City of the Dead (Alex Delaware, #37)(79)

One quarter of a barbershop quartet.

Parked down below was an iridescent, lime-green Porsche 911 Targa. Behind the Porsche sat a silver Range Rover.

He said, “Toni’s in the Rover.”

I said, “Please tell her to come up.”

“I was wondering if we might chat a mite beforehand.”

“We might not.”

I looked at my watch. Lewis Evan Porer extracted an engraved gold pocket watch from a slit below his waistband. Antiquarian tendencies? Not when it came to his ride: The Porsche was the latest model, still sported paper plates.

He moved his lips, turned his mustache into a writhing snake. I stood there. He sighed. “If you insist.”

Rather than go downstairs and fetch his client, he whipped out a phone and said, “Time, Toni.”

A blond woman in all-black stepped out of the Ranger Rover’s driver’s side, hurried to the staircase, and jogged up athletically.

When she arrived, I looked past Porer and said, “Ms. McManus, please come in.”

Porer said, “So where should I wait?”

I said, “If you need to wait, your car.”

“It can get a little warm. You don’t have a waiting room?”

Toni McManus squeezed past him. “Lewis, I told you, no need to stick around.”

Porer unfurled a mustached end and recurled it. “Very well.” Shooting me a sharp look, he descended.

Toni McManus said, “Please don’t hold him against me. He wasn’t my idea.”

I smiled.

She said, “Thank you,” and followed me to my office.





CHAPTER


    35


My job has trained me to conceal surprise. This morning would be a test of that.

Nothing in Toni McManus’s demeanor said I’d blown it.

First surprise: I’ve seen her before.

The all-blond member of the duo that had buttonholed Moe Reed the morning of the Gannett/Delage murders. Her companion, platinum with black streaks. The two of them pressuring Reed to open the street so they could get their days going. Eventually, Milo had pacified them.

She didn’t recognize me. I’d been standing well away, no reason for her to notice. But just in case, I fussed with papers and gave her time to recall.

No reaction other than the typical tense face of someone facing first-appointment judgment.

She lowered herself smoothly to the battered leather couch. Yet another one with yoga-grace. Took the exact spot where her soon-to-be ex had sat yesterday, crossed jegging-sheathed legs, fluffed her hair, tugged at a hoop earring, smiled prettily.

Trying to calm her jitters. The smile went no further than her lips and then faded.

My smile lingered. “Good morning.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Delaware. Though I wish it were under more ideal circumstances.” Soft voice; soft southern accent.

I said, “Likewise,” did a bit more paper-shuffling as the second surprise hit me.

Toni McManus bore a striking physical resemblance to Cordi Gannett.

The same oval, pointy-chin face, the same luxuriant honey-colored hair. Even the styling matched what I’d seen on Cordi the day in chambers and on her videos. A carefully sculpted mass of waves that managed to look natural.

If Toni McManus told me Caspian Delage was her hair guy, maintaining my composure would be an interesting adventure.

As I readied my pen and pad, I wondered if I was making too much of it. Good-looking blondes in L.A.—on the Westside—weren’t in short supply.

Still.

I said, “Tell me about yourself.”

Toni McManus said, “Pen and paper, huh? You know, for some reason I find that reassuring. Maybe because my dad’s like that. Old school, has his ways, sticks to his guns. Not that you’re from his generation—sorry for prattling.”

Same phrase Con Deeb had used. Who’d taught who? Or was it just one of those things couples develop? Coming to share expressions, speech patterns, spontaneous utterances. During the good times.

I said, “It’s normal to be a bit anxious.”

“Well then, I’m normal.” Her fingers moved restlessly. “This is going to sound flirtatious but it’s not. You have a warm, kind smile. I can see your patients being reassured.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” she said. “Talk about myself. If you’ve already met my ex, I’m sure he had no problem with that but it’s not really my thing, Doctor. At heart, I’m a country girl. Kentucky. We don’t brag, we communicate through our behavior.”

I said, “Don’t get above your raising.”

“One of my dad’s favorite expressions.” Deep-blue eyes studied me. “Okay, here goes—I assume we’ll get to Philomena, eventually. Because she’s who’s important.”

“Of course.”

“Good,” she said. “So how far back should I go?”

“Whatever you think is relevant.”

She tapped her fingertips together. “That’s kind of open-ended. Which I guess is the point. Like one of those tests you guys use—inkblots, whatever. I didn’t take a lot of psych in college but I remember those from Intro. Bats and flowers, the deal is they’re ambiguous so you put your personality into them.”