The house was gated and beautiful.
It was also difficult to find for anyone who wasn't an ace private investigator. Andre Fine wasn't showing up in my basic records searches. No surprise there. Many celebrity-types were hard to find. Often their properties and homes were in the names of their accountants or managers or other family members. In Andre Fine's case, the home was under a sister's name. It was a nice precaution to keep people like me from looking them up.
Except most private investigators didn't have the federal government's massive resources at their disposal. Or an ex-partner who owed his love life to them.
I wasn't here to interview Andre Fine. I wasn't here hoping he would see me. I suspected there was one way - and one way only - to get a confession from him.
For now, I waited down the street in my minivan, where I hoped to attract little or no attention. Generally, a woman sitting alone in a minivan on a quiet street attracted little attention. A man in a minivan would warrant a call to the police.
Sometimes it's good to be me.
Or a woman.
As I waited and watched, I reflected on the fact that tonight was a big night in the Moon household. After all, tonight was the first night that Tammy and Anthony would watch themselves. Without a babysitter.
Tammy was proving to be surprisingly mature, and Anthony was already stronger than most men. My sister, of course, was on high alert, with her phone nearby. Forty minutes into my surveillance, my text message alert chimed.
I glanced at the phone, my heart immediately racing. Was there something wrong at home? If so, why would they text and not call? I grabbed my cell and swiped it on.
A single message from Tammy: Ant's being a jerk.
I frowned and dashed off a text: Don't call him Ant. You know he doesn't like that. And kindly turn your TV off for one hour.
But why? she wrote back almost instantaneously.
For calling your brother a jerk.
But Mom!!
Another text came through, this one from Anthony's cell phone: Fanny's being mean.
Don't call your sister Fanny. No TV for the two of you tonight.
Not fair!
You're mean.
This sucks.
Anthony's feet smell.
Tammy's breath smells. So do her armpits.
My armpits do not smell. I'm a girl!
How I got into their loop of name calling, I didn't know. But they continued like this for the next few minutes...all while I shook my head sadly. Finally, I put a quick call in for my sister, who told me she was on her way over. I checked the time. My kids had watched themselves for all of two hours.
Again, better than nothing.* * *An hour later, a convertible BMW with its top down came up behind me. It was silver and sleek and probably more expensive than my house in Fullerton. Seated in the driver's seat was none other than Andre Fine. A beautiful blond was in the passenger's seat next to him. Both were laughing as they drove past me. Neither glanced at me. Just another perfect day in Malibu.
He turned into his driveway, waited a moment for his electric fence to swing open, then continued on, disappearing behind a long row of thick hedges.
I waited another half hour, then stepped out of my minivan.
