
# TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE

# A Kate Stanton Hollywood Mystery

# Marta Tandori
Copyright © 2012 Marta Tandori

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

eBook formatting and cover design by FormattingExperts.com

### Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

PART TWO

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

PART THREE

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

Preview of THE TIES THAT BIND

Preview of NO HARD FEELINGS

Preview of THE CROSSING AT BLAISDELL PARK
For my father, Desi Tandori—a man of extraordinary courage in the face of insurmountable odds.
The sins of a parent cannot be inherited... but some legacies are just too powerful to escape.

### PROLOGUE

_July, 2011_

_Los Angeles, California_

_The dirty clothes and foul body odor were a lethal combination, infusing the already cloying humidity with a pervasive stink_. Seventeen-year-old Karen Devane almost gagged on it as she got out of her car and cautiously approached the derelict beating up on her grandmother's custom-made mailbox. Until now, Karen's exposure to the homeless had been limited to the few winos on Hollywood Boulevard she and her friends regularly used to score their booze, but those tended to be straightforward commercial transactions, requiring very little in the way of social interaction. The last thing she expected was to find one of them out here in Laurel Canyon and with her grandmother away in San Francisco for the weekend, Karen had no idea how to deal with the present situation.

Fishing her cell phone out of the pocket of her shorts, she speed-dialed her mother's number... and got bumped directly to her voicemail. That meant her mother was showing a house and couldn't be reached. Karen immediately felt the familiar rush of resentment. _Other_ agents could text and multi-task up the ying-yang while showing a house but not _her_ precious mother. _Carriage Trade_ had dubbed Eve Stanton "Realtor to the Stars" when she'd graced their cover earlier this year, and there was certainly no doubting the fact that her mother's dedication and drive had gotten her to the top of L.A.'s competitive realty market. The only problem was, her mother's dedication ended with her job. As a wife and mother, good old Eve sucked. Work had always taken top priority, with Karen and her father coming in a dismal second and third place, respectively. Too bad she didn't have the option of bailing on her mother the way her father had when he'd demanded a divorce last year. Needless to say, both of her parents had tried being diplomatic about the whole fiasco by telling her it hadn't been anyone's fault; that they'd just grown apart, _blah, blah, blah_ , but Karen had never bought into their no-fault fairy tale, especially after the divorce negotiations turned toxic. Thank God her grandmother had been there for her—but then again, Grams always was.

Her friend, Laurie, got out of the car and staggered over on legs as thin as toothpicks. "Why's the chick goin' ape-shit over the stupid mailbox?"

Karen shrugged. "How should I know?"

"Maybe she's comin' down off somethin'."

"And if anybody knows a thing or two about _that_ , it's gotta be you... right, Sniffer?" Josh Preston, Karen's boyfriend-of-the-month, joined them and slung a possessive arm around Karen's bare shoulders.

Laurie glared at him through rheumy eyes. "Don't call me that."

"What, can't handle the truth?"

"Whatever ya _think_ ya know about me," Laurie shot back, "ain't jack shit."

Josh shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "I just call 'em as I see 'em."

Karen was quick to intervene. "Knock it off, you two."

Josh immediately became indignant. "You're taking _her_ side?"

"I'm not taking anyone's side," she told him brusquely. "I'm just tired of listening to you two bitch at each other."

"I wasn't the one who asked her to come with us," he pointed out.

Karen crossed her arms over her chest. "Well _I_ did, so get over it. As for this whack job here, I'm calling the cops. They can deal with her."

"Forget it," Josh argued. "We're not going to waste our time waiting for the cops to show. I say we handle her ourselves."

Karen looked at the mailbox with misgiving. "I don't know. What if she has a gun or something?"

Josh grinned, revealing even, white teeth. "Then she probably would've shot the mailbox by now." He turned to the derelict. "Hey! Can you hear me?" When the woman kept right on kicking the mailbox, he clapped his hands several times to get her attention. " _What is your problem?_ "

The woman abruptly stopped, her eyes looking startled as they settled on his face.

"I asked why you're going spastic over the stupid mailbox," Josh told her.

"Trade for tit's milk." Her voice was hoarse and barely audible.

Josh looked at Karen in bewilderment. "What'd she just say?"

"How should I know?" Karen delicately covered her nose with the back of her hand.

"Maria trade," the woman continued, "tit's milk for April."

"It's not April," Josh informed her, "it's July, you sick lesbo."

"Lesbo," she repeated carefully. A huge grin suddenly brightened her worn features as she began chanting in a sing-song voice, "Lesbo, lesbo, lesbo!"

"Great! Now we got ourselves a parrot," Karen sneered in disgust. She took a tentative step closer to the woman, noting she was a tiny little thing, barely coming up to Karen's chin. "Why were you kicking my grandmother's mailbox?"

The woman went silent again.

"I asked you a question." When she still didn't reply, Karen made a grab for her backpack, hoping to get a rise out of her.

"No!" the woman yelled. "No take!"

"Then tell us why you were kicking the mailbox," Karen insisted.

"Maria trade," said the woman in earnest, "tit's milk for April."

Josh shook his head in disgust. "There she goes again with that freaky lesbo thing."

A frustrated Karen made another grab for the backpack, this time managing to wrestle it away from her. Shrieking in rage, the woman lunged at her, but Karen quickly ducked behind Josh's solid frame.

Josh was easily a few heads taller than the woman and effortlessly captured her arms, pinning them against her sides. She struggled to free herself, arms and legs flailing in all directions, but it only made him tighten his grip. "Man, I hope she doesn't have fleas or something."

The woman abruptly threw back her head and butted him in the face.

"What the _hell_!" A stream of blood squirted out of his nose and down his chin before disappearing under his jaw. "I think she just broke my god-damned nose!"

"Helluvan improvement, if ya ask me," Laurie muttered.

"No one friggin' asked you!" Josh shot back.

"Don't let go of her, whatever you do." Karen sprang into action, quickly unzipping the woman's backpack and turning it upside down. A cracked CD case, a prescription bottle and a handful of flyers advertising what looked to be the opening of a spa in West Hollywood came spilling out... but nothing belonging to her grandmother.

Laurie eagerly reached for the prescription bottle and opened it with hands that shook. She took a tentative whiff, before scooping out some of the contents and rubbing it along a nasty-looking rash on her left arm.

"Are you crazy?" asked Karen, giving her friend a look of disgust. "You don't even know what it's for."

"It's just some cream," Laurie retorted. "Don't have a freakin' cow."

"Forget about the cream," Josh ordered impatiently. "Check her pockets, for Christ's sake!"

"Wait!" Karen was beginning to have some misgivings about the whole thing. "I don't think she's got anything. Let's just let her go."

"Forget it," said Josh curtly. "We'll let her go _after_ we check her pockets."

Laurie staggered over to the woman's side and stuck her hands inside her shirt pocket. She took her time as she fumbled around inside.

"Can you go any slower?" he asked impatiently, as he furtively scanned the street.

Laurie ignored him, her tattooed fingers finally bringing out a handful of lint, a few rubber bands, and some random odds and ends. "Nuthin'." She threw them away.

The woman began making low-pitched, mewling sounds in the back of her throat.

"What's wrong with her?" Josh asked.

"Like I know?" Karen retorted, shooting the woman a worried look. "Let's just let her go, okay."

"I'm almos' friggin' done." Laurie's brows knit together in concentration as her fingers slid into the pockets of the woman's cargo pants.

This made the woman go ballistic. "No touch!" Pitching forward and then backwards to gain some momentum, she raised her legs and kicked Laurie squarely in the stomach.

The kick took Laurie by surprise and she staggered backwards, clutching at her middle.

"Are you okay?" Karen asked.

Laurie managed a strangled sound in the back of her throat before she threw up in a series of violent, spastic spurts.

Karen felt the bile rising in her throat. "For Christ's sake, did you have to do that _here_?"

"Ya think I wanted ta puke?" Laurie weakly wiped at the leftover vomit dribbling down her chin with the back of a tattooed hand. "It's that bitch's fault for gettin' me in the gut!"

While the two girls argued, the woman managed to twist her body around and sink her teeth into Josh's upper arm. He rewarded her with a hard slap across the face that sent her sprawling over the top of the mailbox.

"Her lip is cut!" Karen shrieked. "Don't let her get blood on the mailbox!"

Josh grabbed the woman by the legs and tried pulling her off the mailbox, but she refused to let go. "Son of a bitch," he huffed, "she's like a god-damned wildcat!"

The nails holding the hinges of the mailbox suddenly creaked and a minute later, the lid went flying off, sending the woman reeling backwards against Josh's chest.

" _Tell me you didn't just break that!_ "

Before Josh could reply, the woman furiously charged Laurie with the lid of the mailbox clutched against her front like a shield. "Give back!"

"Get the hell away from me!" Laurie swung wide, but got nailed in the arm.

Josh retaliated by picking up a rock from the base of the mailbox and throwing it at the woman. It got her in the stomach and she howled in pain. He quickly followed the first rock with a smaller one, which thudded against her forehead. Almost immediately, blood began trickling down from behind her bangs into her eyes.

Karen grabbed Josh's arm. "Are you crazy? You're going to kill her!"

" _Me, crazy?_ " he defended himself. "What about her? _She's_ the one who's bloody psycho-certified!"

As they argued, the woman abruptly turned and limped down the street.

She looked at Josh imploringly. "We can't just let her leave like this!"

"Sorry, you're on your own." His tone was obstinate as he gingerly prodded his broken nose. "There's no way I'm going near her again."

"You're _such_ an asshole sometimes!" With that, Karen took off after the injured woman, furiously wiping at the sweat pouring down her forehead with the back of an arm. Unable to believe how quickly things had gotten out of hand, she furtively glanced in both directions. Luckily, there didn't seem to be anyone around. "Wait up!"

Karen could feel droplets of sweat forming along her spine as she closed the three-yard gap between them with a quick sprint. From the back somewhere, she heard a car gun its engine. Turning toward the sound, she saw an old black sedan leap out from behind a van parked a way down the street. With a squeal of tires, it hurtled past her and headed straight for the unsuspecting woman.

"Watch out for the car behind you!"

Her warning came too late. The car bore right and hit the woman off its passenger side, the impact sending her body flying. Karen heard herself scream, and everything seemed to switch to slow motion as she watched the woman's body sail through the air and land with a dull thud by the side of the road. Instead of stopping, the car kept right on going, careening around the bend with a squeal of tires.

"Oh shit, _shit_!" With her heart pounding in her chest, Karen could barely breathe. She ran toward the still figure as fast as she could. Dropping to her knees, she carefully turned the woman over. The woman's forearms were covered in scratches and her face was a series of nasty bruises. There was a huge tear along the front of her shirt that hadn't been there earlier, probably having been caught on the side of the car when it hit her.

"Say something, please!" Karen was near hysteria as she gingerly placed her head on the woman's chest, oblivious to the awful smell or to the sting of hot gravel on her bare knees. She held her breath, listening for a heartbeat, but all she heard was her own. Putting a shaky hand in front of the woman's open mouth, she waited for a shallow breath. There wasn't one. It was then that Karen noticed the woman's neck. It had flopped unsupported when she had turned the woman over and was now at an odd angle to the rest of her body.

