Perchance to Dream

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

The Reids lived in a gated community on South Bundy Drive between Dorthy and Montana Avenue, near to the infamous, nondescript condo where someone had brutally murdered Nicole Brown Simpson and her friend Ron Goldman back in 1994. The house was less than three miles from the auto dealership, a short work commute which would be the envy of anyone accustomed to slogging through the more usual longer distances to work and back in the brutal Los Angeles traffic. It was a spacious Spanish-style white stucco two-story with a tan rolled ceramic tile roof. I figured it was worth between four and five million dollars.

Tracy Reid was the epitome of the trophy wife, a tall bleached blonde not over twenty-four, and at least twenty years younger than her husband. The makeup she had applied meant to give her an older look hadn’t quite succeeded. Without it, I figured she’d be innocently beautiful. Mrs. Reid sat on a couch wearing tiny shorts, her long shapely tan legs crossed, and wearing a tight top that accentuated her surgically enhanced breasts. I tried not to drool on my notebook while we talked.

Tracy Reid wasn’t able to tell me much of anything her husband hadn’t mentioned, though she added some finer details. She also gave me descriptions of her two stepdaughters.

Sienna—twenty years old; 5 feet 8 inches; 125 pounds; athletic build; shoulder length naturally red hair; green eyes; fair complexion; square face. When she left home Saturday morning, she wore a lime green long sleeve tee over black yoga pants with white Nike athletic shoes.

Bailey—eighteen years old; 5 feet 6 inches; 110 pounds; thin build; bobbed reddish-brown hair; brown eyes; medium complexion; oval-shaped face. When last seen, she wore a light gray crewneck over blue denim skinny jeans with blue Reebok athletic shoes.

Reid gave me a recent photograph of each girl, and an additional photo of Sienna standing beside the metallic sunset orange BMW her father and stepmother had given her as a high school graduation present. Mrs. Reid also gave me a list of their friends, close acquaintances, and local relatives, so far as she knew them.

“Did they mention going to Laguna Beach before their argument with your husband?” I said.

“Not that I recall,” Reid said. “I didn’t connect the two things at all. I had the impression Saturday morning that it was more of a spur-of-the-moment thing. Sienna can be impulsive at times, and Bailey tends to follow the lead of her big sis, who has the more dominant personality.”

“Did they seem upset with their father Saturday morning?”

“Not at all,” Reid said. “I think the word argument is too strong a term for it. It was only a minor tiff over money. There were no raised voices or anything like that. The girls wanted more than Adrian thought they needed. He said no. They pouted Friday evening before going to bed. It seemed it had all blown over by Saturday morning.”

“Did you see them leave Saturday morning, Mrs. Reid?”

“Yes, I did. They came down for breakfast, and that’s when they told me they were driving down to Laguna Beach to spend the weekend with Sabrina. We said goodbye when they left around eleven.”

“Did they take luggage with them?”

“Yes, Sienna had her backpack and Bailey an overnighter bag, just what you would expect for a weekend trip.”

“Who is Sabrina Griffith, exactly?” I said. “A friend?”

“Yes, more Sienna’s friend. She and Sienna are the same age. But they all attended Colonnades Charter High School together.”

“You’ve no idea where they might have gone?” I said.

“None.”

“You can’t even make a guess?”

“I really can’t,” Reid said. “It totally shocked me to learn they hadn’t gone to see Sabrina in Laguna Beach as they had told me they were planning to do. They have done nothing like this ever before.”

“Might they have gone to Palm Springs to visit their mother?”

“I doubt it,” Reid said. “The girls don’t get along well with their mom. Though they never talk about it much, I sense they feel a little like their mom abandoned them when she moved to Palm Springs.”

“Did their mother remarry after the divorce?”

“No idea,” Reid said. “We have little contact with Melissa. Once in a blue moon when she is in L. A., she calls to see the girls. She never sets foot in the house. She always picks the girls up and then drops them off out front.”

“I see.”

“Do you think I should call her?” Reid said.

“I’ll take care of it,” I said. “Better if I handle all the contacts with the friends and family members on the list you’ve given me. It makes it easier for me to keep track of who I’ve talked to and who I have left to contact.”

Reid nodded. “That makes perfect sense,” she said.

“Could you say which two or three people on the list they might have been more inclined to stay with?”

“Not really,” Reid said. “They are both very sociable and have lots of friends, but neither has what you might call a best friend. With young people today, everything is more centered on the group they hang out with rather than individual friends, if that makes sense.”

“Sure, I understand,” I said.

After interviewing Tracy Reid, I got back in the car to drive to my office in Hollywood. I wanted to make some calls and set some things in motion before tackling the list Tracy Reid had given me. Mrs. Reid had seemed candid while answering my questions, yet I couldn’t help wondering if she was holding anything back. Adrian Reid had told me a close relationship existed between his present wife and his daughters. Perhaps the girls had sworn her to secrecy about their whereabouts. Also, Tracy Reid hadn’t seemed nearly as worried about her missing stepdaughters as their father had appeared when I had spoken with him.