Some women seek mates who remind them of their fathers. If looks meant anything, Baby hadn’t. “Denny” Rapfogel was bald, broad, and heavyset with a ruddy, meaty face that might’ve taken some college football punishment.
He said, “Helluva thing on a day like this. When Cor and I tied the knot, we had a nice ceremony, nothing crazy happened. But that’s how it was back in the Jurassic era.”
Corinne said, “You’re making it sound ancient. Thirty-one years ago.”
“Feels like ten minutes.”
His wife nudged his arm. “Aww.”
Denny Rapfogel winked at us. “Ten minutes with my hand held over a flame. Heh.”
Corinne Rapfogel drew back. Had her husband been looking at her, he would’ve absorbed a nuclear-powered glare. “Let’s get this show on the road, Dennis. I’m sure these nice policemen don’t have time for your humor.”
“Just trying to lighten things up,” he said. To us: “This is pretty freaky, no? Even for you guys.”
Milo and I said nothing.
Rapfogel tugged at his tie. “The girl who’s dead, Baby and Gar say they don’t know her and from what I’ve heard, no one else does. So it’s obvious this was something bizarre that has nothing to do with us.”
Milo said, “We’d still like to ask a few questions.”
Rapfogel threw up his hands. “Sure, evening’s blown to shit anyway, talk about money for nothing and chicks for free.”
“Chicks?” said his wife.
“It’s a song. Dear. The Stones.”
Dire Straits, but why quibble?
Milo showed both of them the picture of the woman in red.
Corinne Rapfogel said, “We already saw it and told you and that hasn’t changed, why would it?”
Denny Rapfogel said, “If you want to get a move on, cooperate, Cor.”
She frowned.
Twin rapid head shakes. “No, I don’t know her.”
“Ditto,” said Denny.
Milo said, “I’m sure this terrible thing has nothing to do with you but I have to ask: Can you think of anyone who’d want to harm you?”
Corinne Rapfogel said, “Why would you even ask that?”
“Disrupting a wedding seems like a personal thing, ma’am. So we need to—”
“Disrupting? That’s an understatement. Baby’s special day is ruined.” Sudden moisture in her eyes.
Denny said, “That’s why they’re here, they need to get to the bottom of it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Obvious.”
Like mother…
Corinne looked over at her in-laws. “If it’s anything personal, it has to be from their side. He’s a veterinarian out in the sticks. You know what that’s like.”
Milo said, “I’m not sure I—”
“We’re talking Hicksville,” said Corinne. “Probably rubes like that movie…Deliverance. He doesn’t even do dogs and cats, he does farm animals. Who knows what kind of people he gets involved with?”
Denny said, “Honey, I don’t think a horse with the runs had anything to do with—”
“Oh, shut it, Denny.”
Rapfogel colored, most intensely in the nose, now a cartoon thermometer bulb.
I said, “Dr. Burdette is a vet.”
Corinne said, “A farm vet.”
“What about his wife?”
“Housewife.” As if that were a disease. “She says she works in his office part-time.”
“Ah,” I said. “So what do you guys do?”
“We run an agency,” she said, sitting up higher. “VCR Staffing Specialists. The V’s for Vanderbeek, that’s my maiden name. The R’s him.”
Denny said, “The C’s for cum. That’s Roman for ‘with,’ not—”
His wife’s throat clear stopped him.
I said, “Your agency manages…”
“Personal assistants for celebrities and people who matter,” said Corinne. “Brett Stone and Kyla Berry have been our clients. They were supposed to be here but they got caught up in Europe. We booked both their P.A.’s two years ago and they say no one’s ever been better.”
Denny said, “Two years is like infinity for actors. They’re—”
“Like everyone else, only prettier,” said Corinne. To us: “Baby did some commercials when she was little. She was a gorgeous baby.”
“Coupla diaper commercials,” said Denny. “Kid gets paid for being a baby, we get to set up a college fund. Cool deal.”