Karen frantically searched her pockets for her cell phone. When she couldn't find it, she scanned the street in both directions, this time desperately wishing one of her grandmother's neighbors would magically appear and take charge of the situation. However, there was no one around... even her so-called friends had disappeared. The woman's backpack was lying exactly where Karen had thrown it only moments before; its contents haphazardly scattered across the foot of the driveway, bearing testament to the ugly scene that had transpired.

Karen looked away in shame. It was then she spied her cell phone, partially hidden among the flyers on the road. She got up and slowly made her way over to it on rubbery legs, forcing herself to remain calm. Her eyes involuntarily darted to the bend in the road where the black sedan had disappeared, then back to the woman's crumpled body and the blood that had seeped out from somewhere underneath it. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears. _That stupid car!_ It should've slowed down or stopped _or something_! This was like the aftermath of a gruesome hit in one of those stupid video games her friend's brother liked to play all the time. _In fact, it was just like it..._

In that split second of blinding clarity, it became painfully obvious to Karen that what she had just witnessed had been a hit, so to speak, because _whoever had been driving that car had meant to kill the woman_.

## PART ONE
### CHAPTER 1

_1945_

_Chelmno nad Nerem, Poland_

The females sat on one side of the bus, the males on the other side, two to a seat. The girls were blonde-haired, blue-eyed and all wore neatly starched white shirts and black skirts with matching armbands, while the boys shared the same physical characteristics but wore white shirts and black trousers with matching armbands. To the casual observer, each of the pairs of seatmates could have passed for twins. However, their marked similarities extended beyond their identical attire and physical character traits. What made them so unique was that each was a perfect specimen of selective breeding, in most cases fathered by a high-ranking German soldier and a genetically-viable mother, the first of a master race procreated to carry out one man's legacy.

Of the twenty-four children on the bus, the eldest was Hans Ubermann, who was fourteen, while the youngest was Katarina Holberg, a tender six-year-old. Technically, Katya—no one ever called her Katarina except for her teachers—was too young to be a part of this group. However, she had been given special dispensation because her eight-year-old sister, Lilly, had begged and pleaded for her to be able to come with them and because the Wehrmacht commander who ran the camp they would be visiting today happened to be Katya and Lilly's father.

Her mother, Sonja, was a Norwegian national. After her birth in Norway, Katya had been anointed one of the Fuhrer's blonde-haired, blue-eyed elect with her father pledging her fealty to the Nazi regime in a special indoctrination ceremony. Shortly afterwards, Karel Bauer had received his transfer orders and their little family had moved from Norway to Chelmno nad Nerem, in occupied Poland. Katya and Lilly were tutored by the Nazi elite, their mother worked as a translator for the Third Reich, and their father ran the facility in nearby Chelmno.

Katya's first years of life were a kaleidoscope of hazy memories filled with elegant surroundings, important-looking men in handsome uniforms, and enviable privilege. Although Katya and her peers were constantly reminded that there was a war waging all around them, it had little impact on their relatively sheltered existence within the compound they called home. Today was their first field trip outside of their compound and the children were excited at this unexpected treat.

As their bus finally cleared the endless hectares of forest and paused in front of a high wooden fence, their teacher, Herr Gunter, stood up and impatiently clapped his hands in order to get their attention.

"As we exit the bus, you will find your partner and form a straight line. Do not deviate from this line unless you are told to, and remember to stay with your partner at all times. This is a working camp and we are only here to observe, not to get in the way." He regarded each of them with his steely gaze. "Do I make myself clear?"

A uniform chorus of, "Yes, Herr Gunter!" was heard as the gate in front of them slid open to let their bus through. A minute later, they pulled up to a large elegant building.

Herr Gunter got off the bus and the children quickly followed suit, falling into a perfect straight line formation. Katya's heart swelled with pride as she caught sight of her father striding toward them. He looked so handsome in his soldier's uniform! She tugged on her sister's skirt, but Lilly just swatted her hand away. After a brief word with their teacher, Katya's father offered them a hearty greeting.

"Heil Hitler!"

"Heil Hitler!" the children chorused back, as they raised their arm in salute.

"I'm Commander Bauer. This," he motioned all around him, "is Chelmno and it is here that we carry out the Fuhrer's work." He regarded them solemnly before gesturing to the impressive building behind him. "The building we're about to enter is called Manor House, which is part of the Schlosslager. The SS, police staff, and guards are housed in other buildings in town. This courtyard is where the prisoners are brought by truck. Each prisoner's valuables are collected, each prisoner is processed, and then each is disposed of." He regarded them with a clinical detachment. "We happen to be in the midst of processing a new shipment of prisoners right now. All of you will be able to see firsthand how efficiently the system works."

As he led the group inside Manor House, Katya instinctively slipped her hand inside her sister's. This time, Lilly gave it a quick squeeze.

Commander Bauer stopped inside of a reception room and waited until everyone was inside before continuing, "In order to make the entire operation as efficient as possible, the prisoners are told they will be going to Germany as laborers but must first bathe and have their clothes disinfected." He gave them a cool smile. "Of course, this is not what happens, but it makes matters simpler to let the prisoners think so." He opened a door to his left. "This room contains some of the prisoners' valuables that have been processed, but have not yet been transferred to one of the other larger storage facilities on site."

The room was filled to the rafters with everything from fur coats and jewelry to large sculptures and paintings. The children stared wide-eyed at the treasures before them.

Hans Ubermann eyed some large white buckets neatly stacked against a corner. "What's in the buckets, sir?"

Commander Bauer gave the youngster a delighted slap on the back. "That, my boy, will become evident later on in our tour. Come! Let us continue." He led his charges to another door further down the hallway being guarded by two soldiers with rifles in hand. "Inside this room, the prisoners are made to strip off their clothes for their "bath". From here, they are led down a corridor that supposedly leads to the baths." Commander Bauer shepherded them toward a long corridor where more soldiers were strategically positioned on either side at evenly spaced intervals. "If you stand behind the guards, you'll have a clear view of the prisoners as they head toward the next phase in processing, which is in the cellar."

Try as she might, Katya didn't understand much of what her father said nor could she read any of the signs posted on the wall that gave directions to the pretend baths. When Katya turned to Lilly to ask her what it all meant, her sister just gave her one of her looks that meant Katya had to keep quiet. Katya nevertheless sidled closer to Lilly and watched wide-eyed as a trickle of naked prisoners walked past them. For the most part, the men remained stoic, but many of the women were crying as they modestly tried to cover their nudity with their arms. Some carried smaller children in their arms while the older ones walked beside their parents, tightly gripping their hands. Katya had never seen anyone naked before, except for her sister, and was shocked to see they had hair _down there_. Most of the women also had big, floppy breasts and Katya looked away in embarrassment. She was relieved when her father finally motioned for them to move on.

They followed Commander Bauer down a series of steps into the cellar. He stopped in front of a closed door before seeking out Hans Ubermann. "You are about to see the second-last phase in processing before the prisoner extermination and this phase involves the white buckets." He raised his voice so he could be heard over the agonized screams coming from behind the closed door. "After this phase, the prisoners are loaded into a truck, between fifty to seventy prisoners at a time. When the truck is full, the doors will be closed and sealed. The driver attaches one end of a tube to the van's exhaust pipe and the other end into the truck before starting the engine. Can any of you guess what happens next?" Karel Bauer scanned the earnest young faces staring up at him before his eyes came to rest on his eldest daughter. "Lilly, do you know?"

Lilly cleared her throat nervously. "The prisoners choke to death on the fumes?"

"Yes!" He gave her a pleased smile. "That's exactly what happens. Once all the prisoners are dead, the tube is detached from the exhaust pipe and the van full of dead prisoners is driven to the forest camp where the bodies are disposed of." He gave them all a stern look before opening the cellar door. "Remember to stay behind the guards at all times."

The scene that greeted them when her father opened the door would forever be etched in Katya's memory and she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out in fear. The naked prisoners were now in two lines. Separating them and the ramp leading to a truck were two men in lab coats splattered with blood. Each was holding a pair of pliers and beside each man was a white pail. Katya watched as the next prisoner in line, a woman, was forced to open her mouth as the man in the lab coat looked inside. Finding what he was looking for, he motioned for two soldiers to grab her arms while he quickly reached inside the woman's mouth with his pliers and wrenched out what appeared to be a gold tooth, which he then dropped into the bucket beside him. The children instinctively moved closer together as the woman let out a blood-curdling cry of agony that continued as the process was repeated until she had no more gold teeth left. Only then was she allowed down the ramp into the truck.

One of the male prisoners, probably the woman's husband, suddenly lunged at Katya's father, grabbing him around the neck. Her father's body was slammed against the wall, and as the guards scrambled to pull the man off of him, Katya noticed that a small black notebook had fallen from her father's pocket. She managed to snatch it up before a guard quickly led them from the cellar. They were halfway up the stairs before a single gunshot reverberated around them, followed by a woman's primal scream. Seconds later, there was a second gunshot followed by eerie silence.

But the silence didn't last long. By the time their group made it up the stairs to the main floor reception area, a different kind of noise could be heard in the distance... the sounds of combat. Katya's father soon followed them up the stairs and after a hurried conference with their teacher, he ordered them to board the bus. The sound of approaching tanks was becoming louder and the children instinctively ducked under the seats as a loud explosion went off close to the road in front of the camp.

"What's happening, Papa?" Katya clutched her father's hand.

"The enemy is getting closer," he told her grimly. "But it's nothing for you to worry about."

"I want you to come with us," Katya told him tearfully. "Lilly and I don't want to be alone."

"You won't be alone," he told her, tucking her hair behind her ear in a comforting gesture. "Herr Gunter will look after you. Papa needs to take care of things here at the camp." Karel Bauer looked at his eldest daughter. "Look after your sister, hear?"

Her father had just left the bus when Katya realized she still had his notebook. She wanted to call out and tell him, but he was already running toward Manor House, shouting orders to his soldiers, and the opportunity passed. She would just have to hold on to the notebook until she saw him again.

Their bus took off through the back gate of the camp. Rather than take the main road, it headed for the dirt road leading to the forest. They were ordered to crouch down in front of their seats, away from the windows, as their bus lurched back and forth, painstakingly navigating the rain-rutted roadway.

After what seemed like an eternity trying to keep her balance in a crouched position, Katya's knees began to hurt. "I want to sit down."

"Stay down and do as Herr Gunter tells us," Lilly admonished her. "If anyone has a right to complain, it has to be Hans. With his long legs tucked under his chin like that, he probably has terrible cramps, but you don't hear him complaining, do you?"

"I suppose not," Katya relented. "Still, I just want to go home to Mama."

Before her sister could reply, there was a loud noise, followed by a flash of fire. Chunks of forest burst through the open windows, showering them with dirt and debris. Several of the children screamed while many others began coughing from the acrid smoke filling their bus. The bus swerved sharply to the right, tossing those that weren't holding on to something secure, all over the bus. More screams followed. The children were truly frightened now.

