After going through the material, Oliver stored the sheaves of paper in the newly created Jane Doe folder, and was just turning the key to his desk’s lone file cabinet when his cell rang. The window displayed a number that looked familiar, although he had no idea who was on the line. Since it was his cell and not the desk phone, he answered it by the regular hello rather than “Oliver.”

“I’m looking for a…a Detective Scott Olivier.”

Pronouncing it like the great, late actor. Oliver liked that. It gave him gravitas. “This is Detective Oliver. Who am I talking to?”

“Miles Marlowe. Uh, it’s says here on my message that you called regarding Priscilla Barrett?”

“I did-”

“Well, she isn’t interested in taking on any partners.”

“That’s good because I’m not interested in being her partner.” Oliver held back a laugh. “Where’d you get that idea?”

“Because you called yourself detective.”

“That’s because I am a detective.”

“A real one?”

This time Oliver let go with a chuckle. The man sounded old and feisty. “Yes, a real one, Mr. Marlowe. I’m with Los Angeles Police Department and-”

“Well, you’ve got to understand what I’m dealing with,” Marlowe interrupted. “All sorts of wannabes calling me to partner with Priscilla and they all got titles. I’ve had sergeants, I’ve had captains, colonels, and lieutenants. I’ve even had some royalty: two princes and one duke. I thought you were one of those. You know…remaking my lady into Priscilla and the Detective.” A couple of quick, short breaths-a smoker or emphysema. “Not a bad ring, but it sounds more like a TV show than a singing duo. Anyway, what do you want with my lady?”

“I’d like to talk to her, sir.”

“Why?”

“It’s part of an ongoing investigation. I only need a little bit of Priscilla’s time.”

“Nothing grisly in the investigation, I hope. She’s a delicate soul.”

“Nothing grisly at all,” Oliver lied. “I’ve been doing some homework on her. Last I checked, she was living in Vegas.”

“She was in Vegas for a while. Drew really big crowds, but she decided it wasn’t for her. Like I told you, she’s a delicate soul.”

“Understood, sir. Anyway, being an old fan as well as a detective, I thought I could talk to her-”

“I thought there was an ulterior motive. The woman still has the ‘it’ factor.”

“I’m sure she does,” Oliver said, “but I assure you I have no ulterior motive-”

“Well, this is what I’m gonna do for you. I’ll give her this number. She’ll call you when she’s ready.”

“I think I’m going to need a face-to-face, sir, and the sooner the better. If you want, I’ll be happy to call her up directly.”

“You want to talk to Priscilla, you go through me. For all I know, you could be an agent, trying to steal my lady. You just want to meet her, Detective Olivier. Don’t deny it!”

Oliver decided to lay on the schmaltz. “Okay, Mr. Marlowe, you got me. I’d love to meet your lady.”

“Now that you admitted it, we can get somewhere. So how do I know you are who you say you are?”

Oliver said, “Sir, why don’t you come down to West Valley Division of LAPD and we’ll go together to meet the lady. That way you’ll see that I’m legitimate and you can see I actually work as a detective.”

“Hmm…” Marlowe pondered the suggestion. “All right. I suppose I could come down and check you out in the flesh. If you’re legit, you can follow me to her house. She happens to live in the West Valley…Porter Ranch.”

“Does she, now? Well, that’s certainly convenient for all of us.”

“Not for me. I work in Hollywood.”

“Then I appreciate your taking the time to go out of your way to introduce us. It’s really not necessary, especially since I’m so close-”

“Now don’t you be getting any ideas about popping in on her, Detective Olivier. It’s a gated community with full-time guards.”

“I wouldn’t do that, sir, that would be stalking. When is it convenient to meet you?”

“It’s not my convenience, Detective, it’s Priscilla’s. I’ll call her up and call you back.”

“That sounds fine, Mr. Marlowe.”

The phone hung up abruptly. Ten minutes later, just as Oliver was pulling his Chrysler PT Cruiser convertible out of the police parking lot, his cell rang.

“How about Monday at three?”

It was Marlowe, no introduction necessary. Oliver said, “Sounds great. Thanks for setting it up so fast.”

“I’ll come out to the police station to meet you. But no monkey business or I’ll have your badge.”

“You’re welcome to it,” Oliver whispered.

“What?”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Marlowe, you’ve been a big help.”

T HE KINDLING OF the candles signified the onset of the holy day of rest, welcoming the Shabbat bride with song and food. Showered and shaved, Decker felt clean and renewed. Since he’d decided not to go to synagogue, he dressed casually-a pair of khaki pants, a black polo shirt, and sandals. His stomach rumbled from the aromas emanating from the kitchen, and his mouth was watering by the time he sat down at the table. Seven place settings of china and crystal: Rina had done the centerpiece herself, the arrangements courtesy of her new hobby. She had turned their backyard into an English garden. The colors and the bouquets were dizzying. Insects and birds abounded. She called it their personal Eden.

Tonight, Rina had elected to wear an emerald-green A-line dress and silver flats. Her hair had been tied up in a knot, covered by a lacy mantilla that fell gracefully down her back. Hannah had two girlfriends over for the weekend, and Cindy and Koby rounded out the guest list. Whenever she had company, Rina and her cooking gene went haywire. Dinner started out with fresh-cured gravlax with a mustard dill sauce. The fish course was followed by a puree of squash-and-carrot soup spiced with cinnamon and ginger, on its heels an arugula salad with grapefruit and orange segments. By the time the entrée was served-turkey breast stuffed with wild rice, with green beans amandine and baby carrots for sides-no one was really hungry. But that didn’t stop anyone at the table from eating. Nor did it dissuade the guests from polishing off the plum cobbler and a bowl of the season’s first cherries.

After they’d stuffed themselves silly, Rina tried to make everyone feel more virtuous. “It’s mostly fruit except for the crumble topping.”

“That’s the best part,” Koby told her. “I’ll have another piece.”

“I can always count on you, Yaakov,” Rina told him, spooning another scoop of the streusel-topped concoction onto his plate.

“That’s because I have no stop button when it comes to food.”

“Lucky you,” Decker muttered.

Rina tossed her husband a “behave yourself” look, even though she knew what he meant. At six two, one-fifty, Koby was as thin as grass. A wiry man, but deceptively strong. Like Decker, he was also handy around the house. In honor of Shabbat, he wore a white shirt and black slacks and loafers without socks. Cindy wore a black knit skirt and a turquoise sweater that set off her red hair, courtesy of her father’s DNA. Hannah and Cindy had nearly identical coloring, red hair, red eyebrows and eyelids, and clear alabaster skin that freckled in the summertime. The difference was only in the eye color: Cindy’s eyes were brown whereas Hannah’s were green. The sisters resembled each other even though they had clearly come from different mothers.

“Are you two getting any vacation time?” Decker asked his older daughter.

Cindy said, “Nothing definite yet.”

Koby said, “We’re trying for a weekend in Santa Barbara.”

“Do you need help clearing?” Hannah asked her mother. She and her two friends had finished dessert ten minutes ago. They were itching to leave and talk about important issues-school, poetry, alternative rock, Gossip Girl books, and boys, boys, boys.