Serpentine

Hava-Java was shoehorned into the northwest corner of a strip mall in the heart of Brentwood shopping. The parking lot was populated by electric cars, hybrids, scooters, and a few gas-eating SUVs for the atheists. A harried attendant stood guard at the entrance, dispensing time-stamped tickets and listless warnings not to park in handicapped slots.

I said, “How many spaces are still open?”

“Not many.”

I circled twice without success, finally saw a rose-colored Tesla pulling out and zipped in. During the first circuit, I’d spotted Milo’s Impala, which was good. I had no idea what Bella Owen looked like.

I found him alone at a table, checking his watch, then his phone.

Tall cup of something iced and foamy in front of him. He said, “She called fifteen minutes ago but didn’t leave a message. Phoned her back, straight to voicemail, hope to hell she didn’t cancel.”

He pointed to his drink. “In answer to your next question, chai yogi something or other. Tastes like cloves and cotton candy — okay, this is probably her.”

I turned to see a tall woman approaching and waving. She I.D.’d us immediately; we carried the only Y-chromosomes in the place.

Bella Owen was nice-looking, on the heavy side, with porcelain skin, bright-blue eyes, and pulled-back dark hair. A couple of curled tendrils hung intentionally loose. She wore a black tunic and pants. A yellow sunrise logo on the left breast sat above orange lettering. Bodywise.

Milo introduced me by name, not title.

She said, “Nice to meet you guys,” sat and placed her hands on the table. Eight of ten fingers were banded by a ring. Reaching down, she produced her phone and placed it next to her right hand.

“Reason I called a few minutes ago is I might be getting another photo of Vicki. My aunt who lives in Downey said if she has one she’d email it. But she’s old and not always with it so who knows? I figured if you could’ve made it a bit later, I’d wait to see if the jpeg came in, you might or might not want to meet. Then a client I don’t like working with did a walk-in and I didn’t want her to see me so I left.”

Milo said, “No problem. Appreciate your getting in touch. Have you remembered anything more about your cousin?”

“No, sorry. She was quite a bit older than me, my mother was the baby of the family and Vicki’s dad was the oldest. By the time I was born, she had to be eighteen, nineteen and not around much. Also, her family lived in Delano and we lived in Davis.”

“The aunt in Downey is her mom?”

“No, Thelma’s an aunt to both of us. She lives in care, can sometimes remember stuff or claim she does. But it comes and goes. I was surprised she had a picture. Her opinion of Vicki isn’t exactly positive.”

“How so?”

“Mind you, this is her speaking not me.” She formed air-quotes with both hands. “Wild child, hung with hooligans, never learned anything at school, thought her looks could get her everything. But Thelma’s a bitter person. Her own daughter committed suicide years ago. What’d you think of the photo I showed you of Vicki and some other cousins? She was just a kid, but maybe?”

Milo said, “The coloring’s right.”

Bella Owen slumped. “But the faces are teensy, I know. I’m feeling a little foolish about all of this, Lieutenant. You must be so busy.”

“Never too busy to check out leads, ma’am. No matter how yours turns out, we appreciate your taking the initiative.”

“Well,” she said, “I figured it was the least I could do, my mom said Vicki’s vanishing basically killed Vicki’s parents. The stress of not knowing. Both of them did get cancer and what I know about holistic medicine tells me stress is a giant factor in that. What struck me was the time period in your post and the fact that we’re talking L.A. According to my mom, Vicki definitely came here. Her parents heard from her a few times, then nothing.”

I said, “Do you have any idea what led her to L.A.?”

“My guess would be excitement. Delano was pretty much grapes and screw-top wine. Vicki’s mom and dad both worked for Gallo. I suppose she didn’t want to slip into that.”

She smiled. “Or as Thelma put it, ‘The girl was old enough to vote but all she wanted to do was have fun.’ ”

“Vicki was twenty-one.”

“Just.”

“Does your mom remember anything else?”

“Wish I could ask her, she’s gone, too,” said Owen. “Those quotes are just stuff that came up. Everyone’s gone except Thelma. Sometimes I think she’s just too ornery to stop breathing.”

She shrugged. “I guess if I could clear up what happened to Vicki, I’d feel a little bit heroic.”

Milo and I nodded.

“Also,” she said, “all that’s left of the family besides Thelma — and she won’t last long — is me and my daughter. The bad part of being the only child of the youngest child.”