Well, not quite nothing, but nothing they were looking for. The top, nearly flat center drawer held only a yellow post-it note with what appeared to be the wifi password, but the drawer on the top left held personal care items—a hairbrush and comb, an electric razor, an electric toothbrush, a tube of lip balm, nose-hair scissors, toenail clippers, and emery boards.
“Shit,” Sam breathed.
“Yeah,” Jules agreed.
“All hiring decisions had to cross his desk,” Rene ranted on as Jules was carefully thorough, pulling the drawers all the way out in case something slender—like an address book—had slipped down behind them, “so it really was his own blasted fault that I was there instead of the nurse on the night Mr. Devonshire passed. Frankly, I was exhausted, so yes, I broke one of Mr. Harper’s precious rules and called for an ambulance instead of following his ridiculous protocol of notifying Mr. Spencer, which didn’t make sense even when I wasn’t bone-tired. Mr. D was gone—it was not a matter of getting in a team of paramedics as quickly as possible to revive him. The man had breathed his last. And since Mr. Spencer wasn’t in his apartment... I made the call. I thought it was disrespectful for Mr. D’s body to just... lie there unattended until God knows when Mr. Spencer returned.”
There was definitely something Sam had missed—like what rule of Harper’s said what about the security head—Spencer—and calling an ambulance...?
But now Rene was tsking again as she took in the bed and the medical equipment. “I was hoping this would be gone by now. Emily Johnson, bless her heart, doesn’t need to be reminded that a man died in this room. Peacefully, for sure—I can vouch for that. I’ve suggested—a number of times—that it all be donated. There’s a world of people out there whocould use it, but for some reason, Mr. Harper doesn’t want to let it go. To be fair, I guess he’s got... other things to deal with.”
She really was a master at passive aggression.
Sam did a slow 360, looking around the large room.
Other than the books, the room held no paper. No filing cabinets, no stack of boxes marked “personal,” no scripts or notes from long-ago projects, absolutely nothing of that kind.
That was still weird, as Jules had called it last night—and was maybe even weirder in here. But sure, okay. The wildfires that now regularly plagued SoCal could be intense—although the books on the shelves hadn’t been removed.
So... massive stroke three years ago, at which point the on-site housekeeper had either quit—the story that Rene still seemed to believe—or been fired—the story Helen had told them last night.
And after that, nurses and housekeepers had been coming and going through a very active revolving door, albeit tightly gate-kept by Harper.
“Didanyof the staff stay on,” Jules asked Rene, clearly onboard Sam’s very train of thought, “after the stroke three years ago?”
“That’s a question for Paula or Cathy,” Rene said, “I forget which one was first, but I seriously doubt it because, what staff? I think Mr. D might’ve had a driver before the stroke, but aside from the housekeeper, I think that was it. As long as I’ve been here landscaping’s been contracted out, but even that’s been minimal, which is a shame. There was a new garden bed with flowers put in right about the time I started, which seemed odd because mulching’s more of a spring thing.” She shrugged. “I mean, it was August, did they really think petunias would survive the heat? I thought either copious amounts of water or a complete conversion toxeriscaping would make the garden more pleasant for Mr. D to sit out there, but Mr. Harper informed me thatthatwas not my purview. I was in charge of food, cleaning, and scheduling the nurses and caregivers thathehired. In other words, stay in my lane. Still, I brought it up repeatedly—it just became another thing that he and I argued about endlessly. That, and the need for hazard pay. I mean, if the estranged son was such a dire threat to require a team of around-the-clock armed guards...”
“His son was a threat?” Jules pushed, looking over at Sam as if making sure he was awake for this.
He absolutely was, but after a day spent knocking on random Emilys doors, with the additional pain of Dead Milt’s sole friend going toes up mere moments before they’d had a chance to talk to the man, there wasn’t much that would surprise him.
“Apparently his son threatened to kill him,” Rene said.
And before Sam could laugh and sayHave youmetMilt the Junior,andDid he also stamp his foot when he said it, addingI hate you, Daddy!?she continued.
“It apparently happened not too long after he got out of prison—the son, that is. For the vehicular manslaughter.” She smiled at their obvious confusion, but the tone in her voice was heavilyAre you idiots?“The DUI hit-and-run...?”
DUI hit-and-what?
Rene expounded. “When the son was seventeen, he stole his father’s car, killed a woman, and drove away.”
Sam looked at Jules and Jules looked at Sam.
I’ll take Things We Don’t Know Because We Still Haven’t Received the Background File on the Client for $500, Alex.
“Excuse me,” Jules said pleasantly to Rene. “My associate and I need a moment. We’ll be right back.”
“Vehicular manslaughter,” Jules said as they walked through Devonshire Place’s tired back garden. Or rather he stomped and Sam walked. “Hit. And run.”
“DUI makes sense,” Sam said. “Clearly Wig-Milt didn’t get sober in prison. That’s too bad.”
“How do we not know this?” Jules asked, but then answered his own question, “Because we haven’t yet seenanybackground info on any of the major players in this goddamn fuckery!”
“I’m writing a note to myself right this minute,” Sam said, as he typed a memo into his phone, “to up our client vetting procedure at our LA office.”
“Up it?” Jules said. “Fucking hell, Starrett, we need tohaveone before we canupit!”
“It would be good if we had an office, too,” Sam said mildly. “Look, we knew there’d be kinks when we took this case before we were ready.”
