Jerome blew a raspberry at her.

  "I'm sorry about that." Marco jostled him reproachfully. "He doesn't always behave himself in public. Kids, you know."

  "Can I help you find your glasses?" Ling offered the woman.

  The exchange seemed to jostle Bart awake, as he sat up and turned our way. "I know you. Ricky's friend, right?"

  "Maddie," I reminded him.

  "Sure, sure." He shifted on the chaise.

  "Don't get up," I called out, hurrying over before he could offer us the full frontal view. "I hope we're not interrupting anything."

  He propped his sunglasses on his head and spread his hands expansively. "What'm I doing? I'm living the life."

  "Me, too," Ling said.

  Bart squinted up at her. "Who's your friend?"

  I introduced Ling, Marco, and Jerome. Bart's gaze lingered on Jerome, but he kept his opinion to himself. He craned to see behind us. "The lovely Dorothy isn't with you?"

  I shook my head. I could see Ling mouthing a questioning Lovely Dorothy? to Marco, who responded with a mouthed Mrs. Rosenblatt. To which Ling let out an unladylike snort.

  "Not this time," I told Bart, trying to ignore the silent exchange.

  "Well, that's a shame. She's a firecracker, that one." He relaxed back, dropping his sunglasses into place again.

  "You have no idea," Marco agreed.

  "So, what brings you kids out to the Breezy Palms today?" The question was phrased in a casual tone, but I could swear he was eyeing us keenly from beneath the shades.

  "I was hoping you would talk to us a bit more," I said. "About Beth."

  He was so still I almost thought maybe he'd left his hearing aids in his condo. Finally he asked, "Did Ricky send you?"

  "Sort of," I hedged.

  "Look, I'm sure the kid's had it rough growing up without his mom, but I'm not a fan of dredging up the past."

  With a past like his, I could see why. "You mentioned that Beth gave you some money the last time you saw her," I said, forging ahead despite his protests. "How much was that again?"

  He didn't miss a beat. "Five thousand dollars."

  "You're sure it was five? And not, say, fifty?"

  He let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Fifty? No way. This was thirty years ago, kids. Who had fifty thousand dollars to give away back then?"

  "Beth and her husband did," I said slowly, trying to read his expression. "It was their life savings."

  "Well, good for them," he mumbled.

  "Was," Marco added. "Until it went missing."

  "Missing?" Bart turned his head to toward Marco's multi-colored Bermudas. "What do you mean, missing?"

  "Beth took the money out of the bank shortly before she died," I told him. "Robert never found out what happened to it."

  "Maybe she spent it," Bart offered. "Bought herself a nice handbag, huh?"

  "Did she seem the type to spend her life savings on a purse?" I said, unconvinced.

  Bart frowned. "Look, I don't know anything about any missing money."

  "But she did give you some money," I pointed out.

  "Yeah. I told you she helped me out. Five G's. I don't know anything about the other forty-five."

  "Was it a gambling debt?" Marco pressed him. "Something she agreed to pay off for you?"

  "I just told you—" Bart began.

  "We heard you the first time," Ling cut in. "We just don't believe you. Wanna try again?"

  Instead of answering, he scanned the pool area. "Looking good, Edna!" he called out to a mummified ninetysomething in a head-to-toe white wrap, a patio umbrella of a hat, and gigantic BluBlockers that covered half her face. "A little sun once in a while won't kill you," he muttered. He looked up at us as if suddenly remembering we were still there.

  Ling tapped her wrist, where a watch would be, if she wore one. "We're waiting, buster. What'd you do with the forty-five large?"

  Jerome pooched out his lower lip and a stream of drool rained down at Bart's feet. He yanked them aside. "Would you get that disgusting creature away from me?"

  "Don't talk about him like that," Marco admonished. "You'll hurt his feelings. Won't he, little Jerry?"

  Jerome stuck out his tongue at Bart.

  "Everyone's a comedian." Bart flicked his feet to shed the monkey spit. "Anyway, I'm telling you, this is the first I heard about another forty-five G's, honest to God, but…"

  "But?" I echoed.

  Bart stared at Marco. "What are you doing with a monkey, anyway?"

  Marco put his hands over Jerome's ears. "Not so loud. He'll hear you."

