Page 94 of Killer Body

He shakes his head. “Modeling, I think. Minor stuff. Rochelle McArthur might know. She’s the one who introduced her to Bobby W, which I’m sure she regrets.”

“Why? She didn’t want to be the original Killer Body, did she?”

“No, but Rochelle and Bobby W had been close even before Dolores, his wife, died. She was always Bobby W’s confidante—until he met Julie.”

“Were he and Julie romantically involved?”

He starts to answer, then stops. “Never,” he says finally. “He was her mentor. Look, I want Julie to be found, but I don’t want to embarrass Bobby W with the media.”

“I’m more than the media. This is more than an assignment to me.”

“I know that.” He’s distant now. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to go down in the galley and have a cup of coffee.”

With that, he goes below. I follow down into the cozy galley, all wood and chrome. A kind of sofa that’s obviously also used for sleeping covers most of one side of the space. A sink is fitted into the end of it, and shoved into a tiny corner beside it is the stove. A coffeepot sits on it. I take the sofa.

“Does Julie have any family?” I ask as I watch him pour.

“She mentioned a father, but I don’t know if she sees him. She doesn’t have family, doesn’t have close friends.”

“No men friends?” I ask. “Didn’t she date?”

He brings the coffee and sits down beside me. The boat rocks gently with occasional little splashes hitting its hull.

“You’d have to know her to understand.”

“After reading a folder full of her interviews, I feel I do know her.”

“She wasn’t into men,” he says.

“Was she gay?”

“No. She’s never married, and anytime I saw her with a man, it was a friend. She was in love with being the girl with the Killer Body. She didn’t have time or energy for anything else. I don’t think anyone was perfect enough for her.”

“Do you know any of the people she dated?”

He ponders that one for a moment. “She went out with her personal trainer sometimes, but you could see it wasn’t anything serious.”

“Are you good at detecting that kind of thing?”

He looks at me steadily. “I don’t think chemistry between two people is something you can hide. Do you?”

I take a swallow of coffee to avoid his gaze. “Probably not.”

“Then take my word for it. There was nothing between her and her trainer.”

I reach for my notebook. “What’s his name?”

“He’s one of the best in L.A.,” he says. “We send him to our clinics to motivate the troops. I’ll have to look up his name and contact information for you.”

“You don’t know the name of someone who works for you?”

“He’s a freelancer. We hire him by the job, refer clients to him, that kind of thing. And I don’t know his real name. All of his clients call him Blond Elvis.”

“Blond Elvis?”

“Because of the way he used to wear his hair. He’s a good guy, though. Takes his job very seriously.”

“Where can I find him?”