cassatt.
I said, "How long's she had that print, Melissa?"
"My father gave it to her. When she was pregnant with me."
"Did he have other Cassatts?"
"Probably. He had lots of works on paper. They're stored upstairs on the third floor. To keep them out of the sunlight. That's why it's perfect for here. No windows."
"No windows," said Milo. "That doesn't bother her?"
"She's a sunny person," said Melissa. "She makes her own light."
"Uh-huh." He went back to the gray couch. Removed the cushions and put them back.
I said, "How long ago did she change the decor?"
Both of them looked at me.
"Just curious," I said. "About any changes she might have made recently."
Melissa said, "It was recent. A few months ago three or four.
The stuff that was in here was Father's taste really ornamental. She had it put up on the third floor, in storage. Told me she felt kind of guilty because Father had spent so much time picking it out. But I told her it was okay it was her place; she should do what she wanted."
Milo opened the door to the bedroom and stepped through.
I heard him say, "She didn't change this too much, did she?"
Melissa hurried after him. I walked in, last.
He was standing in front of the canopied bed. Melissa said, "I guess she likes it the way it is."
"Guess so," said Milo.
The room seemed even bigger from the inside. At least twenty-five feet square, with fifteen-foot ceilings embroidered with crown moldings fashioned to resemble braided cloth. A six-foot white marble mantel was topped with a gold clock and a menagerie of miniature silver birds.
A gold eagle sat perched atop the clock, eyeing the smaller fowl.
Groupings of Empire chairs upholstered in olive-green silk damask, a baroque threefold screen painted in trompe l'oeil flowers, a scattering of tiny gold-inlaid tables of doubtful function, paintings of country scenes and bosomy maidens with uncertainty in their eyes.
The braids snaked toward the center of the ceiling, terminating in a plaster knot from which a crystal and silver chandelier dangled like a giant watch fob. The bed was covered with a quilted off-white satin spread. Tapestry pillows were arranged at the head in a precise overlapping row, like fallen dominoes. A silk robe lay neatly across the foot. The bed was set on a pedestal, adding to its already considerable height. The finials of the posts nearly touched the ceiling.
Weak light shone from crystal wall sconces beside the bed, transforming the off-white color scheme to the color of English mustard, and turning the plum carpeting gray. Milo flipped a switch and flooded the room with the high-watt glare of the chandelier.
He looked under the bed, straightened, and said, "You could eat off it.
"When was the room made up?"
"Probably this morning. Mother usually does it herself not the vacuuming or anything strenuous. But she likes to make her own bed.
She's very neat.
I followed his glance to the chinoiserie nightstands. Ivory pseudo-antique phones on both. Bud vase with red rose centered on the one to the left. A hardcover book next to it.
All the draperies were drawn. Milo went to one of the casement windows, pulled aside the curtains, cranked, and looked out. Fresh air puffed in.
After studying the view for a while, he turned, walked to the left side of the bed, picked up the book, and opened it. Skimmed a few pages, turned it upside down, and gave it a couple of shakes. Nothing fell out. Opening the door of the stand, he bent and peered in. Empty.
I went over and looked at the book's front cover. Paul Theroux's Patagonia Express.
Melissa said, "It's a travel book."
Milo said nothing, kept looking around.
The wall opposite the bed was occupied by a nine-foot walnutand-gilt armoire and a wide carved fruitwood dresser inlaid with marquetry herbs and flowers. Perfume bottles and a marble clock sat atop the dresser.
Milo opened the top section of the armoire. Inside was a color TY a Sony 19-inch that looked to be at least ten years old.
Atop the television was a TV Guide. Milo opened it, flipped through it. The bottom of the armoire was empty.
"No VCR?" he said.
"She doesn't go in for movies much."
He moved down to the dresser, slid open drawers, ran his hands through satin and silk.
Melissa watched for several moments, then said, "What exactly are you looking for?"
"Where does she keep the rest of her clothes?"
"Over there." She pointed to carved swinging doors on the left side of the room. Indian rosewood doors inlaid with vines of copper and brass and topped with a motif that conjured up the Taj Mahal.
Milo shoved them open unceremoniously.
On the other side was a short, squat foyer with three more doors.
The first opened to a green marble bathroom accented with champagne-tinted mirrors and equipped with a sunken whirlpool tub expansive enough for family bathing, gold fixtures, green marble commode and bidet. The medicine cabinet was camouflaged as just another mirrored panel. Milo pushed, looked inside. Aspirin, toothpaste, shampoo, lipstick tubes, a few jars of cosmetics.
Half-empty.
"She take anything as far as you can tell?"
Melissa shook her head. "This is all she keeps. She doesn't use much makeup."
Beyond the second door was a room-sized closet outfitted with a makeup table and padded bench at the center and organized as precisely as a surgical scrub tray: champagne-colored padded hangers, all facing the same way. Two walls of cedar, two of pink damask.
Double-hung hardwood dowels.
Clothes organized by type, but there wasn't much to organize.
Mostly one-piece dresses in pale colors. A few gowns and furs at the back, some still bearing their sales labels. Perhaps ten pairs of shoes, three of them sneakers. A collection of sweats folded in storage compartments along the back wall. No more than a quarter of the dowel-space filled.
Milo took his time there, checking pockets, kneeling and inspecting the floor beneath the garments. Finding nothing and going into the third room.
Combination library and gym. The walls lined floor to ceiling with oak shelves, the floor high-lacquer hardwood tile. Interlocking rubber mats covered the front half. A stationary bicycle, rowing machine, and motorized treadmill sat on the rubber along with a free-standing rack of low-weight, chrome-plated dumbbells. A cheap digital watch hung from the handlebars of the bike. Two unopened bottles of Evian water stood atop a small refrigerator alongside the weight rack. Milo opened it. Empty.
He moved to the back and ran his finger along some of the bookshelves.
I read titles.
More Theroux. Jan Morris. Bruce Chatwin.
Atlases. Books of landscape photography. Travelogues dating from the Victorian age to modern times. Audubon birding guides to the West.
Fielding Guides to everywhere else. Seventy years of National Geographic in brown binders. Bound collections of Smithsonian, Oceans, Natural History, Thavel, Sport Diver; Connoisseur: For the first time since he'd arrived at the mansion, Milo looked troubled. But only momentarily. He scanned the rest of the bookcases, said, "Seems like we've got a theme going here."
Melissa didn't answer.
Neither did I.
No one daring to put the obvious into words.
We went back into the bedroom. Melissa seemed subdued.
Milo said, "Where does she keep her bankbooks and financial records?"
Jonathan Kellerman - Alex 06 - Private Eyes Page 24
