The white fluffy thing Nora Dowd had left on her porch was a stuffed toy.Some sort of bichon or Maltese. Flat brown eyes.
Milo picked it up, had a close look. Said,“Oh, man,” and handed it over.
Not a toy. A real dog, stuffed and preserved. The pink ribbon around itsneck supported a heart-shaped, silver pendant.
Stan
Birth and death dates. Stan had lived thirteen years.
Blank look on the white fluffy face. Maybe it was the glass eyes. Or thelimits of taxidermy.
I said, “Could be Stan as in Stanislavsky. She probably talks to it andtakes it with her on walks. Saw us and thought better of it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Eccentric rather than psychotic.”
“I’m so impressed.” He took the dog and put it back on the floor.“Stanislavsky, eh? Let’s method act the hell out of here.”
As we drove past Albert Beamish’s Tudor, the drapes across the living roomwindow fluttered.
Milo said, “Neighborhood crank, love it.Too bad he didn’t recognize Meserve. But with his vision, that means nothing.He sure hates the Dowds.”
I said, “Nora has two brothers who own a lot of property. Ertha Stadlbraunsaid Peaty’s landlords are a pair of brothers.”
“So she did.”
 
By the time we reached Sixth Street and La Cienega, he’d confirmed it. WilliamDowd III, Nora Dowd, and Bradley Dowd, doing business as BNB Properties, ownedthe apartment building on Guthrie. It took several other calls to get an ideaof their holdings. At least forty-three properties registered in L.A. County.Multiple residences and office buildings and the converted house on theWestside where Nora availed herself to would-be stars.
“The school’s probably a concession to Crazy Sister,” he said. “Keeps herout of their hair.”
“And far from their other properties,” I said. “Something else: All thosebuildings mean lots of janitorial work.”
“Reynold Peaty looking in all kinds of windows…if he’s moved from peeping toviolence, lots of potential victims. Yeah, let’s check it out.”
 
Corporate headquarters for BNB Properties was on Ocean Park Boulevard near the Santa Monica Airport. Not one of the Dowd sibs’properties, this one was owned by a national real estate syndicate that ownedhalf of downtown.
“Wonder why?” said Milo.
“Maybe some sort of tax dodge,” I said. “Or they held on to what theirfather left them, didn’t add more.”
“Lazy rich kids? Yeah, makes sense.”
It was four forty-five and the drive at this hour would be brutal. Milo called the listed number, hung up quickly.
“‘You’ve reached the office, blah blah blah. If it’s a plumbing emergency,press 1. Electrical, press 2.’ Lazy rich kids are probably drinking at thecountry club. You up for a try, anyway?”
“Sure,” I said.
 
--- oOo ---
 
Olympic Boulevard seemed the optimal route. The lights are timed and parkingrestrictions keep all six lanes open during L.A.’s ever-expanding rush hour. Theboulevard was designed back in the forties as a quick way to get from downtownto the beach. People old enough to remember when that promise was kept getteary-eyed.
This afternoon, traffic was moving at twenty miles per. When I stopped atDoheny, Milo said, “The love-triangle anglefits, given Nora’s narcissism and nuttiness. This woman thinks her dog’sprecious enough to be turned into a damned mummy.”
“Michaela insisted she and Dylan weren’t lovers.”
“She’d want to keep that from Nora. Maybe from you, too.”
“If so, the hoax was really stupid.”
“Two naked kids,” he said. “The publicity wouldn’t have thrilled Dowd.”
“Especially,” I said, “if she really doesn’t feel that blessed.”
“Never made it to the bottom of the funnel.”
“Never made it, lives alone in a big house, no stable relationships. Needsto smoke up before greeting the world. Maybe clinging to a stuffed dog is justmassive insecurity.”
“Playing a role,” he said. “Availing herself. Okay, let’s see if we cantête-à-tête with the rest of this glorious family.”
 