  "Doesn't he know he's a monkey?" Bart asked. "I mean, look at him. How could he not know? Monkey face, monkey hands, monkey tail. It adds up to monkey. Is he a dumb monkey?"

  Marco gasped. "How dare you?"

  Jerome blew another raspberry.

  "But what?" I repeated, exasperated.

  Bart's mouth twisted. "Huh?"

  "You said this is the first you've heard about the missing money, but."

  "Oh. Right." He sighed. "Well, the last time I saw Beth, she said something that made me think there was maybe some trouble in paradise."

  "Paradise?" I repeated.

  "It's a club down on Sunset," Ling told me. "Very high end. Good tippers."

  Bart's jaw went a little slack. "No, I meant in her marriage. You know, her and Robert."

  "What kind of trouble?" Marco asked.

  "What other kind is there?" Bart shrugged. "An affair."

  "We already know about Lillian and him," I cut in.

  Bart's gaze flickered to me behind his emotionless glasses. "What?"

  "Lillian admitted they started seeing each other before Beth passed away," I said. I hesitated. "You seem surprised."

  "Yeah, I…" He shook his head as if to clear it. "No, it's nothing." He grabbed his towel as if gathering his things to leave.

  "It seems like something." I shifted to stand between him and the exit. "When you said an affair, you weren't talking about Lillian, were you?"

  Bart pulled in a long breath. "No, I wasn't."

  "So Robert had other women on the side?" Ling asked.

  I felt my heart sink. Poor Ricky. The more we found out about his father, the less I wanted to know.

  But Bart shook his head. "No, no. Not that. It's…well, I'm gonna be honest with you here. I was under the impression that Beth was the one who wanted out of the relationship."

  "Wait—are you saying Beth was seeing someone else?" Marco asked, gasping in dramatic fashion.

  "Look, I don't know!" Bart said, putting his hands up in a surrender motion. "She didn't say anything outright. She just, well, she hinted that there was someone else in her life. Someone she thought would make her happier than she'd been with Robert."

  "You didn't ask who?" Marco asked.

  Bart shook his head. "I was already asking my sister for money. I wasn't gonna interrogate her about her love life, okay?"

  Fair point. "But she didn't say for sure she was seeing someone?" I pressed.

  "No. Who knows, maybe I read too much in the conversation, right? Maybe it was nothing. In fact, I'm sure it was nothing." This time he did stand, pushing past me with a mumbled, "I gotta go."

  Then he rushed off toward the clubhouse without a backward glance.

  "Well, look at him run off," Marco said, shaking his head.

  "I'd rather not." Ling crossed her arms. "That guy got no business wearing those budgie smugglers with that body."

  "Innocent people don't bolt from a simple conversation," Marco pointed out.

  "To be fair," I said, "your monkey drooled on him."

  Jerome grinned, as if proud of his contribution.

  "But, if what he said about Beth is true, that puts a whole new spin on things," I mused.

  "How so?" Ling asked, eyeing the sparkling pool as if contemplating a dip.

  "Well, if Beth thought she'd be happier with this other guy she was seeing, maybe she was planning to leave Robert."

  "And Robert killed her before she could?" Marco asked.

  I cringed, hating that idea. "You think it's possible that's why she took the money out of the bank? So she could run off with her new guy?"

  "That would have been an awful thing to do," Marco said immediately. "Leaving Robert high and dry."

  "Don't be so quick to judge her," Ling interjected. "Maybe she found out about his affair, then took the money and made a plan to leave her cheating husband. Maybe it had nothing to do with the new guy and everything to do with the cheating old guy."

  I tried that theory on. "That's possible. But then, it's still Robert who would have wanted to stop her."

  "Then where did the money go?" Marco asked. "If Robert killed her, wouldn't he have put the money back into his account so no one was the wiser?"

  I nodded. "Good point. But Lillian said they never saw it again."

  "Unless Robert was hiding it from Lillian," Ling said.

  "Or maybe Bart's trying to throw us off his scent with Beth's affair, and he's the one who took the money," Marco said.

  "Or maybe Beth hid it under her mattress and it went poof in the fire," Ling said.

  We were all silent a moment, contemplating that depressing thought.

