K Is for Killer

out.
    "They were engaged."
    "In what?"
    "They were getting married in Las Vegas on April twenty-first, but Lorna never showed."

Chapter 14
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    I stared across the dark of the limousine at him. The claim seemed so preposterous that it might just be true. I'd been told Lorna met some heavy hitters in the course of her work. Maybe she fell in love with some guy and he with her. Mr. and Mrs. Racketeer. "Didn't he send someone up here to find her when she didn't show?"
    "He's a proud man. He assumed she'd had a change of heart. Naturally, when he heard what had happened to her, the news was bittersweet," he said. "Now, of course, he wonders if he could have saved her."
    "We'll probably never have the answer to that."
    "What information do you have so far?"
    I was forced to shrug. "I've only been working since Monday, and I haven't come up with much."
    He was silent for a moment. "You spoke to a gentleman in San Francisco with whom we've had dealings. Mr. Ayers."
    "That's right."
    "What did he tell you?"
    I paused. I wasn't sure whether Joe Ayers's cooperation or his failure to cooperate would generate disfavor in this crowd. I pictured Ayers hanging from his chandelier by his dick. Maybe the Mob didn't really do things that way. Maybe they'd picked up a bad rep these days. Living in Santa Teresa, we didn't have a lot of experience with these things. My mouth had gone dry. I was worried about my responsibility to the people I'd spoken with. "He was courteous," I said. "He gave me a couple of names and telephone numbers, but I'd already checked them out, so the information wasn't that useful."
    "Who else have you spoken to?"
    It's hard to sound casual when your voice starts to quake. "Family members. Her boss. She'd done some house-sitting for the boss's wife, and I talked to her." I cleared my throat.
    "This was Mrs. Bonney? The one who found her?"
    "That's right. I also talked to the homicide detective who handled the case."
    Silence.
    "That's about it," I added, sounding lame.
    His eyes drifted down to his notebook. There was a glint of light when his gaze came up again. Clearly he knew exactly whom I'd spoken to and was waiting to see how candid I intended to be. I pretended I was in a courtroom on the witness stand. He was an attorney, according to his claim. If he had questions, let him ask and I'd answer. In the unlikely event that I knew more than he did, I thought it was better not to volunteer information.
    "Who else?" he asked.
    Another trickle of sweat slid down my side. "That's all I can think of offhand," I said. The car seemed hot. I wondered if they had the heater turned on.
    "What about Miss Rivers?"
    I looked at him blankly. "I don't know anyone by that name."
    "Danielle Rivers."
    "Oooh, yeah. Right. I did speak to her. Are you guys connected to that fellow on a bike?"
    He ignored that one. He said, "You talked to her twice. Most recently tonight."
    "I owed her some money. She came by to collect. She gave me a haircut and we ordered a vegetarian pizza. It was no big deal. Really."
    His gaze was cold. "What has she told you?"
    "Nothing. You know, she said Lorna was her mentor, and she passed along some of Lorna's financial strategies. She did mention her personal manager, a guy named Lester Dudley. You know him?"
    "I don't believe Mr. Dudley is relevant to our discussion," he said. "What's your theory about the murder?"
    "I don't have one yet."
    "You don't know who killed her?"
    I shook my head.
    "My client is hoping you'll pass the name along when it comes into your possession."
    Oh, sure, I thought. "Why?" I tried not to sound impertinent, but it was tough. It's probably smarter not to quiz these guys, but I was curious.
    "He would consider it a courtesy."
    "Ah, a courtesy. Got it. Like between us professionals."
    "He could also make it worth your while."
    "I appreciate that, but... mmm, I don't mean to sound rude about this, but I don't really want anything from him. You know, that I can think of at the moment. Tell him thanks for the offer."
    Dead silence.
    He reached into the inside breast pocket of his coat. I flinched, but all he did was take out a retractable ballpoint pen, which he clicked. He scribbled something on a business card and held it out to me. "I can be reached at this number at any hour."
    The guy on my right moved forward, took the card, and passed it to me. No name. No address. Just the handwritten number. The attorney continued, his tone pleasant. "In the meantime, we'd prefer