"And Dominic Ricci?" Ricky pressed.

  "What about him?"

  "He was fine with you just walking away? Knowing he was…what did you call it, cutting corners?"

  "Look, I don't know what you're insinuating," Robert said, bolting up from his packing crate perch. "But I wasn't threatened."

  Funny. No one had said he was.

  "Dad, if there's something you know about the Riccis—" Ricky started.

  But Robert just shook his head. "I've had enough talking, if you don't mind. I've got to get back to packing. We need to be out of here tonight." He looked at Ricky, his eyes pleading. "Are we good?"

  For a moment I feared what Ricky's answer might be. But finally he nodded.

  "Let's go," Dana said softly, putting a hand on Ricky's arm.

  I trailed behind the pair, almost feeling bad leaving Robert alone with his guilt and his memories in the house where his wife had died.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "I don't buy it." Ricky shook his head as we made our way back down the walkway.

  "Don't buy what?" Dana asked softly.

  "Any of it," Ricky said, spinning around to cast a backward glance at his dad's house. "Especially that the Riccis had nothing to do with my mother's death."

  "It could be coincidence," I said, the phrase sounding hollow to my own ears.

  "My dad leaves the project, and suddenly they're building high rises on the cheap?" Ricky shook his head. "That's no coincidence. It's orchestrated."

  "So you think the Riccis forced your dad out of the project?" Dana asked.

  Ricky nodded, squaring his jaw. "I'm sure of it."

  "And your mom…"

  "Was a warning." Ricky's face darkened. "Or maybe a consequence of my dad speaking up about their business practices."

  I shuddered, thinking just how cold that was. Beth hadn't had anything to do with the project herself. Then again, mobsters weren't known for their warm hearts.

  "Or it all could have gone down exactly like Robert said," Dana said, clearly trying to calm Ricky down. "That after your mother died, he just wanted to focus on you."

  Ricky's expression softened momentarily at the idea, but then he shook his head. "No. I know it was the Riccis. I mean, they're the only ones who had anything to gain from my mother's death."

  "Well," Dana said slowly. "That's not entirely true."

  He turned to her. "What do you mean?"

  Dana shot a glance my way, and I could tell she was debating whether to bring it up or not. Though I knew exactly what she was going to say.

  "There's Lillian."

  Ricky frowned. "What are you saying?"

  "Nothing!" Dana held her hands up. "Just that, well, Robert broke things off with her."

  "And Dad said she understood why. That she was fine with it."

  "Do you think she really was?" I asked.

  Ricky shook his head vehemently. "No, I grew up with her. I know her. She's not capable of…" He trailed off. "Of what I sincerely hope you are not accusing her of."

  "We're not accusing her of anything," Dana reassured him.

  She gave me a helpless look. I shrugged back. Clearly Ricky had blinders on when it came to Lillian. And I couldn't really blame him. If someone accused Faux Dad of murder, I'd be defending him just as hotly as Ricky was defending Lillian.

  Only, in this case, I wasn't totally convinced that his trust was well placed.

  "It's the Riccis," Ricky said, clearly giving his final word on the subject. "And we're going to prove that."

  "How?" Dana asked, shooting me another nervous glance.

  "Gavetti," Ricky said. He pulled out his phone. "He could tell us definitively how things played out with the hotel project."

  "I don't know about that," I said, thinking of the warnings that just about everyone had given us where the Riccis were concerned. "What if word gets back to the Riccis that we're digging around?"

  "I'm not going to be threatened like my father was," Ricky shot back.

  Dana and I shared another look. Ricky was clearly emotional. And who could blame him?

  "There!" he said, staring at his phone screen.

  "What?"

  "Anthony Gavetti." He turned the phone toward us, showing a website for Anthony Gavetti Designs, Inc.

  "Okay, so he's still in business," Dana said slowly. "But that doesn't mean…wait, what are you doing?" she asked as the phone went to Ricky's ear.

  "Calling him."

  "Now?" I asked.

  He nodded.

  "Just like that?" Dana asked.

  "Just like that." He shifted his posture. "Hello?" he said brightly, turning on the acting charm as someone on the other end answered. "Yes, I'd like to speak with Mr. Gavetti, please."

