The Wedding Guest (Alex Delaware #34) - Jonathan Kellerman Page 0,64
way it happened—it was bad, huh?”
Milo said, “Unfortunately, you’re right. This is a homicide investigation.”
She sighed. Both women seemed to wither. They settled back down on the floor.
“It’s crazy,” said Claire. “Why would anyone hurt her? She was easy, real nice.”
I said, “Good roommate.”
“She was cool,” said Serena.
Milo took out his pad. “Where’d she study ballet?”
“New York, that place—Juilliard.”
“When?”
“She didn’t say. Just that it was crazy hard. And painful.”
“Where else did she live besides New York?”
Claire said, “All she mentioned was Vegas.”
“What’d she do in Vegas?”
“Dancing.”
Milo said, “Any idea where in Vegas?”
Shrugs and head shakes.
Serena said, “We didn’t talk about it much. She didn’t talk much, period.”
Milo gave me eye-encouragement.
I said, “So you met her at NAMM and decided to live together.”
Serena said, “Not then. She didn’t need a place, then. Around a year later.”
Claire said, “We didn’t need a roommate. We didn’t have a real bedroom, just the garage. The landlord converted it but it’s kind of…not gross, but it’s…”
Serena said, “Totally ghetto. We told her before she saw it. She said no problem, she needed somewhere quick, would take a look. She did and said, Perfect. We only charged her a hundred a month, we even paid the utilities because you can’t separate it from the house.”
I said, “What was Kimbee’s rush?”
“Bad boyfriend,” said Claire.
“Domestic violence?”
“Nah,” said Serena. “More like they were over and she needed a place. But sometimes she’d be gone, so maybe she went back to him, like off and on?”
Milo said, “Did she write you rent checks?”
“Nope, cash. Five twenties.”
“Did she have her own mailing address?”
“Nope, we get all the mail. If there was something for her, we gave it to her.”
Claire said, “She didn’t get anything, really. We don’t, either, except catalogs. Everything important’s online.”
Serena said, “Once in a blue moon she’d get clothing catalogs. Like what we get.”
“No personal mail.”
“Nope.”
“You think she might’ve gone back and forth to her boyfriend.”
“Or got herself another,” said Serena.
Milo began working his phone.
Claire said, “She didn’t want to work NAMM the second time, said it gave her a headache, she had another gig. A couple of times we told her about conventions she said the same thing.”
“She asked us if we ever wanted to do Vegas. We said no, thanks. We get enough work in California.”
Claire said, “We don’t travel. In Portland we had to do sci-fi conventions, putting on space alien costumes and smiling at geeks.” She nudged Serena. “Remember the one, the green body paint didn’t want to come off?”
“Green with plastic scales. Gross. Smelled like hot glue.”
I said, “Anything else you can tell us about Kimbee?”
Claire said, “When she was here she liked the pool.”
“Her car’s here.”
“She didn’t drive it much.”
“How’d she get around?”
“Probably like everyone. Uber, Lyft, whatever.”
Serena fluffed her curls. “That worked out good because if she wanted to pull out, we’d have to move the ’82 Vette—the red insides, that one starts.”
Claire said, “We don’t like to drive, either. The Vettes burn gas. We only registered the ’82. The ’81 needs an ass-load of work.”
Milo typed away. I said, “What made you guys decide to buy both?”
“We didn’t buy either,” said Serena. “My stepdad gave them to me and whatever I have is hers.”
“Nice gift.”
“He owns a used-car lot and needed a tax write-off or something. We drove the ’82 down from Spokane, it broke down twice. We didn’t want the ’81 but he flat-bedded it to us anyway. The deal was we find out what it needs and he pays for it, if it’s reasonable. We’ve been too busy to hassle with it. We’ll sell both of them for our ranch.”
She smiled. “Want to buy it?”
“Tempting but no, thanks.”
“Greg’s an okay stepdad. He was Number Four and my mom screwed up by divorcing him. Now she’s on Number Five, he’s a total dick.”
Claire had spaced out during the car talk. She refocused and said, “How did she—how did it happen?”
Milo said, “It took place at a wedding.”
“No way. Like at the ceremony?”
“At the reception.”
“Wow. That’s crazy. Someone shot her in the middle of a party and you still don’t know who?”
“It’s a little more complicated, Serena. It happened last Saturday. You said the last time you saw her was a week and a half ago. Any idea what she was doing the few days before Sunday?”
“Nope. We can’t even say she was or wasn’t here, just that we didn’t see her. She could come and go without us seeing her.”