"Quiet down, everyone!"

Katya could hear their teacher's urgent voice through the cloud of debris although she could no longer see him. Lilly had covered Katya's body with her own as they held on to the leg of their seat for dear life. The second blast, which followed a minute or two later, was so close that its impact managed to flip over their bus several times, before it finally came to rest on its roof.

"Katya!" Lilly's shrill voice rose above the crying and groans of pain. "Where are you? Are you all right?"

Katya tried to see through the dirt and smoke, but it was impossible. "I can't hold on anymore! My hands are slipping!"

"That's because we're upside down," Lilly explained. "It's okay to let go, Katya. You won't have far to fall, I promise. Let go now!"

Crying quietly, Katya did as she was told, mentally preparing herself for a jolt of pain, but instead of the hard landing she had been expecting, something cushioned her fall. Peering down, she saw that it was Hans' body.

"Katya, over here!" Lilly was crawling toward her on her hands and knees, the impact of the blast having thrown her clear across the bus. "We've got to get out of here!"

"No!" cried Katya, clearly petrified. "Herr Gunter will be angry with us."

"Herr Gunter is dead," Lilly told her. "So are many of the others and if we stay here, we'll die, too!"

Katya began crying in earnest. "I just want Mama!"

"I'll get us to Mama, I promise." Lilly held out her hand. "Please, Katya, we've got to hurry!"

Lilly grasped her hand and pulled Katya through one of the windows. Several of the other children who had survived the blast were already out of the bus and running in every direction. Lilly pulled Katya closer to her as they followed the forest road, well behind two older boys. The road was little more than a narrow, muddy path at this point and the artillery fire around them was deafening. They were about four kilometers northwest of Chelmno, off the east side of the road to Kolo, which abutted their compound to the south.

Katya froze in terror as another blast hit the road in front of them, sending her sister's classmates hurtling up in the air before pieces of their bodies dropped from the sky around them like grotesque chunks of disfigured confetti.

"Don't stop now!" Lilly tried pulling her sister around the bloody stump of an arm. "We've got to keep going!"

Katya refused to budge. She raised a shaking finger at the huge tank that had just broken through the underbrush and was bearing down on them. "That monster's coming straight for us!"

### CHAPTER 2

_1949_

_Oslo, Norway_

Out of all their chores at the internment camp, Katya disliked latrine duty the most. She despised it, in fact. The camp had one hundred and eighty women and children and only twenty-seven holes. The guards and administrators of the camp had actual toilets, but they—the prisoners—had holes in the ground and latrine duty meant looking after both. She shouldn't complain, really. All she and the other children had to do was fill the boxes beside each hole with long strips of newspaper that served as toilet paper. The women, on the other hand, had to scrub the toilets and the shit-encrusted metal enclosures that went over each hole. The buzzing flies and the stink were terrible, and it was a job Katya didn't wish on her worst enemy, let alone her poor mother.

Their days in the overcrowded camp, which lacked even the most basic of necessities, were long and filled with despair. Not a single day went by that Katya didn't long for her former life—before the allied troops had marched into Poland and turned her world upside down. When the tanks had crashed through the woods, the soldiers had gathered up Katya and the other surviving children and taken them back to their compound. Her mother and the other adults had been taken to one of the outbuildings, where they had been interrogated. Thanks to Sonja Holberg's Norwegian citizenship, they had eventually been released. The only problem was, there had been nowhere to go.

In the end, they had taken a night train to Berlin, but with the fall of Germany, there had been no available jobs. Her mother had resorted to entertaining countless men, civilians, and soldiers alike, who appeared on the doorstep of their squalid tenement at all hours of the day and night. This came to an abrupt end in the latter half of 1946 when the German government declared them, and others like Katya's family, to be an embarrassment to Germany and shipped them back to Norway where an internment camp had been set up for them in Oslo harbor. The camp had been their home for the past three years.

Katya fervently hoped her father had met with a better fate. The day they were captured was the last day she had seen Karel Bauer alive. All Katya had left of her father was his little black notebook, which she would take out from her secret hiding place and look at every now and then. She had told no one about the notebook, not even Lilly.

"Here, Mama, let me scrub for a while." Katya took the bristle brush from her mother's worn hands. "Why don't you take a break?"

Sonja Holberg nodded gratefully. "Do a good job. Remember, there's going to be an inspection today because of the visit."

"I remember," Katya reassured her grimly. Pulling the neck of her shirt over her mouth and nose, she got down to work.

Word had quickly spread among the women that the visitor to their camp was going to be Lars Thomassen, a hero in the Norwegian resistance. None of this seemed particularly significant to Katya as she watched her mother go over to a corner and collapse against the wall, as far away as possible from the stench and buzzing flies. While the years since the fall of the Third Reich had been hard on all of them, they had been particularly hard on Sonja Holberg. It showed in the dejected slump of her mother's shoulders and in her weary countenance. When they had first arrived at the camp, all of the women had been ruthlessly shorn; their shaved heads branding them as traitors in the eyes of their countrymen. Any remaining scrap of dignity her mother may have managed to hold on to until that point had fallen away with her hair.

As fate would have it, Katya's path crossed with the visitor's later in the day as she made her way over to the laundry facility where Lilly was assigned. Lars Thomassen dropped one of his gloves and she ran to pick it up for him. He rewarded her with the briefest of smiles and a small piece of candy, which Katya was quick to share with Lilly. Overall, the encounter had been fleeting; Katya had all but forgotten about it until she and her family were summoned later that afternoon to the office for what turned out to be the visitor's personal inspection.

Lars Thomassen took his time as he looked over Katya and Lilly, making them bend over to touch their toes several times. Katya thought it was a game... until he turned his attention to her mother. There was something in the way he looked at Sonja Holberg that chilled Katya to the bone, but then Lars turned to speak to the guard and the uneasy feeling passed. After a brief haggling, there was an exchange of Norwegian Kroners. The fate of Katya and her family was quickly settled, and they were brusquely ordered to gather up their meager belongings. The relative security of the camp was soon left behind as they found themselves on a train heading to northern Norway in the company of a man they didn't know.

Their destination was Lars Thomassen's farm, remotely located outside of Alesund. The farm was primitive by anyone's standards, and without any nearby neighbors to look after the property, the farm had fallen into neglect while Lars had been away at war. Any gratitude Katya may have felt for Lars rescuing them from the hell that had been the internment camp was soon tempered by the stark realization that they had been purchased to serve as unpaid laborers on his farm. As the weeks wore on, Katya and Lilly discovered that their savior was prone to violent outbursts of anger when things weren't done to his satisfaction. Of course, they were too young to understand that Lars' anger stemmed from an unadulterated hate of the very ideals their existence represented. However, Sonja Holberg knew this, and took what little consolation she could from the bottles of plum brandy she'd discovered in Lars' cellar shortly after their arrival.

* * *

The steam rising from the water-logged goose lying in the metal tub in front of them stunk, filling the drafty summer kitchen with a foul odor.

Lilly looked at the scrawny goose with misgiving. "Maybe we should wait for Mama to come back."

Their mother had gone inside earlier to get a sweater, but had not yet returned.

"We can't," Katya told her. "Mama says once the water cools, it's harder to pluck out the little pin feathers from its wings." She gingerly took hold of the goose's foot and pushed it further into the tub until its entire body was submerged under the boiling water.

Just then Lilly coughed, a deep, rattling cough from inside her chest that left her clinging weakly to the side of the old worktable.

"Are you getting sick?" Katya asked worriedly. Lilly's coughing had become worse since they'd arrived at the farm, exacerbated by the cold Arctic air. The years in the camp had taken their toll on Lilly, both physically as well as mentally, and her sister was extremely thin to the point of being frail. Although Lilly had been Katya's protector in the past, their roles had slowly reversed over time without either girl having become consciously aware of it.

"I'm all right," her sister replied, managing a weak smile. "Worry about the goose instead of me."

Katya nodded. "Let's start with the legs and work our way up its body. Mama will have less to do when she gets back."

The two girls set about plucking the goose, quickly yanking at handfuls of wet feathers. The water was scalding hot, making their task difficult. Although the outer layer of feathers came out easily enough, the fine down underneath it was harder to grasp. By the time they got to the wings, their small fingers were numb and their nails soft, making it difficult to grasp the toughened pin feathers.

Lilly coughed again, harder this time, causing a thin sheen of sweat to break out across her forehead and upper lip.

Katya handed her an old towel to mop her forehead. "You _are_ getting sick!"

"No, I'm not," Lilly argued stubbornly. The words were barely out of her mouth before she launched into yet another coughing fit, her spittle staining the towel with slimy mucus tinged with flecks of bright red.

"You shouldn't be out here in the cold. It's making your cough worse." Katya stared at her sister's flushed cheeks worriedly. "Go find Mama and ask her to make you some of her peppermint tea."

Her sister looked dubiously at the half-plucked goose. "I promise I'll help you finish the goose when I get back."

"Don't worry about me. Just go." Katya went back to her plucking, trying not to worry about her sister. She had just finished one wing and was about to start on the other one when Lilly came rushing back.

"Katya, come quick!" she cried. "Mama's been at it again!"

Katya swiped her hands on the back of her trousers as she quickly followed her sister through the main kitchen and living quarters. The small bedroom Lars had demanded their mother share with him was at the back of the farmhouse. Sonja Holberg was sprawled across the bed, an empty bottle clutched in her hand.

"Mama!" Katya rushed over to the bed, taking the empty bottle from her mother's unresisting hand before smelling it. It smelled just like the others from the cellar. "Open your eyes!" When Sonja didn't respond, Katya vigorously rubbed her cheeks until her mother groaned.

Lilly looked at the clock on the wall. "We've got to do something. You know how Lars gets when Mama is late with supper."

"Go make some strong coffee and get Mama to drink all of it."

"There's not much left of the rations," Lilly pointed out.

"Use it anyway," Katya told her, gazing at their mother's prone form on the bed. "You have to make sure Mama's up by the time Lars gets back from the bush."

"What about supper?"

"Don't worry about supper," Katya tried to sound confident. "I'll make it."

She hurried back to the summer kitchen and plunged her waterlogged fingers into the cooling water, determined to clean the rest of the bird. When she was done, she eyed the bird's damaged skin and scraggly pinfeathers with misgiving. Somehow, it didn't look as good as when her mother did it, but it would have to do. She picked up the wet goose by one of its legs and struggled to carry it into the main kitchen, before laying it in the roasting pan on the table. Dipping her fingers into the small pot on the counter, Katya massaged duck lard into the goose's body—as she had seen her mother do—before seasoning it with liberal amounts of salt and pepper. Adding a little water to the bottom of the roasting pan, she put the goose into the oven before throwing more wood in the old stove.

