And that pretty much clinched it. Sam would’ve bet big money that at no time, ever, in the existence of Milt/Mick’s ownership of this little house, had Emily been an overnight guest or maybe even just a visitor here.
Honey, what’s this weird hair-like-thing in your closet?
That’s part of the disguise I wear when I go to visit my dead father’s asshole lawyer.
No, it was likely Milt/Mick would’ve hidden that thing a little better rather than havethatconversation. But he didn’t need to hide his wig—or put Emily’s photos on the walls, or lower his toilet bowl seat, or provision the house with condoms—if he never let his girlfriend hang out here.
Which felt kind of suspicious.
Kind of predatory.
He tried calling Wig-Milt’s phone again, but again he went straight to voicemail. “This is Starrett, calling again,” he said, letting a little of his annoyance creep into his tone. “Call me back ASAP, Milt, because, yeah, turns out we have quite a few more questions for you.”
He was intentionally not calling the number that the TS report had turned up for Mick O’Rourke, which was different from this number the client had given them. So. Which was the burner phone? Probably the number he’d given them as Milt.
And wasn’t the very fact that the man so much ashada burner suspicious, too?
But Jules wasn’t ready to try to contact the man through his Mick O’Rourke number, or even to drop a loadedHey, Milt or should I say Mickinto the messages they were leaving on their client’s voicemail.
Seeing the damage done from the break-in at Mick/Milt’s house had served to convince Jules even more so that the man wasn’t part of the whole bodies-in-the-garden plot. But Sam was still far from sure.Break into my house, too, while you’re at it, guys in the black SUV, so the PIs that I hired don’t find out I’m working with you...
That was whathewould’ve done if he were a convicted felon asshole looking to scam a young woman out of her twenty million dollar inheritance.
Sam went back into the living room, where Jules had just finished his friendly discussion with the detectives.
His phone swooshed as a text from Robin came in, on a thread with both Sam and Jules asking....
What...?
“Still nothing from Wig-Milt,” Sam reported to Julesbefore adding, “And Robin wants to know if I have... a pair of tweezers...?”
He followed Jules, who was now making the same walk-through of the little house that Sam had just done, seeing all of the things that Sam had seen and probably even more. Yup, he checked inside the dishwasher—empty—Sam hadn’t done that.
After this morning’s gunfire-filled incident at Emily Johnson’s house in Van Nuys, Jules had made the command decision to immediately move out of their rental house and into the far more secure and easily-guarded home that Robin’s producer sister Jane shared with her husband, former SEAL chief Cosmo Richter. Their house, similar to Devonshire Place in its 1930s architecture, large but much less sprawling, was set up with high-tech security equipment and could withstand a full-on siege including—especially—a clown-car attack like this morning’s hail of bullets. If only because it was set back quite a bit from the street.
The fact that Cos was aformerSEAL chief was a new and exciting development. Richter had been on Sam’s personal must-recruit-for-TS list for years. But Sam kept his celebratory hoo-yahing to himself—with the exception of an emoji-filled text to Alyssa—because he was well aware that Jules was worried about Emily and the now absolutely-definitely-ghosting-them Wig-Milt/Mick.
And then there was Robin. He was safely with Cosmo—who’d taken him from the studio straight to their new home base without stopping. He was secure, but not happy about all those bullets that had recently been fired in Jules and Sam’s direction.
“He was worried we were hurt,” Jules told Sam now. “I told him the worst of it was a few nasty splinters. He’s a little hyper-focused on that.”
Sam looked at Robin’s text again.Do you have a pair of tweezers?
Best thing to do in a situation like this was to behave normally. Yeah, they got shot at, but everything was okay. Best way to sendthatmessage was to get in Robin’s face about the ridiculousness of his tweezers question and to text back,In my back pocketwith a shit-ton of question and exclamation marks, a questioning face emoji and a laughing face emoji.
“It’s not as weird a question as you might think,”Robin texted back and Sam read his reply aloud for Jules. “Your brows are always on fleek.I... don’t know what that means.”
Jules laughed as he, too, found the wig in the closet. “Just saythank you.” He took his phone out and quickly texted Robin back—still on that thread with Sam, which was a little weird because they were standing in the same room.I’m sure Jane has tweezers. We’ll be back there soon.
I don’t get why the men in the black SUV would shoot at you if they were waiting there, hoping to find Emily,Robin texted now, as if Jules’s reply had unleashed him.Why wouldn’t they just stay hidden and then follow you to see if you could lead them to her?
That’s a good question BW,Sam texted back as he followed Jules into Mick’s home studio.I can’t figure it out either.
What I *really* can’t figure out—damn, Robin could type fast—is what is up with Milt Junior? Wig-Milt. Mick. What are we calling him now?
A text from Jules swooshed into Sam’s phone—Let’s go with Mick—as he took a quick break from sifting through Wig-Milt’s desk drawers.
Yeah,Robin texted his agreement.Milt feels a little dead-name-y. So WTF is up with Mick?!
