"Why wouldn't two homicidal kids bring a weapon, Alex? And covering up for someone taking your SAT is a better motive? If Elise and Sal--and Franck--went public, they'd be putting themselves in the crosshairs."

"It could be an excellent motive if you're a couple of indulged but intensely pressured brats waiting for the Crucial Letter when Elise Freeman lets you know she wants more dough or your future's blown to smithereens."

"Same problem, Alex: The scam comes to light, she's screwing herself."

"The fact that she considered the rape scam says she was willing to trade a bit of misery and exposure for the chance of big money. In both cases, she and Sal would figure the victims would settle quietly. Like any good cons, they timed the extortion to their prey's maximum vulnerability. And one more thing: The kids Franck sat in for didn't show up on Elise's doorstep randomly. Most likely, she was already tutoring them, but their scores just weren't edging high enough and they started freaking out. At the height of their anxiety, Elise says, 'You know, I've got a solution.' And that's relevant because if they'd spent time at Elise's house they could be aware of her vulnerabilities: binge-drinking and poor judgment when it came to younger men."

"Party with Teach, spike her vodka with Oxy, then ice her. Lovely."

"For all we know, Fidella figured it out, was too greedy to refrain from putting on an additional squeeze. Unfortunately, he underestimated his victims."

"And Trey Franck misdirects us to Martin because..."

"Anything that keeps us away from the scam is in his best interest."

"Then li'l Julie blows it by being honest... I'll keep an open mind but my gut tells me Franck's an emotionally shallow little prick and he could still be the young guy seen driving away in Fidella's Vette. And need I remind you that Nosy Neighbor was pretty certain there was only one person in the car, not some deadly duo."

"Rich kids have their own cars," I said.

He rewrapped Franck's brushes. "I get a match to that palm print, it's no longer theoretical. Same for some juicy info from juicy Brianna Blevins, who I will locate even if it means an unprecedented level of sleep deprivation. Onward to North Hollywood, Jeeves."

"You're driving."

"I was speaking symbolically," he said. "Side effect of all the clever types I've had to contend with."

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER
32

The Blevins residence was a pebble-roofed ranch house on a cul-de-sac north of Chandler Boulevard. Train tracks bisected the neighborhood, foisted on unwilling residents by transportation nannies on another futile quest to clear the freeways.

The house was neatly kept, as were its neighbors, but the lack of curbside trees gave the street a tentative feel. A spotless green Buick LeSabre sat in the driveway. A couple of sago palms sprouted from a lava rock bed below the picture window.