Running down into the cold cellar, she hunted around in the sand pile until her fingers latched on to some wrinkled potatoes, a few rotting carrots, and an onion. Carrying them back upstairs, she washed them and prepared them for cooking. Noting the time with mounting dread, she swallowed her panic and opened the oven door. Her senses were immediately assaulted by a strange smell. She pulled out the goose, checking it worriedly. Although it looked more or less like a roasting goose was supposed to look, it didn't smell right. She shoved the pan back into the oven and reassured herself it would smell better once it had finished. Katya put the few precious potatoes on the stove to boil and went to set the table. She was just tidying the summer kitchen when she heard the whinny of horses as Lars' wagon came to a stop outside of the house. Rushing back inside, Katya was relieved to find her mother at the sink, draining the pot of potatoes.

"Mama? Are you all right?"

Her mother nodded, although her hand shook as she reached for the pot of lard. "I just need a minute, Katya."

When Lars' tall frame filled the doorway a few minutes later, tensions were thick. The girls nervously set the food on the table.

"What's that stink?" he asked by way of greeting.

"Roast goose," Sonja told him, her hand nervously smoothing a few strands of hair from her face. "Did you finish bringing in the wood?"

"The wagon's full," he replied as he sat down and helped himself to the boiled potatoes and carrots. "We can unload it tomorrow."

"I was hoping to go into town tomorrow," she told him timidly. "We need some supplies, and... I need some things to make a poultice... Lilly's coughing has gotten worse."

"Tomorrow we unload the wood." His tone brooked no refusal as he took his fork and knife and cut into the goose's leg. Separating it from the rest of the body, he put it on his plate before attacking the other leg. Next he went to the breast, making a vertical incision down the length of the goose. Suddenly, he stopped in surprise when the goose's belly squirted a greenish liquid, filling the room with a rancid odor.

"What's this?"

"What do you mean?" asked Sonja, staring at the goose with growing alarm.

"This... this green..." He pierced the goose's stomach again, and more liquid came out. He glared at the goose before turning his wrath on Sonja. "You stupid bitch! You left the goddamn guts in the goose!" With a vicious backhand, he slapped her hard across the face, sending her reeling from her chair.

"Mama!" cried Lilly.

A second backhand sent the goose and dishes in front of him flying as the girls cowered in their chairs. Lars leapt from the table and grabbed Sonja by the throat. "Is this how you treat your man? _Feed him the shit from a goose?_ "

"Don't blame Mama!" Katya cried, jumping from her chair. "It was my mistake!"

"What did you just say?" Lars focused his fury on the ten-year-old girl.

Sonja Holberg looked at her daughter in desperation. "Be quiet, Katya!"

"But, Mama—"

Sonja wasn't listening; she was too busy trying to distract Lars. "Let me show you how I like to treat big, strong men like you," she crooned, taking hold of his hand and putting it on her breast.

He forced her face close to his. "You're nothing but a two-bit German-loving whore."

She forced a smile to her quivering lips. "Let's go back to our room. Please, Lars."

"This had better be memorable." Before allowing Sonja to lead him from the kitchen, he gave the girls a parting order. "Clean up this mess."

Minutes later, the thick walls did little to muffle the thuds and their mother's screams from the other room.

Katya's hands were balled up at her sides. "I hate him."

"Katya, please." Lilly kissed her cheek. "We have to be strong for Mama's sake."

She nodded, kneeling down to pick up the debris of broken dishes and cold food.

Half an hour later, the bedroom door was flung open and both girls were unceremoniously yanked up by strong arms.

"There's a stink in this house," Lars told them as he dragged both of them out to the summer kitchen, "and it's not from the dead bird." He let Katya go and pointed to the metal tub she had used earlier to pluck the goose. "Start filling the tub with water!"

"Why? What are you going to do?" she demanded.

He answered her with a backhand that sent her sprawling against the tub. "Fill it!"

His fury filled Katya with dread.

"Please, Katya, just do it!" Lilly whimpered in between bouts of coughing.

"Let go of Lilly," Katya begged. "Please! You're choking her." Swallowing the blood in the back of her throat, she carried the bucket to the pump on shaky legs and began pushing the handle up and down to release a stream of ice-cold water into it. Once the bucket was full, she half-pushed, half-pulled it over to the tub, managing to pour most of the water into it.

"Keep going," he told her before focusing his calculating gaze on Lilly. "You, get your clothes off."

Lilly began shivering so hard her teeth rattled. "Please, no! Don't make me do—"

Lars grabbed Lilly by the throat, and in one vicious movement, he tore the top from her thin body.

In that split second, Katya instinctively took a swing at Lars with the heavy wooden pail. It hit him squarely in the crotch.

He howled in pain. "You little bitch! I'm going to kill you!"

"Let's go, Lilly. Run!" Katya grabbed her sister's hand and pushed her out the door. She was about to follow Lilly when she was violently pulled against Lars' solid frame. "Keep going, Lilly! Go call for help!"

"You'll pay for this," he hissed, grabbing Katya by her hair and dragging her over to a chair in the corner. He groped for the length of rope hanging on a nail on the wall, and roughly tied her hands to the back of the chair and her feet to each of the chair's legs. He smacked her face several times before opening the door to take off after her sister.

_Keep running, Lilly, keep running_... Katya's head was throbbing and she had trouble swallowing the blood in the back of her throat. She tried focusing on the door, but her eyelids were swelling shut, making it difficult for her to see anything. "Mama! We have to help Lilly... Mama!" There was no answer from her mother. Then everything went black.

* * *

Lilly's shrill screams woke her. Katya slowly turned her head toward the sound of her sister's voice and willed her swollen eyelids to open. She immediately recognized the strong odor that burned her eyes and the back of her throat; it came from the brown bottle Lars used to disinfect the barn walls.

"No more!" Lilly's agonized entreaty filled the room. "Stop... _please!_ "

Horrified, Katya saw that Lars had her sister's arms pinned above her head and was using a coarse horsehair brush to scrub her naked body with the disinfectant. Lilly's body had been practically scrubbed raw and was a mass of skinless, bloody sores. And still Lars scrubbed, each stroke from his brush wrenching another agonizing scream from her sister as she struggled like a wild animal to free herself from his ironclad hold.

"Let her go!" Katya begged. "Please!"

"Not until the German stench is gone," Lars answered her coldly, placing an arm across Lilly's slippery chest to get a better hold of her.

"The only... stink in this... room is... you!" In an uncharacteristic show of bravado, Lilly dipped her head and latched her teeth deep into Lars' forearm, causing him to bellow out in pain. He quickly retaliated by doubling back his other arm and driving it into Lilly's skull. Her sister's body flew out of the tub, smashing against the heavy wooden table and crumpling to the floor in an unconscious heap.

"Lilly!" Katya's scream was one of gut-wrenching agony. "No!" She struggled as he came toward her. " _Mama! Help!_ "

"Your Mama's in no position to help you, you little brat," he spat out as he unbuttoned his trousers.

" _Get away from my daughter... or... I swear to God... I'll kill you_." The voice was weak, but its intent was unmistakable.

Katya turned toward the sound of her mother's voice. Sonja Holberg was propped against the doorway, her face bruised and battered where Lars' fists had left their angry marks. In her hands was Lars' hunting rifle, pointed directly at him.

"Just what in the hell do you think you're doing—"

The first shot got him in the gut in a splatter of blood. Before he had time to react, a second shot followed the first, obliterating most of Lars Thomassen's face before Sonja let the rifle clatter to the floor. Stumbling over to her daughter, she threw her arms around her.

"Mama, you're all right!"

"I'm so sorry." In between feverish kisses, Sonja managed to untie her daughter before hugging Katya to her.

"Lilly's been hurt, Mama!" She struggled to get free of her mother's arms. "We have to help her."

Katya quickly ran over to her sister's bruised and bleeding body. Turning her over, she saw that Lilly's eyes were open but unfocused, and her blue lips were moving silently.

"Lilly!" She was crying as she knelt down to cradle her sister in her arms. "Mama's here now," she crooned. "Everything's going to be all right." Katya looked at her mother through tear-stained eyes. "Lilly's cold, Mama. We've got to get her inside to warm her up."

"It's too late for that," Sonja told her quietly.

"No, it's not!" She hugged her sister more tightly to her body. "She's alive. We've got to get her inside."

Her mother shook her head. "I'm sorry, Katya. We have to get out of here."

"No!" Katya cried. "We're not leaving Lilly!"

Sonja left, going back into the house to search for money and anything else of value. Katya covered her sister with a blanket before resuming her former position, her sister's limp form cradled in her small arms. By the time Sonja came back and managed to tear Katya from her sister's side, Lilly's lips had long since stopped moving.

### CHAPTER 3

Katya and her mother had been in Droback less than a week when Borghild Holberg found the sign nailed to her front gate. It read "Tyskerunger Not Wanted" and although Katya didn't understand what the sign meant, it made her mother cry. Ignoring her grandmother's orders to go out in the yard and play, Katya snuck back inside and hid upstairs in the sleeping loft. There, she could look down into the kitchen without being seen. Her mother and grandmother were arguing.

"What did you expect?" Borghild asked her daughter angrily. "You made a mistake coming back here."

"I had no choice," Sonja argued. "I needed to bring Katya someplace where she'd feel safe." Her voice became somber. "She's been through so much already."

"You knew there would be consequences."

"All I cared about was trying to keep the two of us alive. No one has the right to judge me for that."

Her mother shook her head. "People here don't look at it that way."

"Katya didn't do anything wrong," Sonja told her vehemently, "yet here they are, labeling her a "Kraut" as if she was a mentally-defective freak. Given half a chance, they'd probably lock her up in one of those asylums like they did with Hanna's boy."

Katya watched in silence as her grandmother began peeling vegetables for their lunch. Her movements were jerky, encumbered by her stiffened arthritic joints.

"I'm not saying what they're doing is right," Borghild told her abruptly, "but I have to live here. It's not easy for me, either."

"So, you're condemning Katya, too?" Sonja asked bitterly.

Borghild threw the onion she'd been peeling into the sink. "How can I? She's my granddaughter!"

Sonja picked up the discarded onion and started chopping it. For several minutes, there was only the sound of her knife hitting the cutting board. When she finished dicing the onion into small pieces, she tried a more conciliatory approach. "Once everyone gets used to Katya, they'll accept her. The sign is just the opinion of a few—"

Borghild put a hand on her daughter's arm. "Forget about the people here for a minute. Even if they did accept Katya, how long do you think it'll take for someone to find that man's body and come looking for you?"

"The farm was so remote, it'll take months before someone discovers the—him."

"Do you really want to take that chance?"

Sonja sat down tiredly. "I don't want to keep running."

"So don't run," her mother told her. "Go someplace where they don't know you or the child, someplace where you can start fresh."

"Fine." Sonja looked away, unable to meet her mother's eyes. "We'll stay a few more days so Katya can rest up. Then we'll go."

"When are you going to tell me about Lilly?" asked Borghild suddenly. "Katya cries out for her, you know."

Above them, Katya held her breath, not daring to breathe.

"I hear her, too," Sonja acknowledged, refusing to meet her mother's gaze. "I... don't want to talk about Lilly... I can't right now."

