“He used to. But he lost it.”
Wait a minute. “What kind of gun did he lose, Sandee?”
“Ruger? Does that sound right?”
“What caliber was the Ruger?”
“Isn’t Kaliber a beer?”
“When did he lose the gun?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did he say he lost it?”
She sighed. “I mean it. I don’t know. His elevator doesn’t exactly go to the top floor, ya know?”
“Where is he now?”
“Now?”
I rubbed my forehead. Talking to an actual parrot would have been easier. What had John Richard seen in her? Not her brains, clearly. “Yes, Sandee,” I replied. “Now.”
“Practicing with the band? At the house? They’re going on tour next week. Well, I keep telling him, this isn’t really a tour, man—”
“Where’s the house, Sandee?”
“What house?”
“The house where Bobby is practicing.”
“Oh, 2468 Ponderosa Pass. He won’t
