The woman said, “I still can’t believe you tracked me down that way.”
Her name was Elise Van Syoc and she was a Realtor working out of theColdwell Banker Encino office. It had taken a long time but I’d found her usingher maiden name, Ryan, and a decades-old nickname.
Ginger.
Groovy bass player for the Kolor Krew!
Her identity and a print of the photo I’d seen at the PlayHouse finallysurfaced courtesy , a cruelly mocking compendium of failedpop bands flung by the gargantuan slingshot that was the Internet.
When I called her, she said, “I’m not getting involved in any court stuff.”
“It’s not about court stuff.”
“What, then?”
“Curiosity,” I said. “Professional and personal. At this point, I’m not sureI can separate the two.”
“That sounds complicated.”
“It’s a complicated situation.”
“You’re not writing a book or doing a movie?”
“Absolutely not.”
“A psychologist…whose therapist are you, exactly?”
I tried to explain my role.
She cut me off. “Where do you live?”
“Beverly Glen.”
“Own or rent?”
“Own.”
“Did you buy in a long time ago?”
“Years ago.”
“Have any equity?”
“Total equity.”
“Good for you, Dr. Delaware.A person in your situation might find it a good time to trade up. Ever thinkabout the Valley? You could get a much bigger place with more land and somecash back. If you’re open-minded about the other side of the hill.”
“I pride myself on being open-minded,” I said. “I’m also big on rememberingpeople who’ve extended themselves for me.”
“Some negotiator—you absolutely promise I won’t end up in court?”
“Swear on my trust deed.”
She laughed.
I said, “Do you still play bass?”
“Oh, please.” More laughter. “I got asked to join because I had red hair.She thought it was some kind of omen—the Kolor Krew, get it?”
“Amelia Dowd.”
“Crazy Mrs. D…this is sure taking me back. I don’t know what you think I cantell you.”
“Anything you remember about the family would help.”
“For your psychological insights?”
“For my peace of mind.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a horrendous case. I’m pretty close to haunted.”
“Hmm,” she said. “I guess I can sum it up in one sentence: They were nuts.”
“Could we discuss it, anyway?” I said. “Time and place of your choosing.”
“Would you seriously consider a trade-up?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but—”
“Good time to start thinking. Okay, I need lunch anyway, what the heck. Meetme at Lucretia on Venturanear Balboa, hour and a half, I need you to be prompt. Maybe I can show youlife on the other side of the hill can be tasty.”
 
The restaurant was big, pale, airy, nearly empty.
I arrived on time. Elise Van Syoc was already there, bantering with a youngmale waiter as she nursed a cosmopolitan and chewed on a single Brazil nut.“Ginger” was no longer a redhead. Her coif was puffy, collar-length, ash-blond.Tailored black pantsuit, tailored face, wide amber eyes. A deal-closing smile accompanieda firm, dry handshake.
“You’re younger than you sound, Dr. Delaware.”
“You, too.”
“How sweet.”
I sat down and thanked her for her time. She glanced at a diamond Movado.“Did Brad and Nora really do what everyone’s saying?”
I nodded.
“How about some juicy tidbits?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“But I do.”
“You really don’t,” I said.
“What, it’s disgusting?”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Yuck.” She sipped her cosmopolitan. “Tell me anyway.”
I parceled out a few details.
Elise Van Syoc said, “How’d you get all that equity working with the police?It can’t pay very well.”
“I’ve done other things.”
“Such as?”
“Investments, private practice, consults.”
“Very interesting…you don’t write?”
“Just reports, why?”
“It sounds like a good book…I’m afraid this isn’t going to be lunch, just adrink. I’ve got an escrow to close, huge place south of the boulevard. and there’s really nothing I can tell you about the Dowds other than they were allweirdos.”
“That’s a good place to start.”
The waiter came over, lean, dark, hungry-eyed. I asked for a Grolsch and hesaid, “For sure.”
When he brought the beer, Elise Van Syoc clinked her glass against mine.“Are you in a relationship? I’m asking in terms of your space needs.”
“I am.”
She grinned. “Do you cheat?”
I laughed.
She said, “Nothing ventured,” and finished the last bit of Brazil nut.
I said, “The Kolor Krew—”
“The Kolor Krew was a joke.”
“How’d you get involved?” I said. “The other three members were sibs.”
“Like I told you over the phone, I was recruited by Crazy Mrs. D.”
“Because of your hair color.”
