“The coroner found one in Ms. DiMargio’s head. Twenty-five, same as Ms. Corey, Moe’s hand-carrying it to the lab for comparison.”

“Woulda been nice for him to let me know.”

“Maybe he tried and couldn’t get through, Loot. He’s always been a good communicator.”

“Loyalty,” said Milo.

“Sure,” said Binchy. “But it’s true.”

Milo checked his phone. Three unheard calls from Reed in quick succession.

“Somehow it got muted … okay, sorry, young Moses.” He reached Reed. “Just heard.”

“Small step, L.T., but at least a step. Her brain was pretty much liquefied, but they did locate the entry wound. Back of the skull, down low. I’m on my way to the lab but between us, L.T., I’m willing to bet it’ll match Corey.”

“I won’t wager against you, kid.”

“The bad news,” said Reed, “so far there’s no record of DiMargio having a phone, land or cell, plus no TV hookup or computer subscription, not even a paper appointment book but I’ll keep looking. Plenty of other things, though: bear gallstones, schnauzer bladder stones, dinosaur poop, plus all that stuffed craziness. It’s like she was cutting herself off from the real world and creating a weird one of her own. Though she did look after her diet. Those little green things on the plates, what we thought were peas, were really green lentils, they got puffed up by bacteria to look like peas. There was also some grain-type stuff they think might be quinoa and the white stuff isn’t fish or meat, it’s fake-o, soy-based.”

“Vegetarian feast.”

“Vegan, L.T. And the wine was organic. Healthy way to die.”

CHAPTER

19

After hanging up on Reed, Milo paged through his pad. “Time for the respectable DiMargio offspring.”

William Anthony DiMargio Jr. sounded weary, with little to say about his younger sister, other than she’d always “stayed to herself, there’s five years between us.” When Milo probed, he clarified, “Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t unfriendly, just off in her own world. When she was a kid, she was real cute … who would do this?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, sir. If there’s anything you can tell me—”

“Me? I haven’t seen Frankie in years. Obviously some lunatic is involved, I remember L.A., nutcases everywhere.”

“Vancouver’s better.”

“Hell, yeah,” said Bill DiMargio Jr. “Cleaner, more civilized, and the weather’s almost as good.”

Sister Tracy’s input was more of the same, wrapped in a softer package.

Frankie was “lovely but always private. I always thought she preferred animals to people. When she was little, she’d take in wounded birds, bugs, that kind of thing.”

Milo scrawled something and showed it to me. From that to dead ones?

I nodded.

He said, “Did you know she was into taxidermy?”