Borghild shook her head sadly. "Come to think of it, perhaps it's best I don't know." She watched as her daughter abruptly got up and put on her coat. "Where are you going?"

"To the market for some apples," Sonja replied grimly. "I'm going to teach my daughter how to make a strudel."

Katya watched as her mother picked up the market basket and left the house, her head held high. It was the last time she saw her mother alive.

* * *

Sonja Holberg's body was discovered by a farmer a few days later in a field outside of Droback. She'd been raped and brutally beaten, the words "German whore" carved into her freshly-shorn scalp. Katya was inconsolable, but Borghild Holberg remained stoic. She had her daughter's body buried in an unmarked grave outside of Droback.

Katya was sent to live with her mother's second cousin in Lillefjord, where she eventually settled down and life became much better. She was allowed to attend school with other children. In an environment where she was accepted, she soon thrived, becoming an excellent student with a proficiency in languages, much as her mother once had. As time wore on, Katya's past became a distant memory, due in part to her grandmother severing all contact with her, except for the occasional note to her mother's cousin, inquiring about Katya's welfare. Sadly, her feeling of well-being came to an abrupt end shortly before her nineteenth birthday, the day she learned her grandmother had died.

She and her mother's cousin went back to Droback for the funeral. It was afterwards, while Katya was in her grandmother's room packing her possessions, that she found the envelope in the bottom of the chest where her grandmother stored her winter goose down duvet. It contained an old gold necklace made of coins that had a picture of Lilly and another woman in the center coin locket, someone Katya didn't recognize. It also contained what appeared to be Katya's birth record, issued in 1939 by the Lebensborn Eingetragener Verein. The document listed her mother as Sonja Holberg, of Norwegian nationality, while her father was listed as Karel Bauer, a German. She was identified as Infant No. G109-420.

The information on the birth record was written in several different languages, including Norwegian. It outlined the goals of Hitler's Lebensborn program, whose aim was to promote the growth of the Aryan population. It promised aid and accommodations for racially and biologically valuable families, as well as endorsed the care of the mothers and children born to such families. All too soon, the shameful circumstances of her birth, as well as her mother's murder, became clear in Katya's mind. The war had ended, Hitler had been defeated, and those women unfortunate enough to be saddled with genetically half-German children were ostracized for spawning the enemy's offspring. Katya had always wondered why her last name and Lilly's had been different from their father's. Now she knew.

The next item in the envelope was a letter from her mother, addressed to her. Judging by the date, she must have written it to Katya shortly after they'd arrived at her grandmother's house. Her mother's distinctive script was unmistakable.

_October 12, 1949, Droback_

_My dearest Katya_ ,

_I know you're frightened by what happened at Lars' farm the other day, and you're probably blaming me for not having done more to save Lilly. I hear you crying out for her as you wrestle with your nightmares and this weighs heavily on my conscience. Until now, I've always been reluctant to talk about your father or Lilly, as that would have meant facing up to some unpleasant truths about myself, but with the way things have turned out, it seems the time for truth is finally at hand_.

_About your father—he was an officer in Hitler's army, but beyond that, I knew nothing about him. I figured the less I knew about him, the easier it would be for me to mate with him. Your grandmother was convinced I was attracted to his handsome face and crisp uniform, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. By the time I mated with your father, my spirit had long been broken and I was weary of groveling in the dirt for scraps of food to keep both me and your grandmother alive. At least producing his child guaranteed our survival. Deep down, I think your grandmother knows this although clinging to her fantasy is perhaps easier than having to face reality_.

_The price I paid for survival was a heavy one, to be sure! With each morsel of food that passed my lips, I struggled with my feelings of self-loathing and begged God's forgiveness. Then, once you were born, I fought to justify the relative comfort of our existence amid an atmosphere of palpable evil, tormented in my belief that we lived with a murderer, which made me no better than he was. In my defense, I wasn't the only one to bed the enemy. Many of my countrywomen were more than eager to oblige those zealots who ran the concentration camps if it meant getting much-needed food or medicine for their families_.

_I pleaded with your father to spare you the indoctrination, but once you were born, I had served my purpose and he no longer had any reason to listen to me. Then, when Lilly became a part of our lives, it finally became clear to me that your father only had one loyalty, and it wasn't to any of us_.

_Among my many regrets, Lilly is by far my greatest one because she deserved what I could never truly give her. By not being her champion, I did her a greater disservice than your father or the Lebensborn program ever did, and for that I will never forgive myself_.

_Had I known back then we would be regarded with such hate and contempt, I might have chosen a different means to an end. At this point, it's useless to speculate or to agonize over something I cannot change. Although I have much to be held accountable for, you my sweet child, must always take comfort in knowing you have done nothing wrong! I only hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me one day as you seek to find the peace I will surely never have_.

_With all my heart and soul_ ,

_Your loving Mama_

By the end of the letter, Katya was in tears. Attached to her mother's letter was a single sheet of paper headed: _LEBENSBORN ACQUISITION RECORD_. Her hands shook as she scanned the document:

_Subject: blonde-haired, blue-eyed female_

_Age: under 5 age group_

_Acquisition Location: Krakow, Poland_

_Name (if known): Lilly_

_Comments: Subject appears to be biologically viable_.

_Placement: Cmmdr. Karel Bauer for Germanization, Lodz_

It took several minutes for Katya to take in the significance of what her mother's letter, the document attached to it, and the necklace all meant. Then, as understanding dawned, it was quickly replaced by a sense of untold horror. Lilly, the sister with whom she had shared all of her secrets and fears, the one Katya had protected and loved more than her own life... _was never really... her sister..._ She had been just a little girl when German soldiers had snatched her from her mother, all because Lilly had blonde hair, blue eyes, and was genetically-viable... _just like she was_. All that remained of Lilly's former life was the gold coin necklace that had probably been around her neck when she had been abducted... _How could you have let them do this to Lilly, Mama? How could you?_

The last thing in the envelope was a yellowed clipping from an Oslo newspaper dated twelve years earlier, announcing the marriage of the actress, Sigourney Johnson, to an up and coming young Hollywood director called Karl Bauer. Katya stared at the name in the article, and then at the name of her birth father. It had to be the same Bauer, despite the different spelling of his first name. Katya's insides slowly froze over as she stared critically at the faded picture, trying to connect the man in the photograph to the father she remembered. Some would call him handsome, she had to admit, but his eyes left her cold. For years, Katya had fervently hoped that her father had fared better with his life than they had. The newspaper clipping seemed to confirm it, but instead of being happy over her father's good fortune, Katya was seething inside. What kind of man abandons his family and steals someone else's child? What kind of man sends others to their death without a shred of remorse? _The murdering monster who happens to be my father_ , she answered herself grimly.

Katya removed her father's now tattered notebook from her purse and flipped through the well-worn pages.

_Date: December 6 and 7, 1941; Location: Kolo; Exterminated: 2,000; Date: January 16, 1942; Location: Lodz ghetto; Exterminated: 4,762 (including Poles, Soviet prisoners of war, Roma)_.

There was an entry on each page, written in her father's handwriting. On the second-to-last page was written the following: _Extermination totals from December, 1941 to March, 1945: 340,000_. Taking a pen from the top of her grandmother's dresser, she carefully wrote two more entries in the notebook:

_Lilly Holberg: September, 1949; Sonja Holberg: October, 1949_. Then, she changed the total number of those exterminated from 340,000 to 340,002.

Now the list was complete. She quickly flipped through the pages once again, silently branding each date, each entry, and each life to memory. As she did so, a grim determination formed inside her, fueled by years of anger and resentment. Her father would be held accountable for every single one of those lives; she'd make damned well sure of it.

### CHAPTER 4

_1960_

_Hollywood, California_

It took Katya just a little over a year and a half to save her money for a one-way ticket to Hollywood. Selling Lilly's necklace probably would've speeded up the process, but Katya hadn't been able to bring herself to part with the last link she had to the girl she'd known and loved as her sister. Katya arrived in the United States on a hot, sticky day in late September and immediately set her sights on finding a job at the studio where her father worked; not that she expected to bump into him. Karl Bauer was now a big shot director who'd been nominated the previous year for an Oscar, his second nomination in as many years. Regardless, even if their paths were to cross, there was no way her father would recognize her now. She was all grown up, the young child's body having been replaced with a woman's curves, high firm breasts, and long legs. The studio had even changed her name to Kate in order to make it more "Americanized".

The public relations department where she was placed was a hub of gossip about the stars who worked for the studio... and Kate soon learned that her father was a favorite topic among those in her department. It didn't take her long to learn that his wife came from money, or that the former Sigourney Johnson had a son, Irving, from a previous marriage. Together, she and her father had had another son they had named Leo. They owned a mansion in the city and also had homes in Aspen and the Sonoma Valley. Karl Bauer's drinking binges were legendary, and discussions of his infidelities were popular fodder around the water cooler. However, despite Karl Bauer's less than enviable character traits, the consensus among Kate's co-workers was that he was handsome, rakish, and a brilliant director for whom most of the women in her department would have happily abandoned their virtue for a romp in his bed.

One of Kate's many duties in public relations included autographing headshots of the studio's movie stars in English, Spanish, German, French, and Norwegian. At first, the messages were the basic: "With All My Love, Danica Hathaway" or "Best Wishes from Blane Goodspeed" or "Warmest Personal Regards, Myron Dennison". As Kate's confidence grew, the messages became more personal and creative. Her job was hardly rocket science, but at least it gave her the opportunity to keep tabs on her father, even if it was only vicariously through gossip.

She found a small, furnished apartment in West Hollywood and took night classes in English, working tirelessly on making her already fluent English flawless. On her days off, she acquainted herself with her adopted city, taking long bus rides and even touring the stars' homes so she could see first-hand where her father lived. Not that Kate was able to see much. His home was in an exclusive area known as Holmby Hills, where the mansions were hidden behind imposing gates, making it difficult to see anything more than a glimpse of a well-tended garden or a multi-car garage. However, Kate didn't care. All of these were snippets of valuable information which she added to her growing mental arsenal. Ironically, despite her determination to integrate into her new life, Kate's plans for her life never ventured beyond the imminent confrontation with her father.

Luckily, the opportunity presented itself sooner than she'd expected. She had been with the studio less than three months when she learned from one of the mailroom clerks that he was going to tend bar at Karl Bauer's annual Christmas party.

"Any chance you could get me in?" Kate asked Howard after he'd told her the news. She set the large batch of envelopes she'd been carrying onto the counter.

Howard casually picked up a handful and began the sorting process. "Have you tended bar before?"

"No, but I'm a quick learner." Kate helpfully handed him some more envelopes, trying not to appear too eager.

"Let me talk to Ellie, my supervisor," he told her. "Maybe she can use you as wait staff or something. You _do_ know how to waitress, don't you?"

"Of course," Kate lied automatically.