The site was a two-story strip mall on the northeast corner of Ocean Parkand Twenty-eighth, directly opposite the lush, industrial park that fronted Santa Monica’s privateairport. BNB Properties was a door and window on the second floor.
Cheaply built mall, lemon-yellow sprayed-stucco walls stained by rust aroundthe gutters, brown iron railings rimming an open balcony, plastic tile roofpretending to evoke colonial Spain.
The ground floor was a take-out pizza joint, a Thai café and its Mexicancounterpart, and a coin-op laundry. BNB’s upstairs neighbors were achiropractor touting treatment for “workplace injuries,” Zip TechnicalAssistance, and Sunny Sky Travel, windows festooned by posters in bright,come-on colors.
As we climbed pebble-grained steps, a sleek, white corporate jet shot intothe sky.
“Aspen or Vail or Telluride,” said Milo. “Someone’s having fun.”
“Maybe it’s a business trip and they’re going to Podunk.”
“That tax bracket, everything’s fun. Wonder if the Dowd brothers are in thatleague. If they are, they’re skimping on ambience.”
He pointed at BNB’s plain brown door. Chipped and gouged and cracking towardthe bottom. The corporate signage consisted of six U-stick, silver foilparallelograms aligned carelessly.
 
BNB inc
 
A single, aluminum-framed window was blocked by cheap, white mini-blinds.The slats tilted to the left, left a triangle of peep-space. Milotook advantage, shading his eyes with his hands and peering in.
“Looks like one room…and a bathroom with the light on.” He straightened.“Some guy’s in there peeing, let’s give him time to zip up.”
Another plane took off.
“That one’s Aspenfor sure,” he said.
“How can you tell?”
“Happy sound from the engines.” He knocked and opened the door.
A man stood by a cheap, wooden desk staring at us. He’d forgotten to zip thefly of his khaki Dockers and a corner of blue shirt peeked out. The shirt wassilk, oversized and baggy, a stone-washed texture that had been fashionable adecade ago. The khakis sagged on his skinny frame. No belt. Scuffed brown pennyloafers, white socks.
He was short—five five or six—looked to be around fifty, with down-slantedmedium brown eyes and curly gray hair cut in a tight Caesar cap. White fuzz onthe back of his neck said it was time for a trim. Same for a two-day growth ofsalt-and-pepper beard. Hollow cheeks, angular features, except for his nose.
Shiny little button that gave his face an elfin cast. Either he’d used thesame surgeon as his sister or stingy nasal endowment was a dominant Dowd trait.
Milo said, “Mr. Dowd?”
Shy smile. “I’m Billy.” The badge made him blink. His hand brushed thecorner of shirttail and he stiffened. Zipped his fly. “Oops.”
Billy Dowd breathed into his hand. “Need my Altoids…where did I put them?”
Turning four pockets inside out, he produced nothing but lint that landed onthin, gray carpet. A check of his shirt pocket finally located the mints.Popping one in his mouth and chewing, he held out the tin. “Want some?”
“No, thanks, sir.”
Billy Dowd perched on the edge of his desk. Across the room was a larger,more substantial work station: carved oak replica of a rolltop, flat-screencomputer monitor, the rest of the components tucked out of view.
Brown walls. The only thing hanging a Humane Society calendar. Trio of tabbykittens staking a claim on ultimate cute.
Billy Dowd chewed another mint. “So…what’s happening?”
“You don’t seem surprised we’re here, Mr. Dowd.”
Billy blinked some more. “It’s not the only time.”
“That you’ve spoken to police?”
“Yup.”
“When were the others?”
Billy’s brow creased. “The second I’d have to say was last year? One of thetenants—we’ve got a lot of tenants, my brother and sister and me, and last yearone of them was stealing computer stuff. A policeman from Pasadena came over and talked to us. We saidokay, arrest him, he pays late anyway.”
“Did they?”
“Uh-uh. He ran away and escaped. Took the lightbulbs, messed the............