A phone number was provided in the event of a legal emergency, but otherwise, contacting another legal professional was the recommended action. I ended the call. "The office is closed until further notice." Zelda cranked her hand. "Then call her cell." I rolled my eyes. "Peggy and I aren't personal friends — I don't have her cell number." Zelda scanned the room. "Where's your bag? I bet you've got her card in that thing. God knows you've got everything else in there." I shook my head. "Nope." Eric cleared his throat and waved. "Ah hello, hacker here." In under an hour, the best computer whiz in Los Angeles handed us Peggy's address and phone number. Gleefully ignoring Joe's list, we hopped in the jeep and drove through the pounding rain to Burbank. Peggy's apartment was in one of those huge complexes that offers everything from saunas to state-of-the-art-gyms and charges top dollar for a 400-square-foot studio. I wondered how many charming little bungalows had been sacrificed to make way for the big grey stucco box that spanned a city block.