  Dana moved closer to me and chewed the last remaining bits of lipstick off her lip as we listened to Ricky's side of the conversation.

  "Oh, he's not? Well, uh, this is urgent. It's about the permits he recently applied for," Ricky lied.

  "I don't like this," Dana mumbled to me.

  "Ditto," I agreed. "But it beats him storming the Riccis' offices," I reasoned.

  "Yes, that's right. The Pearson building," Ricky said, his face breaking into a grin. He winked at Dana. "I appreciate the offer to take a message, but I really need to speak with him in person about them. It's a delicate matter." He paused to listen to the person on the other end. "Oh, he is? Sure, just text me the address. Thanks very much!" Ricky pulled the phone from his ear, looking satisfied.

  "Well?" Dana asked. "Address of what?"

  "Of the job site Gavetti is working on right now. In Sherman Oaks. We can be there in fifteen minutes."

  * * *

  Thirty traffic-filled minutes later, we stood face-to-face with Anthony Gavetti, and I was suddenly not at all sure this was better than confronting the Ricci Brothers. Gavetti was a flinty-eyed, square-jawed monolith in a safety helmet that made me feel as welcome as a cockroach in a bakery as we approached him.

  "Who are you?" he asked, point blank.

  I longed to say "leaving," but Ricky stepped forward, his acting chops once again taking over.

  "Ricky Montgomery," he said, sticking a hand out toward Gavetti. "My father's an architect too."

  "Good for you. What is he, looking for a job?" His beady eyes flickered toward Dana and me.

  "No, no, nothing like that," Ricky said easily, his movie star smile in place. "We were just hoping we could ask you a couple of questions about a construction outfit that I think might be a mutual acquaintance of yours."

  "Oh yeah?" Again he eyed Dana and me. I shifted nervously from one spiky heel to the other under his gaze. "And who might that be?" he asked.

  "Ricci Brothers Construction."

  It might have been my imagination, but his eyes seemed to get that much beadier at the mention of the name.

  "What about them?" he asked, suspicion clearly having set in.

  "You worked together on a project a few years back. The Sunrise Towers hotel," Ricky said.

  Mild annoyance crossed the man's goonish features. "That was like twenty-five years ago."

  "Twenty-six," I corrected automatically. "To be precise."

  "Do you have any idea how many projects I've worked on since then?"

  "I'm guessing a lot," Ricky said smoothly. "Someone with a reputation like yours must be very busy."

  I had no idea what kind of reputation he had, but the flattery seemed to erase at least some of the annoyance. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure I could tell you anything. Sorry."

  He turned to go, but Ricky wasn't giving up that easily.

  "We were actually interested in how you got the job," he went on. "You see, my dad was the one who did the original plans for the hotel."

  Gavetti turned back toward him. "What did you say your name was again?"

  "Ricky Montgomery. My father is Robert Montgomery, of Montgomery Architectural Designs."

  "I know the name." He held up a finger in the direction of the men clustered outside the general contractor's trailer. "Be right there," he shouted. His gaze shifted back to us. "I've got to grab some papers for a meeting. Walk with me."

  His stride was so long, it was more like jog with him. Ricky kept pace, but Dana and I reached his trailer four steps after he did and we followed him inside.

  Gavetti shuffled through papers while he talked. "So what is it you want to know?"

  "Anything you can tell us about that project," Ricky said.

  "Like you already know, I took over midway," Gavetti said. "In fact, I moved to California specifically to take it on after the first guy left them in the lurch."

  "That's not quite what happened," Ricky said, his smile faltering at the dig.

  "His wife died in a fire," Dana said bluntly. I could see her watching his face for any reaction.

  "Tragic." Gavetti's expression was a stony blank.

  "He left the job soon after that," Dana added.

  "Condolences to the man." He paused to scan a paper before pushing it aside. "Anything else?"

  "You said you moved to California. From where?" Dana asked.

  "Chicago. Why?" His eyes narrowed.

  Dana shrugged nonchalantly. "Just curious. There are a lot of architects in California. Just wondering why the Riccis imported you, so to speak."

