Just Keegan’s luck. “So, a celebrity detective for a celebrity murder,” he said. “Two famous names in one headline.”

Moore grinned. “Something like that,” he said. His smile faded and he focused on Keegan. “You hear anything up here last night? See anything out of the ordinary?”

“Nah,” Keegan said. “I was down in Mid-Wilshire, where poor slobs like me belong. I just got up here a few minutes ago to check up on the dog.” Mr. Soto could confirm when he’d left the apartment, and the cop in the aviator glasses could testify as to when he’d arrived—but it would be better to let Moore find all that out on his own.

The lieutenant tilted the hat back on his head and nodded over at the cottage. “Anybody in this place last night?”

“Just a Welsh Terrier,” Keegan said, “but she’s a stubborn one. I’ll be impressed if you can get her to talk.”

The lieutenant gave him a half-smile. “Terriers are headstrong that way.”

Keegan nodded. “This one’s a bitch if I ever saw one.”

Moore’s smile grew a little before it faded. He was all business. “But you stay up here some nights,” he said. It didn’t sound like a question.

Keegan felt a bead of sweat creep down his ribs under his shirt. It was just the heat, he told himself. He willed his heart to slow. “If you say so,” he said.

“I came up earlier and knocked,” Moore said. “Routine canvass. The dog went berserk. I thought, somebody’s gotta be looking after the mutt. I saw the trash cans by the carport. Nice collection of empty bottles.” He gave Keegan a knowing smile. “I’m guessing those didn’t belong to your saintly mother.”

Keegan wondered if he’d looked through the kitchen window and saw the wine bottle on the counter. “I’ve stayed here a few nights,” he admitted. “Dogs aren’t allowed at my apartment.”

Moore nodded and looked back down the road he’d come up. “You know the girl who lives down there?”

Keegan thought of Eve’s kiss at the doorway. Even now, the surprise of it left him a little unsteady. “Met her a couple of times,” he said. And then, before he could stop himself: “What was her name again?” Shit.

But Moore had already reached inside his jacket to pull out a black notebook—the same kind Keegan had always carried on the crime beat. The lieutenant flipped the notebook open with a flick of the wrist. “Eve,” he read. “Eve Ormsby-Cutler.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Keegan said. “The old man’s niece. What did she say happened?”

“Says she slept through the whole thing,” he said. He gave a sort of who’s-to-say shrug. “Sleeping pills on the bedside table. Acting all groggy when we got there.”

Keegan felt a warm rush of relief. Eve had done what he’d told her to do. She’d got the story straight, despite the triple dose of sleeping pills.