“Right. The newswoman.”

“Yes. It’s her. I really think it’s her, Captain, but I don’t have time to look into it. The last guy was still alive for a while, so I’m guessing maybe she was keeping him alive for some reason or maybe he was in a confined space and it took him a while to suffocate. Or I don’t know. Why else would it take him so long to pass?”

“She may have hesitated,” he said. “Or she could have poisoned him and it took a while for it to kick in.”

“True. I’m going to her house.”

“Davidson, don’t do anything you’ll regret when you’re sitting in a courtroom.”

“Look, just tell my uncle, okay? Tell him to meet me at 2525 Venice Avenue, Northeast. It’s right off Wyoming.”

“You can’t go in without a warrant.”

“I know,” I said, completely offended. “I’m all about the warrants. But if this guy is alive, we need to get to him now.”

“Where is your uncle, by the way?” he asked me. “I thought he left with you?”

“No,” I said, driving slowly down Venice, looking for the house number.

“There,” Osh said, pointing ahead.

“Why would he leave with me? Isn’t he doing the news conference?”

“That’s where I am. I’m about to give a statement now.”

“Captain,” I said pulling over, “don’t say anything about Reyes.”

“I wouldn’t either way, Davidson. Especially without a formal arrest.”

“It won’t come to that. Thank you.”

“Let me know what you find. And don’t break in. I don’t need your uncle on my ass any more than he is.”

“He’s on your ass?” I asked, surprised.

“He about flipped when I told him to bring Farrow in for questioning.”

That alleviated some of the sting I’d felt earlier. “I’m glad. He knows Reyes. My affianced had nothing to do with this, Captain.”

“Prove it,” he said before hanging up.

If ever there were a challenge. “After the zombie apocalypse, I’m raiding these houses for sustenance,” I said to Osh. The homes were gorgeous – huge territorials with Spanish-tiled roofs – and the views incredible.

We pulled into the drive, and knowing Sylvia was at the station, we walked around back.

“Oh, look,” Osh said after scaling a cinder block wall and then opening the gate to let me in, “this door has a broken windowpane.”

I nodded, studying the pristine glass. “It looks broken to me.”

He hooked his elbow in his shirt and smashed in a single pane.

“You realize we’re most likely going to set off an alarm.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said with a wink. He reached in and unlocked the door. Sure enough, an alarm blared to life.

“Neighborhood like this, that’ll get them here in no time,” he said.

“Okay, when the cops get here, let me do the talking.”

“Why? I’m the one who saw a burglar in a ski mask and a semiautomatic go inside this house.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. He clearly had an Uzi. Just try to keep your sentences short and to the point.” We’d just let the cops search the place for us.

“But just in case they ask, why are we in this neighborhood in the first place?”

“I told you.” People never listened to me. “We’re scoping houses in preparation for the zombie apocalypse.”

“Right. Preppers. Okay.”

We hurried back to Misery and waited for the cops. It was amazing how quickly they got to these posh neighborhoods.

Twenty minutes later, the four patrol officers came out of Sylvia Starr’s house empty-handed. “We didn’t see anything,” Taft said to me. He was Strawberry Shortcake’s older brother, and we’d almost been friends since I told him she was still here on this plane. Our relationship was a little on the cool side, but he was okay, for the most part. He knew better than to believe I had nothing to do with that broken pane, but he didn’t let on to the other cops. Though they probably knew, too. I was rather infamous around these parts.

“Really?” I asked, disjointed. “There was nobody tied up and drugged in there?”

“No.”

“Damn it.”

“I gotta admit, Davidson, you’re f**king weird.”

“Yeah?” I said as he turned with a grin and walked away. “Well, right back atcha, buddy. Your sister said you used to paint your toenails tea rose pink.”

He laughed but kept walking.

“Damn it,” I said again, trying Ubie for the umpteenth time. He was picking up my dad’s bad habits. Just as I was about to call Cook, my phone rang. It was the captain.

“We got a hit on the phone call,” he said to me. “You were right. It was Sylvia Starr.”

Exhilaration laced up my spine. “Is that enough to let Reyes go?” Technically, they could hold him for twenty-four hours unless I got a lawyer involved, which was what I should have done immediately. I just got so excited once we’d figured out Sandra/Sylvia was involved, I kind of spaced that part.

“I’ve already released him. We had a patrolman take him out the back way.”

“Thanks, Captain.”

“Don’t thank me. It was your uncle who kept insisting we had the wrong guy.”