  Finally Jerome broke the silence with a scree! as a lady with leathery skin and a pair of bifocals waved at him.

  "Let's get out of here," Marco said. "These ladies are starting to look at Jerome like he's lunch."

  "They don't eat monkeys here, silly," Ling said. "This is the suburbs."

  Before I could worry about that comment further, my phone buzzed with an incoming call.

  I looked down to see Dana's number and swiped to answer. "Hey," I said.

  "Maddie, are you alone right now?"

  I turned away from Marco and Ling and a pool full of seniors beginning their water aerobics class. "Not exactly."

  "Well, get that way. I need you to meet me at Bixby Sparks' office in a half hour. She has something for us."

  I frowned, calculating my time. "Where is her office?"

  "Near Hancock Park. I'll text you the address."

  "I'm guessing she found something on the Riccis?" I glanced at Marco, who was fawning over Jerome while Ling reached out a tentative finger to touch the monkey.

  "That's what she said. She didn't want to discuss it over the phone though. Half an hour?"

  I nodded. "I'll meet you there."

  "What was that all about?" Marco asked when I'd disconnected.

  "Nothing," I said, only feeling slightly guilty about lying to him. But the last thing I wanted to do was drag an exotic dancer, Mr. Louis Vuitton meets Boca Raton, and a monkey into Mid-Wilshire. "I have an appointment I've got to get to, though."

  "Me too," Marco said. "I've got to get to the salon. My shift starts in fifteen minutes."

  "You can't take Jerome there," I reminded him. "Fernando will kill you."

  "Yeah." He bit his lip. "But what am I supposed to do with him? I can't leave him home alone. He has separation anxiety." He paused. "And elopement issues. And kleptomania."

  "Aww, but he's such a cutie," Ling said, reaching a finger out toward him again.

  Marco's eyes lit up. "He is a cutie. Say, would you like to monkey-sit this cutie for me?"

  Ling quickly pulled her finger back. "Oh, I don't know…"

  "He's no trouble at all, I swear!"

  "Except for the anxiety, elopement, and kleptomania," I added.

  Marco shot me a dirty look, before returning his pleading brown eyes to Ling. "Please? Pretty, gorgeous please? You'd be doing me a huge favor. I'd really owe you."

  Ling gave Jerome a dubious appraisal. "Like, a mani-pedi-and-a-free-massage owe me?"

  Marco nodded. "I'll book your slot as soon as I get to the salon."

  "Alright," she relented. "I'll watch him, but he'd better behave himself. I don't take no funny business from monkeys. I don't live in the suburbs."

  "He'll be good," Marco promised. He nuzzled Jerome's head. "Won't you, buddy?"

  Jerome gave a big monkey smile.

  I wasn't sure who I should wish better luck to—Jerome or Ling.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "This isn't quite what I expected," Dana said thirty-five minutes later as she, Ricky, and I sat in the office of Sparks Investigations. "This is less film noir and more…"

  "IRS?" I suggested. White walls, two metal desks holding flat black computer monitors, fluorescent overhead lighting. Blander than chicken broth. A woman with mousey brown hair in high waisted jeans and a white polo shirt sat at one desk, completely fading into the background as her unpainted fingernails tapped out a steady rhythm on her keyboard. She'd barely looked up when we'd arrived, mumbling something about Ms. Sparks running late.

  "Where's the glamour?" Dana asked, looking slightly disenchanted as she shifted on a brown vinyl chair that had seen better days (possibly even decades). "This isn't anything like my character's office."

  "Sorry, honey. Life isn't often like the movies." I patted her arm.

  "Or even the studio lot," Ricky mumbled.

  Dana leaned in close to me. "I don't even think she's wearing a gun." She gestured toward the brunette.

  I didn't even think she was wearing lipstick. She looked more like someone's mom than the leather pants–wearing Charlotte Benson on Charlotte's Angels.

