Part 3 (2/2)
”So, Peach owned the house?”
Celia nodded. ”She inherited it from her grandmother a few years ago.”
”It's a nice neighborhood,” Dana said, dropping a subtle hint and leaning into gauge Celia's reaction.
But Celia just nodded again. ”Yeah. I like it.”
”It would be a shame to have to leave a neighborhood like this,” Dana said.
Celia paused. She looked from me to Dana. ”It would,” she hedged. ”What are you getting at?”
So much for our subtlety skills.
”We heard that you and Peach had an argument last week,” I said. ”That she was kicking you out and you didn't want to go. Is that true?”
”Yes and no,” she said.
”That's pretty vague,” I pointed out.
”Okay, yes. Peach was talking about me moving out, but it's not what you think.”
”What do we think?” Dana asked.
”We were getting along fine, there were no problems between Peach and I.”
”But she wanted you out.”
”Peach thought her boyfriend was about to propose. If he did, she said they'd want some privacy here. That's all.”
”So, why did you two argue.”
Celia pursed her lips together. ”Look, I didn't mean to upset Peach, but I told her I thought that was a big if.”
”Why is that?” I asked.
”They'd only been dating a couple months.”
I raised an eyebrow. ”That's fast,” I said, remembering the two years it took Ramirez to pop the question to me.
Dana must have had the same thought as she leaned in and whispered, ”Ricky and I have been dating for eighteen months!”
I ignored her, turning to Celia again. ”If they'd just started dating, why did Peach think he was going to propose?”
”I guess she'd been dropping hints about settling down, and two weeks ago she saw a ring box hidden in his sock drawer. She said she didn't open it, because she didn't want to totally spoil the surprise, but she was sure he was going to pop the question soon.”
”And she didn't like hearing that you weren't,” I said, imagining how that conversation played out.
Celia shook her head. ”Like I said, I didn't mean to upset her, but I didn't want her to be disappointed either, you know?”
”So you weren't worried about moving out?' Dana asked.
Celia shrugged. ”If a ring was in the box, if he popped the question, and if he wanted to move in here. That's a lot of ifs.”
She had a good point. And, while a nice rental in L.A. was hard to come by, I had a tough time picturing the woman before me killing to stay in this one. But, just in case, I asked, ”Where were you yesterday morning?”
Celia blinked at me. ”Here. Why?”
”Alone?” Dana asked.
”Yeah. Alone. I'd had a late night and was sleeping in.”
Not exactly an airtight alibi, I noted.
”This guy that Peach was seeing,” I asked, ”Know where we can find him?”
Celia nodded, then dug into her back pocket and came out with a cell. ”Peach was staying there a couple nights a week, so she gave me the number for emergencies.” She rattled it off, and Dana punched it into her own cell.
We thanked Celia for her time, then as soon as we got back in the Jeep, Dana dialed the boyfriend on speaker phone.
Four rings in, he finally picked up.
”h.e.l.lo?” came a gravelly voice.
”Vic? Hi, my name is Dana. I was a friend of Peach's.”
The guy on the other end sniffed loudly. ”Oh,” he said. Then did another sniff. ”It's terrible, huh?”
Dana nodded in the car. ”Terrible. Look, I was wondering if maybe we could meet. I have a few questions I'd love to ask you about Peach.”
”Yeah,” he said, his voice low. ”Sure. I guess so. For Peach.” I wasn't sure, but I thought I heard his voice crack on that last statement. If it wasn't actual grief consuming him, he was doing a h.e.l.l of an acting job.
We agreed to meet up at a coffee place near his house, and twenty minutes later Dana and I had our second round of lattes for the day. We settled into a table near the back and a couple minutes later a tall, dark haired man walked in. His eyes were rimmed in red, and his s.h.i.+rt was miss-b.u.t.toned, leaving an extra hole on one side. Taking a wild guess, I hailed him over to our table.
”Vic?” I asked as he approached.
He nodded, then said, ”Hi,” in a somber voice, shaking hands first with Dana then me.
”I'm so sorry for your loss,” I said, feeling like a broken record.
He nodded again. ”Yeah. Thanks,” he said. His voice came out as a cross between Ross from Friends and Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. Then again, considering the circ.u.mstances, I hardly expected peppy.
”You were friends of hers?” he asked us.
”Dana was,” I said gesturing to her.
”I can't believe she's really gone,” he said.
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