"Don't know," said Milo, finishing his drink. "You've been very helpful. I appreciate it. Is there anyone else working tonight who might remember the guy?"

Lew ran his finger around his wineglass. The sauterne was brassy gold. He hadn't touched it. "Maybe Angelo-I'll check. Want a refill?"

"No, thanks. You didn't happen to get a look at the Corvette's license plate? Even a few numbers."

"Ha," said the maitre d'. "You're one a those cockeyed optimists, huh? Like in the song-think I'll go tell Doris to play that."

Chapter 25

Angelo was a short, bald waiter of the same vintage as Lew, rushing flush-faced between two large tables. When the maitre d' beckoned him away, his frown turned a pencil mustache into an inverted V and he approached us, muttering under his breath. Milo had talked to him, too, months ago, but he recalled the interview only vaguely. The troublemaker in black evoked nothing from him but a shrug.

"This is concerning Richard," said Lew.

"Richard was a nice kid," said Angelo.

Milo said, "Is there anything else you can tell us about him?"

"Nice kid," Angelo repeated. "Said he was gonna be a movie star-gotta get back, everyone's bitching about not enough mushrooms in the sauce."

"I'll talk to the kitchen," said Lew.

"Good idea." Angelo left.

Lew said, "Sorry 'bout that, his wife's sick. Give me your card and I'll call you when I have a chance to look at those books."

Driving back to the city, I said, "Maybe the meeting at the Oak Barrel was Richard's audition. Richard answers the casting ad, Wark says let me meet you where you work. See you in your natural habitat. Like a hunter sighting prey. It would also eliminate the need for Wark to have a formal casting location."

"Pretty gullible of Richard."

"He wanted to be a star."

He sighed. "Curly wig, straight wig-this is starting to feel nasty. Now all we have to do is find Mr. W, have a nice little chat."

"You've got a car now. A yellow Corvette isn't exactly inconspicuous."

"DMV doesn't list colors, only make, model, and year. Still, it's a start, if the 'Vette wasn't stolen. Or never registered ... Big fenders-probably a seventies model." He sat up a bit. "A 'Vette could also explain why Richard was stashed in his own car.' Vettes don't have trunks."

"Someone else to think about," I said. "The blond girlfriend. She fits the second-driver theory. She waits nearby until Wark's ditched Richard's VW, picks Wark up, they drive away. Untraceable. No reason to connect the two of them with Richard."