  I was about to say as much, when the door opened and Bixby Sparks whooshed into the office like a hurricane, all red hair and gum-popping five feet of her. If the room was chicken broth, Bixby was a spicy enchilada. She looked to have a good ten years on me and wore a bright red wrap dress above a pair of lime green chunky heels. Two gold hoops dangled from her ears, and her arms were laden down with jangling gold bracelets. "Dana, Ricky, sorry to keep you waiting. I swear, someone needs to invent the thirty-hour day. Or maybe I just need to be less Type A with my scheduling, right Brenda?" She glanced at the brunette, who must have been used to Bixby's running monologue, as she still didn't look up. "Anyway, thanks for coming in." She dropped into the chair behind the empty desk and blinked at me. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Maddie Springer," I told her. "Their friend," I added lamely.

  "I asked her to be here," Dana said.

  "Good enough for me." Bixby's arm shot out to pull a manila folder across the desk. Flipping it open, she slid a pair of fuchsia half-frame readers onto her nose and bent over it. "So, I did find records of the construction project you wanted to know about. Sunrise Towers hotel." Her gaze flicked over the top of her glasses. "Nice place. I walked around the lobby a bit. Free drinks at happy hour."

  "What did you learn about its construction?" Dana asked.

  "Right." Bixby's eyes went back to the file. "Well, first off, you were right that it was handled by Ricci Brothers Construction. It was their first project of this magnitude, most of their previous projects having been small office buildings, little strip mall jobs—that kind of thing."

  "So this was a big contract for them," Ricky noted.

  "It was. Biggest to date. Probably one they weren't quite ready for."

  "Why do you say that?" Dana asked.

  "Well, they were way over budget for one." Bixby traced a bright red fingernail down the page. "By halfway through the project, they'd already eaten up most of the original budget, and the rooms didn't even have floors yet."

  "That sounds way over budget," I noted.

  Bixby nodded. "And that was just the start of their problems. I took a gander through public records, and it seems these guys ran into quite a few issues with the city."

  "Such as?" Ricky asked.

  "Permits, mostly. A few failed inspections."

  "Failed? As in, the work wasn't done properly?" I glanced at Dana, thinking that was something the architect would be savvy about.

  "Well, not necessarily. I mean, yeah, you fail inspection, you need to fix something, but sometimes we're talking nitpicky things. Like a toilet being a quarter inch too close to a wall to conform to code."

  "So not shoddy construction?" Dana clarified, sounding disappointed.

  "Like I said, not necessarily. I didn't have time to comb through every instance in the county files—there were hundreds."

  "Whoa," Ricky said.

  "Right?" Bixby shook her head. "Permitting is a thorn in the side of anyone who's tried to put up even a doghouse. It can be a bureaucratic Rubik's cube. Now, we're talking a four-thousand room hotel, and that's a lot of toilets that could be a quarter inch off, you know?"

  "And a lot of redoing work to fix it," Ricky noted. "You think those delays were what caused them to be over budget?"

  "Maybe. Could be a combo of things. First big project—my guess is these guys just didn't quite know what they were getting into. Maybe didn't schedule enough time for everything that needed done, and we all know time is money. Anything this size, there's gonna be delays. Waiting on permits, waiting on inspectors, failing, having to fix stuff, and then waiting again."

  "But it doesn't sound like that's out of the ordinary," Dana said, frowning.

  "No, it's not." Bixby looked over her glasses and her face broke out into a slow smile. "But what happened next is."

  "Oh?" I sat forward in my seat.

  "Uh-huh." Bixby licked a finger and flipped the next page of her report. "About halfway through the project, in March, suddenly everything started to run like clockwork. No more delays, no more failing inspections. Heck, inspectors were suddenly showing up to the site early."

  "March," Ricky repeated. "That's when my mother died."

  Bixby gave him a sympathetic smile. "Well, it's also when Robert Montgomery stepped down from the project and a new architect came on board."

  "You mean with the new architect they were able to push things through faster?" I asked, trying to read between the lines.

  "Lightning fast," Bixby confirmed. "The designer was a guy named Gavetti, and once he stepped up, somehow they managed to clear the logjam immediately and get everything moved along suddenly ahead of schedule." She gave us a knowing look.

  "Somehow." Dana nodded. "Like, probably not legally."

  Bixby shrugged. "I don't interpret the facts. I just report them." She slapped the file shut and dropped her glasses on the desk. "I will tell you this though—I wouldn't want to be in business with these Ricci guys." She tapped the file.