“Well, yes,” said Lilly Chang. “I’m so sorry to hear what happened to her. It happened in L.A.? That’s where she went?”

“Did she ever talk about L.A.?”

“Never,” said Lilly Chang.

“What agency did you get her from?”

“Happy Tots. They were highly apologetic.”

“What happened to Adriana’s personal effects?”

“The little she had we boxed and stored. It’s still there because, frankly, we forgot about it.”

“We’d like to come down and pick up the boxes.”

“Sure, they’re just sitting in our storage unit. There really wasn’t much.”

“How about we come down today?”

“This evening would be okay, I guess. After seven thirty, I’ve got meetings until six thirty, want to put May to bed myself.”

“No problem, Doctor. While we’re there, if we could chat a bit more with you and your husband that would be great.”

“There really isn’t anything to chat about.”

“I’m sure, Doctor, but this is a homicide and we need to be thorough.”

“Of course. But if you want Donald, it’ll have to be even later—no earlier than nine, probably closer to ten.”

“He keeps long hours.”

“Long would be good,” said Lilly Chang. “More like infinite.”

Milo phoned Happy Tots Child Care Specialists, spoke to a woman named Irma Rodriguez who sounded as if she was wrestling with abdominal pain.

“That one,” she said. “She sure fooled us.”

“About what, ma’am?”

“Thinking she was reliable. What trouble’s she gotten herself into?”

“Death,” said Milo.

“Pardon?”

“She was murdered.”

“Oh good Lord,” said Rodriguez. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was, ma’am. How’d Adriana come to register with you?”

“She phoned us, emailed references from her previous employers, was lucky the job with the Changs came up right then. That’s a good solid job, I was p.o.’d at Adriana for treating them so shabbily.”

“What was Adriana like?”

“Well,” said Rodriguez, “usually I meet applicants face-to-face but with the quality of her references and the perfect background check, I figured she’d be okay.”

“Who supplied the references?”

“Hold on.”

Several moments of dead air before she returned. “Only one but it was good. Mr. and Mrs. Van Dyne from Portland, Oregon. Someone killed her, huh? You just never know.”

I called Robin, told her I’d either be home late or spend the night in San Diego, explained why.

She said, “A nanny. Everything seems to revolve around little ones.”

“Seems to,” I said, picturing a paper-doll chain of tiny skeletons.

“If you do come home tonight, wake me, no matter how late.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. I miss your feet in the bed. The way you end up in some weird position and I’m stretching and groping to find you.”

“Love you.”

“That’s another way of saying it. Whoever drives, be careful.”