“Then Manfred was at the top of his game. He began mewling and when I wouldn’t put down my Candace Bushnell, he commenced worrying the front drapes like a little maniac. When that didn’t work, he raced clear over to the side drapes, then back to the front. Finally I put down my book. Right in the middle of a juicy chapter. I checked the closed-circuit monitor and there you were in your charming old car. We owned one just like it, back in … seventy-six.” She stroked Manfred. He turned his head toward the mansion.

“With that car,” said Leona Suss, “there was no way to know you were police. They tell us to call when something’s out of the ordinary, so I called.”

“You did the right thing, ma’am.”

“Of course I did,” said Leona Suss. “Now let me guess, you’re here about her.”

“Who, ma’am?”

“Tara.” Cross-continental smile. “My late husband’s final bit of senior-citizen recreation.”

“You know her.”

“I know about her.”

“And you know we’re here about her because—”

“Because I saw her on TV,” said Leona Suss. “That drawing. I mean I wasn’t certain, but the resemblance was striking. I didn’t call about it because, really, what could I offer? Mark’s been gone nearly a year, what connection could there be?”

I said, “You knew what she looked like.”

“Mark showed me her picture. Bragging, the poor idiot. She gave him several pictures. Swimsuits and such. He was quite proud of his accomplishment.” Leona Suss offered another bifurcating grin. “As if it had to do with anything other than money.” Laughter. “You two look rather shocked. I didn’t know policemen were shockable.”

Milo said, “Well, ma’am, you managed.”

Leona Suss guffawed. The cat shivered. “Mark and I had a rather open relationship, Lieutenant Sturgis. Not in any smarmy sense—it’s complicated. I suppose you should come in. What do you think, Manfred? Shall we entertain the shockable Los Angeles police even though we’re Beverly Hills folk?”

The animal remained impassive.

“Manfred doesn’t appear to object. Come on in, fellas.”

The house opened to a white marble rotunda backed by a double staircase of the same glossy stone that Leona crossed at racewalk pace. She led us to a collection of cavernous, antiques-filled areas, any of which could be characterized as living rooms, chose to seat us in a hectagonal space painted delft-blue with contrasting cream moldings.

Gold-braided apricot upholstery was printed with scenes from ancient China. Blue-and-white porcelain abounded. Despite the warmth of the day, a gold onyx fireplace glowed electrically. All the case goods were deep mahogany. What looked to be genuine Georgian and Regency. Three large paintings framed in carved gilt graced the walls. Two depicted nineteenth-century, filmy-gowned women sitting in exuberant gardens. Over the mantel was a pastel-hued landscape of an imaginary English countryside. I looked for signatures, found them.