In the end, Howard came through for her and she got the job. Elated at the thought of finally coming face-to-face with her father, Kate carefully rehearsed what she would say to him when the opportunity presented itself. Unfortunately, when the big night finally arrived, Kate was a mess. She was shaking so hard she could hardly balance an empty tray, let alone one filled with drinks. Kate tried to act confident whenever she saw her supervisor eyeing her, but knew she wasn't fooling anyone.

She got her first look at her father shortly before the party got under way when Karl Bauer unceremoniously arrived in the kitchen. She was over by the window, putting dishes and cutlery onto a bus cart, and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up even before he spoke. His presence seemed to affect everyone as the easy banter among the staff was quickly replaced by silent efficiency. When Kate heard her father's voice, she recognized it immediately and sidled closer to where he was standing with her supervisor.

"Tonight must be executed flawlessly," he announced in his heavy accent. "I'm expecting several important guests from Europe and I want you to make sure that your staff's service is impeccable." He gave her a tight smile. "My wife usually looks after this, but with her mother dying... she could not be here, of course."

"I'm very sorry to hear of her loss... and yours, too, of course," Ellie corrected herself quickly. "Rest assured, Mr. Bauer, your guests will be very well taken care of."

Kate surreptitiously glanced at him through the veil of ash-blonde hair hiding her face. The past fifteen years since Kate had last seen her father had not been kind to him, despite Karl Bauer's acquired affluence, or perhaps because of it. The handsome lines of his face had become fleshy, exaggerated by the lack of hair on his head. He had also gained a lot of weight and would never again fit into one of the trim uniforms Kate had always remembered him wearing. However, the one thing that had not changed about her father was his commanding presence. Even in the cavernous kitchen, his presence commanded—and got—attention.

Once the party was under way, her father became a witty and charming host who effortlessly held court over his guests. All evening long, Kate used every excuse to get closer to him, but he was always surrounded by people. She nevertheless made sure his ashtray was always clean and his empty glass removed the moment he put it down. About halfway through the evening, Kate was rewarded by an enigmatic smile. Her father had finally noticed her! She immediately steeled herself against the ridiculous sense of pride that flooded through her.

After dinner, when all of the guests had retired to the screening room to watch Karl's newest movie, Kate went into the library to tidy up. When she'd collected all of the dirty glasses and ashtrays, she crossed the hall and proceeded into the study to do the same. Opening the study door, she stopped dead in her tracks, paralyzed at the sight of her father, with his pants around his knees, ramming his fat, hairy body against a younger man bent over a sofa. The room was silent except for the sounds of naked flesh slapping against naked flesh, and the urgent grunts and heavy breathing of two men in the throes of unadulterated lust.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry—" Her nearly full tray wobbled alarmingly and Kate grabbed it with her other hand to steady it.

Her father pulled up his trousers and came to her side, watching her intently.

"Why is a beautiful young woman like you cleaning filthy ashtrays?" His accent was pronounced. "Are you an actress?"

Kate shook her head. "No, I work in the public relations department of Zifarelli Studios. I'm so sorry. I should have knocked, but I just thought—"

By this time, her father's young companion had also composed himself enough to pull up his trousers and light a cigarette. "How long have you been working for the studio?"

"Three months," she replied.

"Had I known such a beautiful young woman works in public relations, I would've started making excuses to visit." Her father's tone was silky as he glanced at his companion.

Kate was taken aback. It sounded like he was making a pass at her! Panic made her hands shake, and this time she was unable to prevent her tray from toppling over, sending glasses and filthy ashtrays flying onto the priceless rug.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Bauer! I'll clean it up right away." Mortified, Kate dropped to her knees and began collecting the fallen glasses.

"Leave it," ordered his companion. He gave Karl a pointed look, and her father went and locked the study door before turning to Kate.

"It'll just take me a minute to clean this up," she told him hastily.

In the weeks leading up to this party, Kate had imagined several different scenarios as to how her meeting with her father would go, but none of those scenarios had included finding him in a compromising position with another man. And now that the disgusting image was firmly fixed in her mind, Kate couldn't get past it. Especially with her father's companion staring at her like that. He appeared to be half her father's age, for God's sake. She just wanted to get the hell out of there.

Concentrating on the messy carpet, Kate didn't notice her father move. Suddenly, he was on top of her, roughly pushing her onto her back and covering her mouth with his own, making it impossible for her to scream. His tongue rammed into her mouth, and with every excited breath, he expelled the disgusting taste of stale cigars and alcohol, making Kate gag. Strong hands urgently tore at her stockings and underwear. Before she could stop him, he was inside of her, thrusting into Kate with the finesse of a battering ram. Minutes later, her father rolled off of her so his companion could take his turn. After he was done, her father came at her again, this time from behind, covering her mouth with his hand to stop her from screaming in pain. When he was done with her, he threw a fistful of cash at Kate before casually buttoning his fly.

"If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll kill you," he told her with a quiet menace. He unlocked the study door before giving Kate a belated greeting. "By the way, welcome to Hollywood." With that, both he and his companion slipped out of the study.

Heaving herself up on shaky legs, Kate saw that the cigarette ash was now embedded in the intricate pattern of the rug, along with an alarming amount of her blood. Luckily, she had the presence of mind to pick up the hundred dollar bills he had thrown at her before rushing to the nearest washroom to throw up until there was nothing left in her stomach. Stuffing some toilet paper between her legs to stem the flow of blood, she composed herself enough to leave the mansion without drawing attention to herself. She was bruised and battered and her head was reeling in disbelief. _How many other women had they raped before buying their silence?_

Kate bled steadily into the night. She called in sick the next day, and two days after that, she moved. She never set foot inside the studio again, afraid her father or his companion would show up looking for her. Kate found a shabby, furnished efficiency in a two-story walkup off Sunset and spent the next few weeks living in fear of being discovered. Her bleeding after the rape turned into bouts of sporadic spotting, and after two months of this, Kate finally worked up the courage to go to a clinic. The doctor's announcement left her stunned.

"I don't understand." Kate was verging on hysteria. "How can I be pregnant if I've been spotting?"

"It happens," the doctor told her gravely. "Sometimes, it's a sign of fetal distress, but in your case, everything appears to be fine."

"So why can't I have an abortion?"

The doctor chose his words carefully. "Pregnancies may be terminated if the situation warrants it."

"Surely rape must count as one of those situations!"

"It does, but in your case, it's too risky. No doctor in this city would risk his medical license to perform an abortion on you."

"Then I'll go to Mexico," she told him in desperation. "I've heard all it takes is a few pesos and the right connections."

"Do you really want to risk dying in some filthy Tijuana tenement?" asked the doctor angrily. "Because I guarantee that's what will happen. Your blood doesn't clot properly, which is why abortion is so risky." His eyes became more compassionate as he watched her turmoil. "You shouldn't have to go through this alone. I'll give you the name of someone you can speak with. Promise me you'll go and see him."

Kate nodded, but with her rapist's threat ringing in her ears, she knew she couldn't risk it. She couldn't go to the police, and even if she could, what would Kate tell them? _That she'd been raped by her father and his lover?_ No. This was her own private hell, certainly not one she could share with anyone else.

In the weeks that followed, Kate shut herself off from the rest of the world, only going out when it became absolutely necessary. She began dreaming of Lilly again, something she hadn't done in years, but this time, they weren't the nightmares she'd previously had. When Kate woke up after having one of them, she was oddly comforted. She lived frugally, and as her pregnancy wrought subtle changes to her body, one thing became very clear to her. Her baby was going to be born, whether she liked it or not.

* * *

Her daughter was born in September of the following year. Kate named her Sonja, after her mother. Labor was long and painful, and after seventeen hours of making absolutely no headway, Kate's daughter was delivered vaginally with the aid of forceps. Although she was immediately smitten by the angelic creature with the huge blue eyes and tuft of blonde hair, it soon became apparent to Kate that her little daughter was different from all of the other babies in the nursery. While they cooed, cried, gurgled, or wailed, Sonja lay quietly in her bassinet, watching mutely and never demanding the attention of the nurses like the other babies did. When Kate held her, Sonja would lie passively in her arms, staring at Kate with her big blue eyes.

As soon as she was strong enough to work, Kate found a job as a hand model. Aside from having to keep her hands out of the sun and away from harsh detergents and bleaches, it was undemanding work and paid better than the studio. She started off doing freelance, but then her agent landed her a contract with the department store giant, Mastonson's, modeling their newest nail polishes and gloves. A contract meant more money—and Kate needed every dime of it to pay for the full-time nurse who looked after Sonja while she was working. Evenings were a constant struggle as Kate worked tirelessly with her daughter to improve her mobility and motor skills, which lagged behind those of other babies her age. The only time Sonja seemed to have any animation at all was when she heard the music from one of her toys, a small piano Kate had bought for her in a rummage shop.

By one, Sonja was able to roll, rather than walk. Convinced that something was wrong with her daughter, Kate took Sonja on a series of consults with pediatric specialists. The last specialist finally confirmed that Sonja, her beautiful baby with the angelic face, was severely autistic and would never be able to mentally function beyond that of a child.

The doctor suggested several sanitariums where they cared for children with severe mental retardation, but Kate would have none of it. It was bad enough Sonja was the by-product of a violent rape; she certainly wasn't about to abandon her to some institution. However, in the months that followed, Kate grudgingly came to realize that Sonja's doctor had been right. Her daughter needed specialized, round-the-clock care she simply could not afford to keep providing. Between the nurse's exorbitant fees and the necessary physiotherapist's visits, Kate barely had enough money at the end of each month to pay her rent, let alone to eat. With a heavy heart, Kate reluctantly consulted with Sonja's pediatrician and arrangements were made to have her daughter put into a facility in Woodland Hills that specialized in the care of children with mental retardation.

Six weeks later, Kate tearfully brought Sonja and her suitcase full of clothing and toys to Woodland Hills. She spent the afternoon making her daughter's new room as personal as possible. She lovingly placed Lilly's necklace around the neck of Sonja's favorite teddy bear before perching it on the dresser beside her daughter's small piano. Sonja would stare mesmerized at the coins on the necklace as they twinkled in the light. Kate added a picture of her and Sonja to the other side of the locket. As dusk fell, Kate was encouraged to say her good-byes so Sonja could settle in to her new routine. Choking back her sobs, Kate left her beautiful daughter, bitterly noting that her departure had barely registered on Sonja's face.

After she got home, Kate couldn't stand the silence in the empty apartment and quickly turned on the television, cranking up the volume almost as far as it would go. A sob caught at the back of her throat, but she resolutely swallowed it. Marching to the hall closet, she armed herself with a cloth and furniture polish. Kate meticulously cleaned and polished every surface until they shone; as if by doing so, she could erase every last vestige of her daughter's existence.

The ten o'clock news came on as Kate was on her hands and knees under the sofa, trying to retrieve one of Sonja's discarded soothers.

" _The race for the governor's mansion heated up today as Irving Johnson threw his hat into the ring as California's newest gubernatorial candidate. While this handsome young man may not be a household name just yet, his stepfather certainly is. Karl Bauer's made no secret of the fact that he wants his stepson seeking public office and with his clout in the Hollywood community, it's expected that Irving Johnson will have no shortage of high-powered Hollywood backers to sustain his bid for governor of California_."

