Like the Blue Moon Inn, Ace’s did not look like an Eagle Rock hotspot regularly frequented by twentysomething hipsters. It was a spit-and-sawdust dive, probably kept in business by customers who lived or worked nearby and who had been drinking here forever.

Three high stools faced the smaller curved end of the bar. From a gash in the maroon leatherette seating, the middle one spewed nicotine-colored foam that brought to mind a freshly popped pimple. Jessica climbed onto the stool to the right and glanced up at a small television screen mounted above the bar. It was tuned to a news channel with the volume on mute.

A blonde reporter with big hair and too much makeup was doing a piece to camera with a motel sign glowing softly in the background. The scrolling text along the bottom of the screen read, “Latest: Amy Ong murder hunt.” Jessica figured the grubby building was where the body had been found.

The blonde was replaced by a good-looking black man who was speaking to a bunch of reporters. He was probably in his late forties or early fifties but wore the years well. He had a couple of days’ worth of stubble, closely cropped dark hair smudged with gray at the temples, and a physique that suggested he worked out daily. His charcoal dress pants and black open-necked shirt looked both smart and expensive. The shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing well-defined arms. On his wrist was a big gold watch. On his belt was a big gold cop’s badge. The name across the bottom of the screen identified the man as LAPD detective Jason Pryce.

Jessica didn’t know the name, but she knew the face. She’d seen him once before, just before quitting New York for good, on a day she’d spent the last two years trying to forget.

She’d never been to a funeral before. Hadn’t known any dead people well enough to bother before Tony had prematurely met his maker. Even if she had, she would have made her excuses and sent a nice sympathy card instead, picked out one with a thoughtful verse. Funerals just weren’t her thing. But when your own father was the deceased, it was a hell of a lot harder to get out of.

On that day, she’d felt like an actress thrust into the starring role of a movie she hadn’t auditioned for, for a part she didn’t want. All those eyes on her, looking for a performance, and she couldn’t get into character, didn’t know her lines.

The church had been busier than expected, despite the bad weather, with lots of people Jessica had never met before crammed into the pews. A surprising turnout, given how much Tony had kept to himself.