X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

They entrusted their luggage to the bellman and proceeded to the revolving doors that opened onto Wilshire Boulevard. The three disappeared, leaving me blinking rapidly. I’d pictured them driving to Santa Teresa together, so I was expecting Teddy to have her car brought around. It took me to a count of thirty before I realized they weren’t going to reappear. Either her car was being delivered to the front or they were setting off on foot. I slid out of the booth and followed, keeping my pace unhurried so as not to call attention to myself.

I pushed through the revolving glass doors and reached the walk in front of the hotel in time to see them cross Wilshire Boulevard and continue down Rodeo Drive. I walked to the corner, where I was forced to wait for the light to change. Ahead of me, the three didn’t seem to be in any hurry, and Teddy’s red suit made her easy to track even from a block behind.

I kept to the opposite side of the street and picked up my pace. Street parking was at a premium and there was a surprising amount of traffic, which afforded me a modicum of cover. Most of the buildings were two stories high, constructed shoulder to shoulder on both sides of the street. The walks were lined with tall palm trees. Islands of pink and red geraniums were planted at every corner. The businesses were a blend of pricy designer boutiques, where shoes, handbags, and clothing were tastefully displayed. I saw the occasional beauty salon, an art gallery, and two jewelry stores.

The trio paused and peered into the window of a shop called Pour Les Hommes, which I knew from my high school French class meant “For the Men.” So often, foreign-language courses come in handy. Now I wished I’d taken more than the one. I watched them go into the shop and then I checked my immediate surroundings. The store directly behind me was a gourmet food emporium, with a parfumerie on one side and a lingerie shop on the other. I couldn’t imagine loitering inconspicuously in any one of the three. There was a bench near the curb and I took a seat. Someone had left a newspaper, so I picked it up and read the front page while I kept an eye on the men’s shop across the way. Forty-five minutes passed before the trio emerged. Teddy now toted two oversize shopping bags, with Kim and Christian bringing up the rear with one shopping bag apiece. They walked half a block and went into a place called Epiphany. From where I sat, I wasn’t even sure what kind of establishment it was.

I was not unmindful of the possibility that this expedition might turn out to be a wild-goose chase. I’d launched my surveillance on the basis of a phone call, Detective Nash expressing his belief that something was afoot. He’d been under no obligation to keep me in the loop, so I’d leaped at the idea, intrigued by his suggestion that Satterfield had met with a woman who might be Hallie Bettancourt. That this turned out to be Kim Bass instead made the matter all the more interesting.

Surveillance work is a commitment. You’re in it for the duration, no ifs, ands, or buts. Half the time there’s no payoff at all, but that’s not the point. This was information-gathering at its most basic, which is to say, boring beyond belief. By 12:30, I was getting restless. I folded the newspaper and tucked it under my arm and crossed the street, approaching Epiphany at an angle. Once in range, I could see that under the name of the shop, in teeny tiny letters were the words STYLISTS TO THE STARS, REVISE, REFRESH, REFINE. This was some sort of beauty spa. Teddy and Kim must have been having their hair and nails done while I sat cooling my heels, reading the same depressing front section of the Los Angeles Times.

I was almost at the entrance when I caught a splash of red. Teddy exited the store, pausing to hold the door for Kim. This allowed me time to pivot to my right and head toward Wilshire Boulevard. If the two women were returning to the hotel, they’d be walking a path identical to mine. I didn’t dare turn around to confirm. At the next store I passed, I pushed open the door and went in.

Once inside, I slowed to a stop, shielded by a window display of faceless bone-white mannequins in black leather pants and halters studded with silver nail heads. They stood in various aloof postures that conveyed boredom and superiority, as well they should have, as they were decked out in thousands of dollars’ worth of Italian designer garments.

Outside, Teddy and Kim sauntered by with Christian tagging behind. As he passed, he stole a look at himself in the glass. I was tucked inside, a good ten feet away, and his attention was focused on his reflection in the plate glass window. He stared at himself while I took in the sight of him as well. He still wore jeans, but this pair was beautifully cut. Instead of the stretched-out gray sweatshirt he’d worn on arrival, he now wore a tan poplin sport coat over a casual pin-striped dress shirt with the collar open. The cut of the sport coat was flattering, nipped in at the waist and perfect across his shoulders.