I said, “Where’d she go to college?”
Corinne said, “She considered art at Otis but decided on The Fashion Academy where she studied marketing. Sometimes she works with us. Consulting. It’s helpful having someone in touch with her generation.”
Denny said, “Millennials relating to millennials. We call that demographic synchrony—so do you guys have any clues, yet?”
Milo said, “It’s early in the investigation, sir. With all those personalities you deal with at work, can you think of anyone who’d want to do damage to—”
“Definitely not, capital N,” said Corinne Rapfogel. “This has nothing to do with any aspect of our lives, our wheelhouse runs smoothly.” She glanced at the dead woman’s face. “She’s cute, could be one of our clients but she’s not. Okay?”
“Got it, ma’am. Sorry for—”
“I get it, you’re doing your job. You catch the m.f. who did this, I’ll be in court when they sentence him to the gas chamber. After I collect on a massive lawsuit for pain, suffering, and emotional damages!”
Denny said, “They don’t do gas, anymore. Right, guys?”
“Whatever. I want him caught. What he did was horrid—beyond horrid. He ruined this absolutely glorious day!”
* * *
—
The Rapfogels left the way they’d approached: she leading, he following.
Milo said, “And now, all you people watching at home, the parents of the groom.”
* * *
—
Sandra and Wilbur Burdette walked together and sat next to each other. Both were tall, bulky, bespectacled, in their early sixties. Wilbur had yellow-white Carl Sandburg hair that flopped over a weather-beaten forehead. Sandra (“call me Sandy”) had made no effort to hide the gray in a short, curly do. Her dress was bottle green, beautifully sewn, and floor-length, his suit, navy with single-needle stitching around the lapels. High-priced threads for both of them but they looked unaccustomed to formality.
I glanced over at the family table. With the Rapfogels gone, conversation between a couple I took to be the groom’s sister and brother-in-law had animated a bit. Leanza Cardell drank, played with her hair, checked a clutch purse, drank some more. Next to her but having nothing to do with her, a pallid, ponytailed young woman in a shapeless beige dress—a girl, really—read a book.
Milo said, “Thanks, folks.”
Sandy Burdette smiled weakly. “Of course. This is so dreadful.”
Wilbur said, “I tell you, it’s the kids I feel sorry for. Anything we can do to help, Lieutenant, but I can’t see what that might be.”
“Appreciate the offer, Dr. Burdette.”
Wilbur smiled. “Will’s fine. I guess they told you what I do.” He chuckled. “She—Baby’s mother—probably made me out to be a clodhopper, right? Which is true, I guess. I’m an old Nebraska farm boy who never stopped liking critters.”
Sandy Burdette said, “It is a bit of a culture clash.”
I said, “Saints and Sinners.”
“Well, yes, that, too,” she said. “That kind of thing is foreign to us, I don’t get it at all. But I suppose it’s what’s called edgy nowadays. What I was going to say, sirs, is that sure, people are different but the main thing is the kids love each other.”
Not sounding convinced. She looked to her husband for confirmation. He missed the point and said, “Saints and Sinners, yeah, that is a hoot.”
Sandy said, “In the end, it’s all about compromise.”
Will said, “So, guys, how can we help?”
Milo showed them the photo. Second time around for them, too, but no protest as they studied.
Will Burdette said, “Sorry, same thing I told the other detective. Never seen her. I’d expect her to be one of Brears’s friends but Brears says no.”
Sandy said, “Brears’s friend was my first guess, too.”
“Why’s that, ma’am?” said Milo.
Deep-blue eyes rose and fell. “Well, you know. The age—the red dress, at least from what I can see it’s pretty L.A.-girl, no? But Brears is absolutely at a loss—she’s pretty much traumatized, the poor dear.” Saying the right things but, again, without conviction.
Milo said, “You’re from Calabasas.”
Will Burdette said, “Since we moved from Nebraska thirty-two years ago. We have what I guess you’d call a mini-ranch.”