Racing the Light (Elvis Cole #19; Joe Pike #8)(11)

Ryan scooped up his phone and sent her contact card. The card showed a San Fernando Valley area code and an address in Studio City.

I put away my phone and circled their studio. Folders, articles, printouts, and bent soda cans spotted the table and floor. Post-it Notes sprouted from the monitors and lamps like pink and blue leaves. A white marker board bearing names and more Post-its was propped against the wall, and wadded papers spilled from a basket beneath the table.

I said, “Don’t you guys ever clean?”

Ryan didn’t answer. He was staring at the poster of Skylar Lawless.

I said, “Ryan.”

He didn’t look at me. He stared at the poster.

Ryan said, “I had a bad feeling when he told me he wanted to go mainstream. It was like everything we’ve been doing didn’t matter. Then she called, and I got really scared.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I thought maybe he wanted to stop doing the show.”

Ryan finally looked at me. His eyes glimmered.

“I love our show. It matters.”

Ryan was frightened. Maybe of losing Josh. Maybe of losing himself.

I said, “We don’t know if Josh is with her. He could be anywhere doing anything.”

Ryan chewed his lip. He didn’t believe me.

I said, “Either way, we need to look through the things in here.”

I picked up a stack of articles about homeless encampments.

“We might find a note he left, or a name. A clue.”

I began stacking the articles and folders together.

Ryan pushed to his feet as if he’d been tasered and clutched at the pages.

“Dude! This is our research. If you mix it up, I’ll have to sort it out again. Please. I’ll go through it.”

“It’s a lot to look through, Ryan.”

“Please.”

His eyes seemed desperate.

“This is my work.”

I let go of the papers and watched Ryan put them in their proper places. When everything was as he wanted it, we left their studio and walked down the hall through the living room. A large flat-screen TV filled the wall opposite the couch. A reproduction of the In Your Face logo was pinned above the TV. Past the TV at the end of the wall where it opened to the dining room was a smaller sign. It looked homemade, like Josh or Ryan had printed it. The sign read: matter. I wanted to ask which of them had made it, but I didn’t.

Ryan followed me to the door. Outside, the concrete steps were blindingly bright. Across the courtyard, the curtains hung still on the mauve bungalow.

I dug out a card and gave it to Ryan.

“If you find anything, let me know. If you hear from Josh or Skylar, call.”

Ryan studied the card.

“He should have told me he was leaving.”

I nodded.

Ryan flexed the card back and forth.

“Even if he wants to stop doing the show, it would’ve been okay. He’s my best friend.”

I nodded again.

“You’re a good friend, Ryan. You and Josh should talk about this when he gets back.”

Ryan glanced up.

“He didn’t go to Nevada.”

I didn’t say anything.

Ryan turned and walked down the hall to their studio.

I put on my sunglasses, stepped out into the searing light, and called Wendy Vann.

Standards mattered.

Everything mattered.

Always.





6





A calico cat had appeared at the top of the steps. Two emerald hummingbirds circled a bright red feeder like angry fairies and window-mounted air conditioners thrummed against the heat. The cat noticed the hummingbirds, yawned, then fell onto his side. Otherwise, the courtyard slept.

Wendy Vann answered on the second ring.

“Wendy Vann.”

“Elvis Cole. Can you talk?”

“Man, you’re fast. Find him already?”

Humor.

“Adele gives Josh a biweekly cash allowance, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Does he pay monthly expenses like his phone and utilities with the allowance, or are they billed to Adele?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“I searched his bungalow, but I didn’t find any billing or account records. It’s possible he pays through an online service, but if the statements go to Adele, I’d like to see his call log.”

“I’ll get back to you.”

“Same for credit and debit cards.”

“Adele doesn’t trust credit cards. If Josh has plastic, I doubt she’d pay for it.”

“Can you find out?”

“Will do. Anything else?”

“Couple of things.”

I snuck a glance at the mauve bungalow. The curtains rippled, but the ripple might mean nothing. Maybe the air conditioner disturbed the air. Maybe a cat slipped behind the curtains, chasing a bug. I turned away, and continued with Wendy.

“The day Josh missed lunch with Adele, did you or Kurt enter his home?”

“The bungalow? Sure. That afternoon. Adele was concerned.”

“Did you check the windows and door locks?”

Wendy hesitated.

“What are you saying, Cole? We had no reason to expect foul play.”