“Home,” he said sarcastically as he placed his cane near the door and dropped his food onto the desk. According to Montoya, Ramona Salazar had died about a year earlier. Bentz powered up his laptop and opened up some kind of wrap sandwich he’d picked up just before Montoya called. The “Californian,” as it was so imaginatively named—a green tortilla slathered in some kind of lemon/Dijon sauce and filled with free-range smoked turkey, whatever the hell that really meant, a slice of pepper-jack cheese, avocados, tomatoes, and sprouts. It was all pretty damned bland, but he barely noticed as he clicked onto his e-mail and found the information Montoya had forwarded.

Sure enough, Romana Salazar was connected to the car, at least he’d hoped this was the right woman and the right car. Otherwise he was back to square one.

He didn’t have a printer, but figured he might be able to use the “business office,” which was really just a small PC for guests shoved to the side of the registration desk in the So-Cal office. Rebecca would be on duty, and she’d told him he could use the ancient desktop and printer any time. As long as she was around and her son Tony wasn’t online playing computer games behind his mother’s back.

First up, he thought, connecting with a search engine and typing in Ramona Salazar’s name, he’d collect any and all information he could find on the woman, including her obituary.

If he was barking up the wrong tree, so be it.

At least he finally had a scent to follow.

Maren sang like the proverbial lark, her mezzo voice rising to the rafters of the little church in Hollywood. Hayes focused on his daughter’s shiny face in the rows of Miss Bette’s students as they sang as an ensemble for several songs, harmonizing on an old spiritual, then rocking out with songs from the eighties and nineties. Hayes recognized a few Michael Jackson numbers and a couple by Elton John.

After the group sang and harmonized, each of the students individually sang solos on the small, old-fashioned stage that looked like it had come right off the set of Little House on the Prairie.

Hayes had slipped into the little church in Hollywood late, caught a disapproving glare from Delilah, then turned his cell phone to “silent.” From that moment on, he’d listened raptly while his daughter, at least in his opinion, outshined everyone.