Kate's heart raced as she scrambled from under her sofa and quickly perched on the edge of the coffee table, barely breathing as she intently watched the news report unfold.

" _KZXL caught up with Karl Bauer in the grand ballroom of the Hanley Hotel, in downtown Los Angeles earlier today, where he stood proudly watching as Irving Johnson made his announcement_."

The camera had cut from the reporter's bland features to footage from the hotel taken earlier in the day. Her father was standing on a stage, and a cheer rose through the crowd as the camera quickly panned on the handsome young man striding toward the podium.

" _Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Irving Johnson and I'm here to announce my candidacy as the next governor of California!_ "

American flags waved wildly as a unified cheer rose through the packed ballroom of the Hanley Hotel. Kate was oblivious to all of it as she stared in horror at the handsome face on her screen. _California's newest gubernatorial candidate was more than her father's stepson; he was also the other man who had brutally raped her_.

### CHAPTER 5

_1963_

"Have I not been saying all along that Uncle Alex knows best?" asked Alex Vardan, Kate's agent for the past six months. "The bottom line is acting classes eventually pay off in spades."

They were sitting in his shabby office in Venice Beach; Alex behind his huge desk littered with mountains of photos and Kate across from him, in a battered chair that had seen better days.

She smiled at him indulgently, "You may have mentioned it once or twice... or even fifteen times, if I recall." She shifted to a more comfortable position. "So, what's the job? A print ad for Bulgari watches?" she joked.

He took her question seriously. "Better."

She cocked her head to one side in disbelief. "How can it be better than that?"

"It's a movie offer." Alex took a slug of his warm soda, waiting for her reaction.

"A movie!"

"Yup, and you've got until tomorrow morning to decide," he explained. "I know it's not much time to think about it, but they need a decision right away since they plan on shooting your scenes on Friday."

"I'm assuming I'm a last-minute replacement, right?"

"As a matter of fact, you are," he told her candidly. "The actress they'd hired for the part was involved in a terrible car accident, which left one side of her paralyzed, I'm told. Anyway, she can't do the part."

"That doesn't give me much time to think about it."

"What's to think about?" Alex asked her. "The movie's set in medieval England, and from what I can tell, it ain't no comedy."

"Great," Kate told him jokingly. "I hope they don't intend on cutting off my hands."

"I don't think so." Alex frantically searched through the mounds of paper on his desk until he found the script. Flipping through it quickly, he came to the passages that had been highlighted by the studio. "They need your hands for the banquet scene. Back in those days, they apparently didn't have any need for cutlery. Personally, I think eating with your hands is disgustingly barbaric, but that's just me." He looked up to make sure he still had Kate's undivided attention before going back to the script. "Anyway, your hands are going to be used for the close-ups of the queen's hands."

"What's wrong with her hands?"

He shrugged dismissively. "Who knows? Maybe the queen's a nail biter with liver spots, or maybe she's got four thumbs. They're going to do close-ups of your hands during the banquet, and then again as you grab the sword you're going to use to kill the king."

"In other words, my hands are going to become lethal weapons."

"In a manner of speaking," he acknowledged with a grin before handing her the script. "Remember, everyone's gotta start somewhere, and Zifarelli's willing to pay you the bucks to do it on such short notice."

Kate glanced at the script. The movie was called _The King's Trojan Horse_ , and the director was none other than her father. Her hand shook as she handed the script back to Alex. "No thanks."

He stared at her as if she'd just grown an extra head. "You're kidding me, right?"

"I can't do it." Kate forced herself to make eye contact. "Sorry."

"Are you crazy?" he asked. "Anyone would give their right arm for a shot at this."

"Then I'm sure you won't have any problem finding someone else with an arm to do it." Kate felt sick to her stomach. Standing up, she made to leave.

"Hey, what's the rush?" Alex jumped up and put a hand on her arm. "They're willing to pay you a very generous stipend... much more than any print ad would pay. Think about what all of that money would mean for Sonja."

Alex had her with that, and he damn well knew it. Kate sat back down tiredly. Sonja had been at Woodland Hills for a few months now, and each time Kate went to visit, there was no recognition or signs of animation on her daughter's face. Although Sonja had several physiotherapy sessions each day, her motor skills showed no signs of improvement at all. According to Dr. MacGuyver, Sonja's primary caregiver, her daughter was making adequate progress, but to Kate the progress was negligible. She wanted to transfer Sonja to a better facility, but that took money... money she didn't have.

"I don't quite know how to explain it. The director and I... we don't get along," she tried lamely. "It... I just don't think it would work out."

"What's to work out?" asked Alex. "You go to Zifarelli Studios and report for work. You go through costume and makeup. You take direction brilliantly, your hands perform even more brilliantly, and then you leave. It's a piece of cake. There are going to be literally hundreds of actors, extras, technicians, and assistants on set so you won't ever have to be alone with the guy. Believe me, there's no drama except for the nice fat paycheck at the end of the rainbow."

"I don't know, Alex." She looked at him with worried eyes. "You make it sound so simple."

"That's because it _is_ ," he told her soothingly. "Trust Uncle Alex on this, will ya?"

* * *

In the end, it looked like Alex had been right; she had been worried for nothing. By the time Kate had finished with makeup and wardrobe, she barely recognized herself. Her slim body was encased in a stiff, brocaded gown and her blonde hair was hidden beneath a heavy brunette wig. Even her hands and wrists were weighted by chunky ornate pieces of costume jewelry, made to resemble gold. All in all, Kate looked every inch a medieval king's wife. Divinia Goldman, the actress whose hands she was replacing in the close-ups, came over and introduced herself. She was about the same height as Kate, and maybe a few pounds heavier, but other than that, the two women could have passed for twins. Glancing surreptitiously at the woman's hands, she saw that Divinia was indeed a nail biter. Divinia introduced her to a few of the other actors in the banquet scene before taking her over to Todd Greaves, the first assistant director—or first A.D., as he was referred to on set.

"Is this your first shoot?" he asked. He had a boyish face, but his hair was already peppered with grey.

Kate nodded.

"It looks like chaos around here," he remarked with a grin, "but you'll get used to it." He glanced at his watch. "Rehearsals will start in about ten minutes. After that, we'll block the scenes and hopefully start filming shortly after lunch."

Todd was in charge of the rehearsals. Since Kate had no lines, she sat and watched the actors go through their's. At some point, she felt—rather than saw—someone standing beside her. When Kate looked up, she saw her father. Her body stiffened, but he didn't seem to notice; all of his attention was focused on the rehearsals. Todd came over and said something to him, and then the two men walked over to where the rehearsals were winding down. Karl Bauer then took center stage and immediately launched into a discussion as to how he wanted the first scene blocked. Kate's eyes darted around the soundstage, looking for an escape route, but she forced herself to calm down. She was in full costume; there was no way he'd remember her from his Christmas party several years ago.

When it came time for her scenes to be blocked, she forced herself to remain focused. Her father's eyes were impersonal as he calmly orchestrated the blocking. When her scenes had been done, Kate quickly escaped to the sidelines. Karl spent the next hour discussing camera angles and lighting with the second A.D. It was after one in the afternoon by the time final checks had been made to hair, makeup, wardrobe, and props. Todd called for quiet on the set before Karl yelled, "Action!" Filming was finally under way.

The banquet scenes were shot in tandem, with the wide shots covering all of the actors. The scene was then reset and shot all over again in close up, with Kate's hands and arms subbing for Divinia's. Kate had to will her hands to stop shaking, and it mercifully took only three takes to get the scene right. The murder scene was more difficult and demanding. Kate thought she would pass out when, at one point, Karl jumped out of his chair and took her by the wrist, twisting her hand this way and that, explaining what he wanted her to do. It was well after midnight when he finally yelled, "Cut!" and shooting was finished for the day.

Kate's wig had begun itching shortly after the dinner break and she was happy to finally shed her hot costume. Dressing quickly in her own clothes, she gathered up her purse and made her way to where she'd parked her car. She was about to get in it, when she heard her father's distinctive voice on the other side of the golf cart parked beside her car. After having listened to his voice for the past twelve hours, it was unmistakable.

"What did you say?" Kate glanced around her nervously, hoping someone—anyone—would walk by so she wouldn't have to be alone with him.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to pass up the money." He casually lit a cigarette, the light from the match casting his face in shadows as he moved closer to her.

Kate stared at him, slack-jawed. " _You_ got me this job?"

He nodded, releasing a thin stream of smoke from his nostrils. "My stepson went to see you the next day... but you never showed up for work. Then when he found out you had vacated your apartment, he became curious."

"Rape has that effect on people," she shot back angrily. "They get scared and run."

"Yet you didn't run very far, did you?" he pointed out. "I think it's time you and I had a talk, Kate."

"Why? So you can try and intimidate me—"

"So we can have a proper reunion." He moved closer, breathing harder. "Katya."

All of the blood drained from her face and she felt lightheaded, so she leaned against her car for support. "How did you find me?"

He laughed. "It's not that difficult to obtain the right information... as long as you're willing to pay for it."

"So you must know about Sonja, then." She stared at her father with contempt.

For the longest time, he said nothing. When he finally spoke again, his words seemed forced. "We need to talk privately, just the two of us."

"I don't want to be alone with you."

He cleared his throat. "Come to the house. Tomorrow night, eight o'clock."

With that he left, not waiting for her response.

### CHAPTER 6

"Marcus!" Kate hurried over to the man about to enter one of the classrooms at the end of the hall.

"Ah, my beautiful Kate desires me," he joked dramatically. "I knew my persistence would eventually pay off."

"You are such a ham!" His banter was infectious and Kate found herself smiling for the first time since last night.

"It's all part of the Stanton charm," he told her as he led her into one of the deserted classrooms. "Want to catch a bite to eat? I'm almost done with the repairs on the glass house set."

Kate had met Marcus Stanton in Mastonson's while he was buying his girlfriend a pair of gloves. He'd accidentally toppled over a glove display, and when they both tried to prevent it from crashing to the floor, the impact of their colliding bodies had knocked Kate on her derriere. Marcus had been most apologetic and extremely charming, managing to talk Kate into having lunch with him. By the end of their lunch, they were fast friends. Kate had told him about Sonja, and Marcus had told her about the music he wrote and hoped to sell one day.

It wasn't much of a surprise to either one of them when Marcus eventually broke up with his girlfriend and made it abundantly clear to Kate that he wanted to date her. Although she was attracted to Marcus Stanton in a way she had not been to any other man, she insisted that their relationship remain platonic. The last thing she needed in her complicated life right now was the demands of a relationship. Although Marcus took her rejection in stride, he refused to give up, joking with Kate that she'd come around to him one day. When her agent convinced Kate to take acting classes, Marcus had suggested that she take lessons with a drama coach from the acting company where he worked as a handyman.

"Can I get a rain check?" she asked. "I've got to rehearse tonight."

"Want me to help you run lines?" he asked. "Some of the guys will be coming over to my place to work on our music, but that won't be until later on."

