Page 81 of The Happy Month

“Low compared to what we’re used to.”

“Let’s talk about it after we move into the co-op,” I said, knowing full well that wasn’t going to work. If he found something he wanted next week, we’d be buying it.

The next morning, we were up by seven and checked out by eight. We skipped the breakfast they offered and went to Elmer’s for a traditional breakfast. We were heading out of town by nine-thirty.

Ronnie had a lot of calls to return, so I was driving. We’d agreed I could stop in Eagle Rock on the way back and try the Markers in person. Using a gas station map, I’d plotted the route: the 111 to the 60 then cut up to the 210. TheThomas Guidewould take us the rest of the way.

I needed to find Gigi—or at very least find out who she was. It had already occurred to me that the murders of Vera Korenko and Shirley Kessler were connected. At some point, I needed to look into the Kessler murder to see if there was anyone named Gigi involved. I was beginning to worry that was the only way I’d find her.

The drive was easy. Most of the traffic was going in the other direction. Very few people drove into the Los Angeles area for the weekend. Most wanted to escape.

On the way, in between phone calls, I asked Ronnie, “What can you tell me about Eagle Rock?”

“People are discovering it again. It’s still relatively affordable. It started out mostly white butthen a lot of Filipinos and Mexicans moved in. Now you’re getting a lot of artsy types. Rich white kids, mainly. You want to buy up there?”

“No. I just want to know what I’m facing.”

Like most of the neighborhood, the Marker house looked to have been built postwar. It was gray stucco, plain and unadorned. Most of the houses around it had started out the same but had since gone through numerous upgrades: brick fences, carports, additions, facades, radical landscaping, wrought iron gates.

It wasn’t even eighty degrees–a relief after two days in Palm Springs, otherwise known as Dante’s Gay Inferno. Ronnie rolled down the window and kept making calls. I walked up to the front door and knocked. Nothing. I waited. Knocked again. Still nothing.

Next door, they had a lush front yard that probably required more water in a day than a family of five needed to shower for a week. We weren’t currently in a drought to my knowledge, but it looked like these people were trying to drive us there all on their own. A woman of about fifty came out and picked up the hose. It wasn’t the right time of day to water, so I figured she came out to talk to me.

I walked over to the brick and wrought iron fence, and said, “Hello.”

She dropped the hose and came right over.

“They’re not here,” she said. “They’re in San Diego. Their daughter’s going through a bad divorce. They’re helping out. Not that they can do much. They’re in their late seventies and he’s got terrible emphysema. I think helping out means they’re going to pay for things.”

Before I had a chance to answer her, a police cruiser floated down the street and stopped in front of a house kiddy-corner to the Markers. We watched asan officer got out and walked up to the front door. After he was let into the house, I asked the woman in front of me, “Do you know what that’s about?”

“The Rabines. Their son, probably. He’s a drug addict. Steals from them all the time. Usually, they don’t report it, but this time he stole a pistol. They’re terrified he’ll use it on himself.”

She seemed to know a lot more than she should. “This happened this morning?”

“Oh no, it happened a week or so ago. I don’t know why they’re back today. Maybe they found the gun.”

“What else can you tell me about the Markers?”

“I don’t like to gossip,” she said, putting on a prudish face. Of course, she’d already gossiped about the Markersandher neighbors across the street. But that didn’t seem to sink in.

“How long have you lived next door to them?”

“About ten years.”

“Do you socialize with them?”

“No. We’re not friends. They’re not friendly with anyone.”

“So it wouldn’t be worth my time to talk to the other neighbors?”

“I wouldn’t say so.”

“Do you know how long they’ve lived in the house?”

“I think since it was built.”

“Do you know when that was?”