Two hours later, not a single reference to Poland though a few people had been to Prague and one couple had thought Budapest interesting.
He said, “Gotta talk to the Polish tourist bureau, they’re falling down on the job. Okay, my head hurts, let’s see if Baby’s in her crib.”
CHAPTER
17
The newlyweds lived on the ground floor of a twenties, white stucco Spanish fourplex on Holt Avenue just south of Olympic.
Garrett Burdette answered the bell-ring. Home early.
“Lieutenant,” he said.
He wore black horn-rimmed glasses, a blue oxford cloth button-down, gray wool slacks, black loafers. In L.A., CPA work clothes.
From behind him: “Who is it, honey?”
He kept his eyes on us. “She’s not feeling well.”
Milo said, “Sorry ’bout that, if it’s a bad time—”
“Who is it, Gar?”
He frowned and swung the door wide. Baby’s small body was curled on a pale-blue sofa, a bag of corn chips in her lap. She wore a black tank top and white yoga pants. No tissues, no blanket, no cup of hot tea. Maybe she was tougher than the Valkyrie.
She said, “Oh, hi, guys.” Brightly, no trace of nasal congestion. Or resentment. “Don’t let them stand there, honey.”
Garrett stepped aside. The apartment was barely furnished but for the couch and two folding chairs. Cardboard boxes were lined up against a wall along with stacks of wrapped gifts. The air smelled of ripe fruit and petrochemicals, the source of the aroma a pear-shaped room deodorizer plugged into a corner socket.
Freshly painted walls were bare except for a large, framed color photo of Brearely Rapfogel in a filmy white dress. Sitting in a field of lupine, looking like something from Renoir.
Kindred spirit of the Valkyrie?
She waved at us. Her hair was loose, her eyes clear. A lovely young woman. The absence of makeup made her prettier.
“Would you like something to drink. Or some of these? I’ve got another bag.” Holding out the chips.
“No, thanks, Ms.—is it Burdette or Rapfogel, now?”
“It’s Mrs. Burdette,” she said. “I decided I’m traditional.”
She smiled at her husband of six days and extended a languid hand. He took it and she tugged him down gently beside her. Holding on to his fingers, she leaned a head on his shoulder, placed her other hand on his knee.
Garrett’s expression was that of a kid who’d been given an expensive violin and had no idea how to play it.
Baby began stroking the top of his hand. He lowered his attention to his lap. Crossed his legs protectively.
Milo said, “Sorry you’re not feeling well, Mrs. Burdette.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said. “A little tummy upset when I woke up. I told Gar he didn’t need to come home but he’s my super sweetie and insisted. Thank you, honey.”
Garrett shrugged. “Easy day.”
“That’s because you’re so smart.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m actually feeling better, honey. Maybe we can go out and find a food truck or something? I could really go for a street taco.”
“Sure.”
“Awesome.” She smiled at us. “You’re probably thinking this chick is nuts—bipolar or something. The last time you saw me I was like a total bitchzilla.”
“No, you weren’t,” said Garrett.
“Not in the least,” said Milo. “What a terrible thing to go through.”
“It was,” said Baby Burdette, “it really was. But I didn’t show my best side.” She shuddered, like a puppy shedding water. “But that’s all in the past, the future’s what counts. And the present. Our present is awesome, I’ve got the best guy.”
Garrett mumbled, “Thanks, Baby.”
“I mean it, honey.” She sat up straight. “So. Are you guys here to give us the good news that you solved it? I keep thinking about that poor, poor, poor girl. I know when you talked to me it was like I didn’t care. Honestly, I probably didn’t, not then, I was so…I couldn’t focus. But now I can. And I keep thinking about her. Who is she?”
Her cheeks puffed and she exhaled.
Milo said, “Afraid we still don’t know.”
Both newlyweds stared at us.
“So why are you here?” said Garrett.
“You can’t find out anything?” said Baby.
Milo said, “Unfortunately, she had no I.D. and no one at the wedding seems to know her.”
“Can’t you just go on—I don’t know—a missing persons site or something?”
Milo smiled. “We have.”
“Oh. Sorry. Don’t mean to say you’re not doing your job, it’s just, how can someone be…like a ghost? Especially with computers.”
Garrett said, “If people want to get lost, it’s easy.”
His wife turned, seemed to study him. “What does that mean?”
“Computers go both ways,” he said. “People think the internet has opened up the world and that’s true to an extent. But it’s also closed it, because people can hide behind fictitious identities. Right, Lieutenant?”
Baby continued to look at him, baffled. “But can’t you just…hack them?”
“Sometimes. But there’s always a struggle between the hiders and finders.” To us: “My firm had a client with an employee who absconded with funds. She prepared for it by laying down a misleading cyber-trail. They still haven’t recovered the money.”
“You do stuff like that?” said Baby. “Detection?”
Garrett’s smile hovered between affection and condescension. “No, I just handle tax returns, Baby. The client is looking for the maximal write-off so I had to know the details.”
“Wow.”
“No big deal.”
“It’s a huge deal, honey. I’m so proud of you. So why are you here, guys?”
Milo said, “Follow-up. Looking to see if you’ve thought of anything.”
“I tried to think,” said Baby. “I really wanted to figure it out. But I couldn’t.”
We turned to Garrett.
He said, “If I had to guess, I’d say she was a crasher.”
Milo said, “Why’s that?”
“No one knows her.”
“Did you have any other crashers?”
“Not that I know.”
“Not that I know, either,” said Baby. “But that movie—the two guys who crash all the time? Owen Wilson—obviously, it happens.”
Garrett said, “Maybe it got out that we were going to have an awesome party and she figured she’d mooch but someone followed her.”
“Followed her,” said Milo.
“Well, yeah. We don’t know people like that.”
“For sure,” said Baby. “I like your theory, honey. Just a crazy thing. What do you think, Lieutenant?”
“It’s certainly possible.”
Looking satisfied, Baby Burdette ate corn chips.
Milo gave me a whenever-you’re-ready look. The dialogue we’d prepped.
I said, “So when are you guys going on your honeymoon?”
“We were gonna do it in a month, now we’re hoping for a couple of months,” said Baby. “It’s a little mixed up. I want to get a job but I don’t want to start something and then ask for time off. We’re still trying to figure it out.”
“What kind of job are you interested in?”
“Fashion marketing. That’s always been my passion.”
I said, “Speaking of fashion, the victim’s dress was Fendi.”
Milo smiled. Improvisation.
“Really,” said Baby. “That’s horrible.”
Garrett said, “That it was Fendi?”
“That it mattered enough to her to wear Fendi. I mean something that awesome, you don’t just throw it on. Even if you are crashing. You’re…appreciating.”
Her eyes clouded. “Even if she was crashing, she was respecting us, honey. It wouldn’t have even hurt us, one more person, some drinks, guacamole. Right?”
“Right,” said Garrett without conviction.
“Really, honey. What’s the big deal? I’m feeling so, so sorry for her.”
She returned her head to his shoulder.
I said, “When you find time to honeymoon, where you planning on going?”
Baby said, “Some island, maybe the Grand Caymans. My dad told me there’s a beach you can play with stingrays, they’re super sweet.”
Garrett said, “Supposedly.”
“They are, honey. I saw a video, they’re like these big portobello mushrooms and you can hold them and pet them.”
I said, “Sounds fantastic.”
“I think so, too.”
Garrett said, “Long as you stay safe.”
“Don’t worry, silly—and it’s us, not me. You’re going to try it, too.”
No answer.
“Ho-ney.”
Garrett removed his glasses and sighted through them. “Okay.”