“That and she thought I had talent. I was in the same class as Nora at Essex Academy.My dad was a surgeon and we lived on June Street. Back then I thought I likedmusic. Took violin lessons, switched to the cello, then I conned my dad intogetting me an electric guitar. I sang like a goose on downers, wrote ridiculoussongs. But try telling me, I thought I was Grace Slick. Brad and Nora reallykilled all those people?”
“Every one of them.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“It’s so bizarre,” she said. “Knowing someone who did that. Maybe I shouldwrite a book.”
Something new in her eyes. Now I understood why she’d agreed to meet withme.
“I’ve heard it’s tough,” I said.
“Writing?” She laughed. “I wouldn’t do it myself, I’d hire someone, put myname on it. There are some big best sellers who do that.”
“Guess so.”
“You don’t approve.”
I said, “So Amelia Dowd thought you had talent—”
“Maybe I shouldn’t give you my story.”
“I have no interest in writing it up. In fact, if you do write a book, youcan quote me.”
“Promise?”
“Swear.”
She laughed.
I said, “Amelia Dowd—”
“She heard me play cello in the Essex Academy orchestra andthought I was some kind of Casals, which tells you about her ear. Immediately,she calls my mother, they knew each other from school affairs, teas at theWilshire Country Club, acquaintances more than friends. Amelia tells Mothershe’s putting together a band—a wholesome family thing, like the Partridge Family,the Cowsills, the Carpenters. My hair makes me perfect, I obviously have agift, and bass is just another form of cello, right?”
“Your mother bought that?”
“My mother’s a conservative DAR lady but she’s always loved anything to dowith showbiz. The ‘secret’ she tells everyone once she knows them long enoughis that she dreamed of becoming an actress, looked exactly like Grace Kelly,but nice girls from San Marino didn’t do that even if nice girls from thePhiladelphia Main Line did. She was always on me to join drama club but Irefused. Ripe for Mrs. D’s picking. Plus, Mrs. D made it sound like a donedeal—big record contract pending, interviews, TV appearances.”
“Did you believe it?”
“I thought it sounded idiotic. And lame. The Cowsills ? My taste was BigBrother and the Holding Company. I went along with it on the off chancesomething would happen and I’d be able to miss school.”
“Did the Dowd kids have any musical experience?”
“Brad played a little guitar. Nothing fancy, a few chords. Billy held a guitarlike a spaz, Amelia was always adjusting it. If he could carry a tune, I neverheard it. Nora could but she couldn’t harmonize and she was always bored andspaced out. She’d never shown interest in anything other than drama club andclothes.”
“Fashion plate,” I said.
“Not really, she always dressed wrong. Way too fancy. Even at Essex things had gotten casual.”
“Was joining drama club her idea or her mother’s?”
“Hers, I always thought. She always pushed for the big parts, never got thembecause she couldn’t memorize lines very well. A lot of people thought she wassemi-retarded. Everyone knew Billy was, I guess the assumption was it washereditary.”
“What about Brad?”
“Smarter than those two. Anyone would be.”
“How’d he adjust socially?”
“Girls liked him,” she said. “He was cute. But he wasn’t what I’d callpopular. Maybe because he wasn’t around much.”
“Why not?”
“One year he’d be there, the next year he’d be gone—at some out-of-stateschool—because of trouble he’d gotten into. But Mrs. D sure wanted him aroundthe year she tried to start the band.”
“How far did you guys get?” I said.
“Halfway to nowhere. When I showed up at their house for the first rehearsaland saw what utter bullshit it was going to be, I went home and told Mother,‘Forget it.’ She said, ‘We Ryans don’t have quitting in our blood,’ andnotified me that if I wanted my own car I’d better buckle down.”
She slapped one palm against the table, then the other, sounded a slow,ponderous four-four beat. “That was Nora’s idea of playing drums. Billy wassupposed to play rhythm guitar and he’d managed to learn two screechy chords—Cand G, I think. But it sounded like a pig being strangled.” She screwed up herlips. “As if that wasn’t bad enough, we tried to sing. Pathetic. That didn’tstop Crazy Amelia.”
“From what?”
“Dragging us to have promo pictures taken. She found a discount photographeron Highlandnear Sunset, some old fart who slurred his words and had forty-year-oldblack-and-whites of people you’ve never heard of taped to the walls of hisstudio.” She wrinkled her nose. “The place smelled like cat pee. The costumessmelled like an old-age home. I’m talking boxes of stuff, all jumbled together.We had to pose as Indians, pilgrims, hippies, you name it. Everyone in adifferent color. ‘Varied garb and hue,’ as Mrs. D phrased it, was going to beo............