Chapter Forty-Four
Forty-four
By the time I was able to get into my car and start it up, the Porsche was long gone. Fortunately, I’d managed to get a good look at the license plate. I remembered the number long enough to text it to myself. Then I found Klamm’s card and called him.
“Hey, Sunny.” He said it as though we were old pals. I liked this kid.
“Still at the crime scene?”
“Yep.”
“Any news?”
“None. We had three more sobbing ladies drop by to pay their respects. But they left when we asked them to.”
“How’s Hanson? Throwing any more hissy fits?”
He chuckled. “He’s out back, taking a whiz,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Remember that Porsche 911 Carrera I told you about?”
“The one that disappeared?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I got the plate number.”
“Wow. Really? How?”
“I’ve got my ways.”
“Do you want me to tell Detective Gleason?”
“No, I’m not telling him about it,” I said. “Not now, at least. At the moment, I only trust you.”
“Hey…um. Thanks.”
“I’m just wondering if you could do me a huge favor and run it for me?”
“Sure.”
I heard the squad car door opening, the scuff of Klamm’s shoes as he got inside. “What’s the plate?” he asked.
I opened the text to myself and read it to him over speakerphone.
“Got it. One sec…”
“Take your time,” I said.
As I waited, the violet sky deepened. An elderly woman passed my car on a motorized scooter with an American flag affixed to the back.
A man trailed behind her, walking a small, sprightly beagle.
The lights went on in the house next door.
Then in another, farther down. In a strange way, it all felt magical—one of those rare moments I wanted to re-create on a canvas, just so I could keep it.
That’s what painting was to me, really. A way of trapping time and making it stand still.
Klamm returned to the phone. “The car is registered to somebody named Edward Piro,” he said. He gave me an address in New York City, an apartment on Park Avenue.
“Park Avenue. Nice,” I said.
“Goes with the car,” Klamm said.
“Yep.”
“No outstanding warrants,” he said.
“A respectable citizen,” I said.
“According to his license plate.”
“And I’m assuming the car wasn’t reported stolen.”
“You assume correctly.”
“Thank you, Officer Klamm,” I said.
“Good luck,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
I thanked Klamm again and ended the call.
“Mr. Edward Piro of Park Avenue,” I whispered.
I pulled out my phone and googled the name. I found several Edward Piros, but most were obituaries. I tried Edward Piro and Park Avenue and found the same Edward Piros, with “Park Avenue” crossed out. For a guy with such a flashy car, Edward Piro kept a very low profile.
I thought about going back into Mrs. Dorsey’s house, but decided against it.
It was pretty clear that Tommy wasn’t a fan of mine, and I didn’t want to traumatize him any more than he already was.
I found Mimi’s text on my phone and called the number.
She picked up. I could hear the cartoon pig in the background.
“Tommy okay?” I said.
“Yeah, he feels better now. Don’t you, baby?”
I heard a tiny “Yeah.”
“I think I’d better head out,” I said. “Tommy deserves a break.”
“Thanks, Sunny,” Mimi said. “We’re going to have ice cream and then bedtime. It’s been a long, difficult day.”
“It has.”
She lowered her voice. “You asked me about a Porsche, when you first came by.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I decided to be honest. I knew her now. “When Melanie Joan and I went by your daughter’s house, I saw it parked outside.”
“That same car.”
“Yes.”
“My God…”
“Did Tommy…Has he said anything about the car? Did he tell you why he was crying?”
“Just ‘bad,’ ” she said. “He kept repeating it. ‘Bad, bad, bad.’ ” Her voice cracked. I could tell she was trying to tamp down more tears. “Poor little boy.”
“He loves you very much,” I said. “Take good care of him, Mimi.”
“I will,” she said. “And if I see that car again, I’ll call you and nine-one-one. In that order.”
“Call nine-one-one first,” I said.
“All right.”
“Can I just ask one more question?” I said. “Did Leila ever mention somebody named Edward Piro?”
“No,” she said. “Never.”
“Do me a favor. If you happen to be going through your daughter’s things, let me know if that name turns up?”
“Edward Piro.”
“Yes.”
Mimi told me she would. “I should have gotten more involved in Leila’s life than I did,” she said. “Maybe if I had, she wouldn’t have—”
“Stop,” I said. “You’ve done great. You’ve done the best you can. We only have so much control over the people we love. And unfortunately, that’s not a lot.”
Mimi drew a long, shaky breath. In the background I could hear Tommy’s small voice, asking for ice cream. “Stay safe, Sunny,” she said quietly.
