Milo said, “It could help us find out what happened to her?”
“I don’t see—okay, nothing drama but she got more into…being an actress than being a friend. She did it in high school and thought she could do it for a job.”
“Ah,” said Milo. “And that made her…”
“Not here. For all of us.”
“Busy.”
“Yes,” said Beth Halperin. “But more than that. Busyhere.” She tapped her head.
I said, “Distracted.”
She was digesting that when the door opened and a beautiful olive-skinned, red-haired woman in a black cowl-necked sweater, black tights, and black flats stepped in and froze.
“Beth? What’s going on?”
“Marissa is dead!”
“What!”
“Dead! They are police!”
Yolanda Echeverria’s black eyes rounded. She dropped her purse to the floor and teetered.
We got up ready to catch her but she remained on her feet. I retrieved the purse and set it down on an iffy table.
“I…don’t understand.”
Milo said, “Why don’t you get off your feet.”
He guided her to the sectional, waited until she’d settled next to Beth Halperin. Then he explained.
She said, “O.D.? She never took anything.”
Beth said, “That’s what I tell him.”
Milo opened his case and produced Joe Beef’s photo. “This is the last person she was photographed with. Do you know him?”
The women looked at each other.
Beth Halperin said, “Maybe the producer?”
Yoli Echeverria said, “That’s what I was thinking.”
Milo said, “Marissa told you she’d met a producer.”
Twin nods.
Yoli Echeverria said, “We told her be careful.”
Beth Halperin said, “I think to myself it is stupid.”
I said, “Stupid how?”
“What?” she said. “All the time she gets nothing except a few extras—”
“Non-union stuff,” said Yoli. “Like no real money.”