  He shrugged. "Family business."

  "Family?" I asked, getting a suddenly bad feeling.

  "I'm married to Dom's sister, Angelina. What's it to you?" Gavetti countered.

  Oh geez. He was a Ricci too.

  "Nothing," I said quickly. "She sounds lovely."

  "Look, I've got to go. People are waiting on me." Gavetti held the door open. "Thanks for stopping by," he added, heavy on the sarcasm.

  We watched him cross the lot and disappear inside the GC trailer.

  "Charming guy," Dana remarked.

  "And connected," Ricky said, his jaw tight. I could see his thoughts sprinting along the same lines mine had. With Gavetti on board with their sinking project, nepotism would have protected the Riccis' sketchy practices from becoming public knowledge while practically guaranteeing a rubber stamp for skirting safety requirements. Gavetti hadn't just been looking the other way—he'd been in on the scam as soon as the Riccis had realized Robert was too straight of an arrow to play their game.

  "Look, let's go home," Dana said, putting a hand on Ricky's arm. Now that his charming actor moment was over, I could see the hurt and anger etched in the lines of his face once again. "You haven't eaten anything all day and—"

  "I'm not hungry," Ricky ground out.

  Dana's eyebrows drew into a frown. "Well, I am," she added.

  Which was the right tactic to take, as Ricky seemed to suddenly pull himself out of his own thoughts and go into protective husband mode. "You're right," he relented. "We should probably go take a few moments to regroup."

  My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen and saw a text from my mother. Call me ASAP.

  Dana watched me. "Anything wrong?"

  I shook my head even as my pulse ticked up a few notches. ASAP in Mom-speak could mean anything along the continuum from asking me to pick up a loaf of bread to Help, I've been kidnapped and held for ransom. "It's my mom. I'll give her a call from the car."

  "Okay. We're going to head on home," she said, gently putting a hand on Ricky's back. "Call me if you need me for anything."

  I gave her a wave as we parted ways at our cars, before I swiped to call my mom back.

  She answered on the first ring. "Maddie! Thank goodness you're free. Can you meet me at the salon?"

  Visions of Jerome running amok danced in my head. "Why? What's going on?"

  "Marco has been telling us what Uncle Bart said about Beth." She lowered her voice. "You know, about the affair?"

  Why should I be surprised? It was a Beverly Hills salon. Gossip traveled faster there than a bus driven by Sandra Bullock.

  "I'm not sure Uncle Bart is the most reliable source," I said as I slipped into my driver's seat.

  But she either didn't hear me or ignored it, as she continued. "So, Dorothy and I thought maybe this other man had something to do with Beth's death, you know, the jealous lover angle. It always plays into Lieutenant Kenda's investigations."

  "Who?" I asked, racking my brain to think if this was one of Ramirez's colleagues.

  "From True Crime Network. You know Homicide Hunter?"

  Mental forehead thunk. "Mom, that's TV. It's not real life."

  "Oh no, honey. It's on True Crime TV. It's all true."

  Ish.

  "Be that as it may," I said, figuring it was useless to argue the point, "Even if Beth was seeing someone, we have no idea who this guy was."

  "Yet!" Mom said exuberantly.

  Uh-oh.

  "Mom, what are you—"

  "Dorothy and I have come up with a plan to find out who this man was. Do you want in?"

  On a half-baked scheme cooked up by the two of them? Absolutely not. I wanted nothing to do with it. I'd been there too many times before. It could only lead to trouble, and trouble was just what I didn't need.

  I was about to say as much, but I didn't get the chance.

  "Meet me at the salon ASAP! We're almost ready." And she hung up.

  I closed my eyes, almost wishing I could ignore what I'd just heard. But fear of ready for what? drove that fantasy from my head as I pointed my car toward Beverly Hills.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  By the time I made it all the way down the 405, found parking off Rodeo, and walked the two blocks back toward Fernando's Salon, I'd run all sorts of disconcerting scenarios in my head about what my mother and Mrs. Rosenblatt might be up to. I pushed through the doors of the salon, finding the reception desk unmanned. "Stayin' Alive" blared from the speakers, and the walks were covered in a rainbow of disco ball sparkles. A pedicurist on roller skates in bell bottoms and a gold lamé top skated by unsteadily with trays of nail polish, and I had the thought that maybe Ralph had taken the theme a bit far.

