“Uh-uh, she left before me,” said Mutter. “My shift ended at ten but then I had to change out of that stupid jacket and clean the tables, then I had to walk to my car, which was like three blocks away in a city lot because the place had no parking.”

“What street you park on?” said Milo.

“Same street as the hotel but down near Wilshire.”

“Crescent Drive.”

“Yeah.”

“You have a parking stub?”

“Why would I?”

“You didn’t see her when you left?”

“Nope.”

“Where’d you go after you got your car?”

“Where?”

“Where was your next stop, Neil.”

“There was no stop,” said Mutter. “I drove here.”

“What time did you get home?”

“Around … probably ten forty. Tasha was up watching TV.”

“What was she watching?”

“Teen Cribs.” He lowered his voice, smiled. “Lame, but she likes it. Sometimes I watch with her ’cause I can’t crash until she and Brenda are finished with the couch.”

“Kinda inconvenient, Neil.”

“I only pay two hundred a month. I don’t find a real job soon, I’m gonna have to head back to Omaha. What happened to Princess?”

“For someone without a steady job, a diamond watch could solve a lotta problems.”

Mutter’s eyes bugged. “Oh, no, no way, no way, no way. That’s not the person I am, even when I worked for Mickey D I didn’t take an extra sesame seed, just what we got with the employee discount. Uh-uh, no way.”

He crossed himself. Protest had firmed and deepened his voice. His chin seemed stronger, too, as if proclaiming his innocence had triggered a burst of testosterone.

Shaking his head, he said, “Uh-uh, no way and I don’t know why you’re saying that, why would you say that?”

“You were among the last people to see her.”

“You can check my stuff, there’s no watch or nothing. You can put me on a lie-detector, whatever.”

I said, “Did you notice anyone else at the bar who looked shady?”

“Buncha old people,” he said. “And you guys.”

Milo and I remained silent.

“This is psycho,” said Mutter. “I served her two drinks, she tipped me twenty bucks and she left.”

I said, “Did she give you any details about herself?”

“Nothing. That was the thing.”

“The thing?”

“She was like super-nice and sometimes when people are like that it’s ’cause they want you to pay attention so they can talk about themselves. Not so much at Mickey D’s, people come in and out real fast. But at Marie Callender’s I was always hearing stories when I served the pie. But she was just nice to be nice.”

“She didn’t want attention,” I said, remembering the theatrical posing.

“It kind of makes sense if she’s someone famous. Not like stupid-famous—like brats on Teen Cribs, got their own house, Game Boys, rides.”

“A different kind of famous.”