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publicist?”
    She rubbed her forehead. “I know it sounds petty and shallow, but it’s not what it seems. I haven’t been in the business very long and I’ve only made one movie, but I’ve learned enough to know that the movie biz is cutthroat. For some, the only way to the top is to climb over their competition. I wanted the producers to know what happened so they wouldn’t be caught off guard by the media.”
    â€œWhy not call them directly?” West pressed.
    â€œWho? The producer?” Catherine looked puzzled. “I don’t know. Franco came to mind first.”
    West peered out the window wall. I followed his gaze. The two field investigators were taking photos of everything. They moved quickly, perhaps goaded on by the setting sun, which was now amber and painting the clouds salmon pink.
    â€œMs. Anderson, did Mr. Lowe act differently today? Tense? Worried? Anything like that?”
    â€œNo. He picked me up at ten o’clock and drove me to the Curtain Call, then left. He was going to get the car cleaned and run a few errands for his boss. Then he was supposed to pick me up after rehearsal.”
    â€œShe’s starring in a play at the dinner theater,” I added.
    â€œWhere does Mr. Lowe spend his evenings? Does he drive back to Hollywood for the evening? Does he stay here?”
    Catherine frowned. It was an unnatural expression for a face used to smiling. “He doesn’t stay here, Detective. Look around. There’s no furniture except what is in my bedroom, and no one stays there but me.” Her words were getting warmer as the shock gave way to the indignity of being questioned in her own home.
    â€œSo if he didn’t stay here, where did he stay?”
    â€œI don’t know. I recall him saying he had a condo in Glendale. That’s north of Hollywood.”
    â€œI know where—”
    â€œI just remembered something.” She furrowed her brow. “Ed said something about being put up in a room, a hotel. He said it was someplace near the shore.”
    â€œYou don’t recall the name of the hotel?” West pressed.
    â€œNo. I had just gotten off the plane in Burbank. He picked me up at the airport. It’s a bit of a drive from Burbank to Santa Rita. I used the time to go over my lines for the play.”
    â€œYou flew into Southern California.”
    â€œI still have an apartment in New York,” Catherine said. “I attended a party the night before, stayed up too late, then caught an early flight out the next morning.”
    West seemed thoughtful, like a man trying to place a piece of a jigsaw puzzle in the right place. “Why would Mr. Lowe wait for you here, a place with almost no furniture, I assume no television, when he had a hotel room to go to?”
    â€œThere’s a television in my bedroom, but I doubt he would have watched it,” Catherine said. “But that doesn’t matter. As you can tell, the house is brand new. Have you ever had a house built for you, Detective?”
    â€œNo, I’m a buy-what’s-there guy.”
    â€œIt’s a pain,” Catherine said. “The carpet layers can’t lay carpet until the painters are done, but they can’t paint until the finish carpenters are done, which they can’t do until the drywall people tidy up, which they can’t do until inspectors pass on the electrical and so on. You get the idea. And when the work is done, it’s often done incorrectly. I was having a problem with the electrical in this room. Ed offered to stay at the house until the electrician came and made things right.”
    â€œDid the electrician come?”
    â€œI assume so. When I left this morning the automated drapes and blinds didn’t work. Now they do.”
    â€œAutomated . . . Never mind. I’m going to need the name of the person responsible for hiring Mr. Lowe.”
    â€œThat would be Stewart Rockwood. He’s the