  I spied my stepdad giving a stylish layered cut to a brunette who bore a striking resemblance to a Real Housewife. He caught my eye and nodded his head toward the back. Then added an eye roll to indicate exactly how he felt about whatever Mom and Mrs. R were cooking up.

  I shrugged and gave him a wave, slipping into the back offices.

  Where I found Mom, Marco, and Mrs. R sitting on the floor, a phone lying on the hardwood floor between them. Mrs. Rosenblatt was sitting with both legs straight in front of her like two trunks slitting out of her tie-died muumuu. Her hands were in a meditation pose, fingertips touching, and her eyes were closed. Marco was watching her intently, as if he expected something to pop out of her any second.

  "Maddie!" Mom grabbed my arm, pulling me to the floor with her. "What took you so long?"

  "Traffic," I mumbled as a knee jerk response to anyone in LA asking about tardiness. "What is this? Another séance?"

  Mom shook her head. "No, we weren't able to get through last time with that tactic, so Dorothy came up with something else."

  "Dare I ask what?" I thought I heard Mrs. R softly chanting something.

  Mom's eyes gleamed. "A Ouija board!"

  I looked around. "I don't see a Ouija board."

  Mom pointed to the phone. "It's an app!"

  I blinked at her. "A Ouija board app?"

  Mrs. R's chanting stopped momentarily. "Everything is an app these days, Bubbe. You gotta get with the times."

  Clearly.

  "Dorothy just installed it," Mom went on. "It's supposed to be the clearest channel to the other side."

  I shot Marco a look. "Please don't tell me you encouraged this?"

  He batted his enviably long lashes at me. "Who's encouraging? It's not like I could stop them."

  Fair point.

  "Okay, what exactly are you hoping to accomplish with this app?" I asked, shifting on the ground to tuck my heels underneath me.

  "We're going to contact Beth and ask her who her secret lover was." Mom grinned. "Brilliant, yes?"

  No. But who was I to burst her bubble? And of all the trouble I'd imagined on the way over there, a Ouija board seemed harmless enough. I mean, it's not like she was confronting mobbed-up architects or anything.

  "Fabulously brilliant," Marco answered for me. "Everyone knows Ouija boards are infallible. Creepy, but infallible."

  "We're almost there," Mrs. R said, cracking an eye open to look at the phone screen.

  We crowded around her phone. Which I could now clearly see held a digital version of the famous board with letters and numbers. Only smaller. And there seemed to be some cartoon ghost grinning as he controlled the spinner.

  "This Wi-Fi is atrocious," Mrs. R mumbled.

  "I told Fernando he needs a boost," Marco said. "I swear, when everyone in this place is on the Wi-Fi at the same time, it's just impossible."

  "I meant on the other side," Mrs. Rosenblatt said.

  Marco frowned. "They have Wi-Fi on the other side? What for?"

  She stared at him. "What, you're supposed to stop shopping online just because you cross over?"

  "Heavens, I hope not," Marco said.

  "Look, the thingy stopped spinning," Mom said.

  Mrs. Rosenblatt turned back to her phone. "Oh, I'm in! Now let me just contact Beth Montgomery and ask…" She hesitated.

  "What is it?" Mom asked.

  "What if I get a wrong number?" Mrs. Rosenblatt asked. "I might reach Beth Montgomery from Santa Fe when I want Beth Montgomery from Los Angeles."

  They fell silent, thinking about it.

  "Wait!" she said. "I know! I'll just add in some details, like the Beth who was married to Robert the architect, with a son named Ricky and a babe magnet brother named Bart."

  "Better leave out the babe magnet part," Mom said. "You don't want to freak anyone out."

  Too late for that.

  "Good thinking," Mrs. Rosenblatt agreed. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she tapped on the app, putting in the details of her question. She finished with a flourish, waving her long purple nails in the air. "There. I've asked her for the name of her secret lover. I hope I don't pull her away from something important."