“You, too,” I said.
—
After I was driving for a little while, I called Blake’s cell phone. Not surprisingly, he was still at my loft, playing with Rosie. He’d always found it difficult to say goodbye to her, and who could blame him? I missed her already.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I made myself dinner here,” he said.
“I bought my own keto-friendly food. I’m eating dinner super-early these days because I’m doing intermittent fasting and I like to eat after my morning gym run.
Tomorrow morning is leg day, and I’m extra-starving after leg day, so I knew I couldn’t eat a late dinner, because that would mean skipping breakfast, am I right? ”
I exhaled. It was exhausting, sometimes, the amount of information Blake divulged on a regular basis. “That’s fine,” I said.
Blake told me that he’d cleaned up afterward and that he was leaving “some awesome food” in my fridge—homemade green juice, half a dozen eggs, frozen bison patties. “You can have as much as you want,” he said. “The eggs are cage-free and organic. The bison is an excellent source of protein.”
“I’m getting hungry just thinking about it,” I said. “Listen, though, can you do me a favor and research somebody for me? I googled him, but I got nothing.”
“Sure.”
“His name is Edward Piro and he lives in New York, on Park Avenue.” I glanced down at my phone and read him Piro’s address.
“What kind of info do you need?” Blake said.
“Anything. Everything. What he does for a living, who his friends and family are, where he went to school. If he’s been married, divorced.
Pet peeves, favorite breakfast cereal and prestige TV series, whether he’d choose Kylie, Kim, or Kendall…
Everything. His rap sheet, too. I’m serious about that one.
I want to hear about every parking ticket. ”
“Dude. I’m on it.”
“Most important,” I said, “find out what his connection is to Leila Donnelly.”
“Oh, ho,” he said. “This should be interesting.”
I smiled. Working for me had taken its toll on Blake James’s speech patterns. “It had better be interesting, am I right, dude?”
“Spot on,” he said.
Blake asked me if I wanted him to hang out at my place till I got home. “Rosie might need another walk,” he said, and I realized he was right.
I thanked him. We said goodbye and ended the call.
My stomach growled. I realized I’d been running on caffeine all day, with no actual food since the egg-and-cheese sandwich I’d scarfed down during the morning drive to Connecticut.
I wasn’t sure I could make it back to Boston without grabbing a bite first. Since Union was on the way home, I opted to drive back to the convenience store.
The sandwiches had looked pretty good, and I knew how to get there.
That was enough to sell me on the place.
It took just about ten minutes from where I was at this point. On my way, I called Tony and let him know what I’d learned so far. He told me he thought I should call Gleason and share my info about Edward Piro.
“But Gleason wasn’t interested when I told him about the car in the first place. I don’t think he believes I’m telling him the truth about this stuff.”
“Because he’s got such a hard-on for Melanie Joan.”
“Yeah, there’s that,” I said. “I also don’t think he likes me very much.”
“How could anybody not like you?” Tony said.
“It could be because I’m a PI, or because I’m a woman,” I said. “Or because I’m a woman PI.”
“Or because you’re a wiseass,” Tony said.
“That, too,” I said. “The man has literally zero sense of humor.”
“How about if I tell him? I got along with him okay.”
“You did?”
Tony sighed. “He’s been working on a screenplay. It’s about—get this—a State Police detective.” I could practically see the eye roll.
“Ah.”
“Anyway, I can tell him that I heard something about this Edward Piro guy hanging around with Leila around the time she was killed.”
“But you can’t mention me.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he said. “I’ll play the dumb Hollywood guy and tell him that some Park Avenue friend of mine told me. Somebody who knows somebody who knows Ed. I’ll get him to buy it.”
“You’re good at that,” I said.
“Getting people to buy things?”
“Playing the dumb Hollywood guy.”
“Wiseass.”
I smiled. “I try.”
“Can I tell you something?” he said. “Just as an aside?”
“Yeah?”
“These past few days are the most time I’ve ever spent with you, clothes on. Just talking.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“But you know what?”
“What?”
“You’re actually, like…really fun to talk to.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I feel the same.”
“I mean, not that it wouldn’t be more fun naked.”
“Understood.”
“But since that isn’t a possibility. Unless, I don’t know. Is it?”
“You’re good, Tony. Quit while you’re ahead.”
He laughed. I laughed, too.
“You know I’m just kidding,” he said. “Unless—”
“Bye, Tony.”
I ended the call smiling. Tony Gault wasn’t that bad to work with.