“Billy’s acreage in Latigo.” He folded and unfolded his napkin. Snatched up his phone, got Harold Fordebrand’s number from Vegas 411, called, left a message. “Guy sounds exactly like Ed.”

I said, “The Kolor Krew was a quartet.”

“Who?”

“The kiddie-pop group Amelia tried to market.” I described the publicity shot on the PlayHouse wall. “The Dowd kids plus one. Maybe there’s someone else who can fill us in about the good old days.”

He said, “You feel like researching the history of bubblegum music, be my guest. I need another face-to-face with the sib who really ain’t one. Starting with a drop-in at the BNB office. If Brad’s not there, it’s over to his house. Eventually, a day at the beach will be on the agenda.”

I said, “Think Billy even knows he owns the Latigo property?”

“Brad bought it and put it in Billy’s name?”

“Brad lives near the ocean, has surfed enough to grow knots on his knees. Meaning he knows Malibu. A nice, secluded oceanview lot on the land-side might appeal to him, especially if it was paid for with Billy’s money. Being in charge of family finances, Brad could get Billy to sign on the dotted line. Or just forge Billy’s name. Meanwhile, Billy pays the property tax and doesn’t have a clue.”

“The assessor says there are no structures on the lot. What would Brad use it for?”

“Meditation, planning a dream house, burying bodies.”

“Billy pays, Brad plays,” he says. “Nora’s no business type, either. Meaning Brad can basically do what he wants with all the money.” He rubbed his face. “All this time, I’ve been looking for Peaty’s stash spots, but Brad has access to dozens of buildings and garages all over the county.”

“He came right out and told us he stores his cars in some of the properties.”

“He did, indeed. What was that, playing mind games?”

“Or bragging about his collection. This is a guy who needs to feel important. I’m wondering if it could’ve been him watching Angeline Wasserman from that Range Rover.”

“Why would it be him?”

“Last time I saw him, he had on a nice linen suit. There were a bunch just like it hanging from a rack at the Barneys outlet.”

“Snappy dresser,” he said. “Maybe a regular, just like Wasserman. He observes her, knows she’s absentminded, lifts her purse.”

“The goal was to get her phone, he couldn’t’ve have cared less about the money or the credit cards,” I said. “The more I think about that, the better I like it: well-dressed middle-aged guy who shops there all the time, no reason to suspect him. Angeline might know his face but the Rover’s tinted windows would’ve prevented her from realizing it was him. It was his ride she concentrated on, anyway— ‘twinsie karma.’ ”