"Thanks, but... I've kind of got to focus and you know I can't do that when you're around." Kate hoped she sounded convincing.

"Look at you! One movie role and you already think you're Ethel Barrymore."

"It's _not_ what I think at all."

"That's what they all say," he replied airily.

She felt herself blushing under his close scrutiny. There was something so damned appealing about his unbridled devotion and sincerity that Kate just wanted to sink into the comfort of his arms and let him take care of her. And she knew he'd do it in a heartbeat if she let him.

"Actually, I kind of need a favor."

"Ask and ye shall receive." He ran his finger along her bare arm. "All I ask is that you don't trifle with my weak heart."

"Would you be serious?" She cleared her throat nervously. "Do you think you could get me a gun from the prop department?"

His hand fell to his side, his playful banter replaced by a look of seriousness. "What do you need it for?"

"It would help me get into character if I got used to handling one." The lie sounded lame, and Kate inwardly cringed.

"What's the role?"

"Does it matter?" she parried nervously.

"Can't you use a brush or something?" When she didn't answer, Marcus tilted her chin and forced her to look at him. "Hey. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Don't be ridiculous." She blinked away the tears that had formed behind her lids. "Can you help me or not?"

Something closed over his features and his expression became unreadable. "Follow me."

Kate followed him down the hall to the room where all of the props were kept. Marcus removed a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, pulling her inside before closing the door behind them. He unlocked a cabinet on the far wall and removed one of the guns hanging on a peg before bringing it over to her.

"This is a .44 Magnum prop." He placed it carefully in her hands.

It felt heavy. "It's not dangerous, is it?"

"Even a prop gun, loaded with blanks, can be dangerous if it's fired at close range near the head." He gave her a strange look. "Needless to say, you're not getting any blanks. I need the gun back by tonight. That way I can replace it first thing in the morning before anyone notices that it's missing, okay?"

"Thanks, Marcus." Her bottom lip trembled.

"Promise me you're not going to do anything stupid."

Kate nodded, not trusting herself to speak. If there was one thing she had learned in dealing with her father, being stupid wasn't an option. She needed insurance.

* * *

He answered the door himself. "You came."

"You didn't give me much choice." Kate followed him back to his study. There was no sign of any servants and she could tell by the way her father was weaving back and forth that he'd been drinking. This immediately put her on her guard. "Where's your wife?"

"Somewhere in the Napa Valley, I think," he replied, going over to the bar and pouring himself a liberal amount of scotch. "Do you want a drink?"

"No thanks." Kate surreptitiously glanced at the carpet on which she'd been raped; it was clean now. There was nothing left to bear witness to the humiliation she had endured. She watched as her father lumbered over to a wing chair and sat down heavily. "And your stepson? Is he in another room, lying in wait?"

"He doesn't know who you are."

"How comforting." Her voice was laced with sarcasm.

"You look just like your mother." He took a swallow of scotch. "I don't know why I didn't notice it before."

"When would you have noticed?" she asked, unable to keep the contempt from her voice. "While you were screwing your stepson or while you were raping me?"

"You have a filthy mouth." He watched her through hooded eyes.

Kate ignored his comment. "Don't you want to know what happened to her?"

"To who?"

"My mother."

His hand shook as he lifted the glass to his lips. "That was another lifetime ago."

"Well, I'll tell you anyway," she continued as her courage grew. "Mama was raped and beaten before her nude body was dumped in a field like a piece of garbage." Kate leaned forward deliberately. "And let us not forget Lilly, another one of your defenseless victims. She ended up being tortured by some animal who would've also killed me had Mama not shot him first."

"Himmler thought he was creating a master race." He stared at her with unseeing eyes. "More like a race of emotional imbeciles!"

"What are you talking about?"

"She should have been able to overcome confrontation and come out victorious." He shook his head sadly, as if unable to come to terms with what had happened. "Lilly wasn't made of the right stuff, but you obviously were."

"Just barely!" she cried. "No thanks to you, I might add."

"War always has casualties," he told her vehemently, "and there must always be those who are sacrificed for the greater good."

"Is that all we were to you... human sacrifices?"

"What's done is done." Her father cleared his throat. "Himmler's Lebensborn program had its flaws; flaws which should have been corrected, but there had been no time. No one expected the defeat of the Third Reich."

"And yet it was defeated." The time for chit-chat was clearly over. "Now that we've caught up on old times, what did you want to talk to me about?"

He got up and went to his desk. Picking up a leather billfold, he brought it over to the coffee table. "How much will it cost me to get rid of you and that little noodle brain?"

Kate turned pale as a ghost. "What did you just call her?"

"Exactly what she is, a little half-wit?" he told her succinctly.

Each of his words had the impact of a physical blow, and Kate recoiled from his presence by sinking as far into the sofa as she could.

"Do you know what we used to do with little half-wits like her?" Karl's tone was taunting, contemptuous. "We used to tie sacks over their heads and drown them!"

"You sick bastard!" Kate cried. "That little noodle brain, as you so callously called her, is a part of you. Wouldn't it be ironic if she grew up to look exactly like her grandfather?"

"How much?" he asked again. Picking up his glass, Karl finished off the rest of his scotch in a single gulp. When he went to put it down, his glass missed the table and landed on the carpet.

His clumsiness only made Kate more incensed. "You think buying me off will make me forget about you and Irving going at it, or the fact that you both raped me? Not a chance!" she spat out. "I wonder what your wife will say when she finds out she married a sick monster who gets his kicks screwing her son," she continued coldly, "or that her beloved son, _the future governor of California_ , is a sadistic rapist like her husband?" Kate gave him a cold smile that never reached her eyes. "I bet that would thrill her plenty, maybe enough to divorce you and disown him." She stood up, ready to leave.

Karl crossed his arms over his massive chest. "It'll be your word against ours."

Kate faltered, but only for a second. "About Sonja, perhaps. However, I'd like to see you try and explain each of the entries in your little black notebook." She watched him go pale. "You _do_ remember that notebook, don't you, Papa... the one that detailed the daily executions at the extermination camp? Did I mention I have it and that I plan on using it to destroy you?"

" _You bitch!_ "

It looked like he was about to attack her, but Kate was ready for him. "Don't even _think_ of touching me." Reaching into her purse for the gun, Kate held it in front of her, trying to stop her hands from shaking.

Karl Bauer came up short at the sight of it. "You wouldn't dare!"

Kate pointed the gun at her father's chest. "Do you really want to take that chance?" she asked.

Her father suddenly laughed.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"You," he replied. "You had me going for a minute with that silly prop gun." His voice was soft, almost menacing as he slowly circled around her, the effects of the alcohol impeding his movements. "You, my dearest Katya, are a formidable product of superior genetic breeding."

Her father's words stung. "I'm a person, not a god-damned science experiment!" Tears filled Kate's eyes and she swiped at them angrily.

In that split second, her father lunged across the coffee table at Kate and clumsily tried getting his hands around her throat. Luckily, she was able to knee him in the groin. Gagging, Karl reeled backwards, only to have his heel catch on the leg of the coffee table. Losing his balance, he hit his head on the corner of the heavy wooden table as he fell to the ground.

Kate went around the table so that she was directly behind his head just as his body began convulsing. The convulsions were soon followed by huge spurts of vomit. Karl's drunken state and the knock on his head had left him disoriented and unable to get up. Without thinking, Kate brought her foot down firmly on her father's left shoulder, effectively pinning him to the carpet. His arms and legs flailed about, but he was powerless to call for help as he slowly choked on his own vomit. Soon, the flailing stopped and her father lay perfectly still.

Kate stared at his lifeless form without emotion. "Good-bye, Papa," she whispered. "I hope you rot in hell."

* * *

Kate could hear music behind the door of Marcus' apartment. She knocked several times, becoming more insistent when he didn't answer. She was about to leave when he finally threw open his door.

He gave her a worried look when he saw her wan features. "Are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Kate asked. She solemnly held out a bulky envelope, which had the prop gun in it. "I came to give this back to you."

"Thanks." Taking the package from her, he put it in his hall closet.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Kate turned to leave.

"Wait!" Marcus pulled her into his apartment. "Don't go yet."

"Look, Marcus. I don't think I'm very good company tonight." Kate tried pulling away from him, but he wasn't about to let her go.

"You don't have to be." He led Kate over to two men around his age who were lounging on a sofa that had seen better days. "Come meet the guys. This weird-looking carrot-top flexing his fingers is Rob. He plays guitar, and that there's Graham. Guys, this is Kate."

When the introductions were over, Kate again tried to leave. "It was nice meeting you. I can see you're busy—"

"We were just about to give Marcus' new tune a test run," Graham told her. "Why don't you stay and give us some feedback?"

"That's the first brilliant idea you've come up with all night," Marcus told him approvingly before looking at Kate with hopeful eyes. "What do you say, Katie? Are your ears up to the challenge?"

Kate was torn; she was an emotional wreck. On the one hand, euphoric at the realization that she was finally free of the ties that bound her to her father... yet on the other, mired by an inexplicable, gut-wrenching loss. Plus, she really didn't want—no, _couldn't_ be—alone right now. Perhaps the rowdy camaraderie between Marcus and his friends was exactly what she needed.

"All right," she acquiesced, "but just for a little while."

"Great! Now take a load off." Marcus gently pushed Kate down onto the sofa while Rob grabbed the half-eaten box of pizza and put it beside her.

The thought of food nearly made her gag, so she focused on Marcus, who seemed uncharacteristically nervous as he went and sat down behind a tired looking piano.

"The song is called, "Make a Wish"," he told her as his fingers nimbly slid over the keys. "I haven't gotten around to writing any lyrics yet." He gave her a lopsided grin that almost made her heart melt.

Marcus' tune was catchy and upbeat without being predictable; a reflection of his personality and his enormous talent, Kate felt. It was also clear that they were all accomplished musicians, and she couldn't help but be impressed. When it was over, she clapped enthusiastically. "That was really terrific!"

"Methinks the fair maiden liked the tune," Marcus remarked, a silly grin plastered on his face.

"You've got to come up with some lyrics for it," Kate told him. "Then it'll be absolutely fantastic!"

"Now that the serious portion of the program is over with," Graham joked, "we'll be happy to take requests from the audience."

Marcus' music had the much-needed effect of stabilizing her inner turmoil, and Kate was more than willing to go along with their fun. "Okay." She gave his suggestion some thought. "Do you guys know "These Autumn Days"?"

"Sure." Rob strummed the first few notes on his guitar before Marcus joined in, Graham bringing up the rear on drums.

" _There are days that are good, there are days that are bad, there are days that are happy, there are days that are sad... and then there are autumn days... these autumn days..."_ Marcus' well-modulated baritone filled the room while his friends hummed along. When he got to the second verse, it was as if a giant weight had fallen from Kate's shoulders and she impulsively began singing in a vibrant alto. The chorus was followed by two more verses before Marcus and Kate finished in perfect harmony. It was at that precise moment, when the song had ended and the last note ebbed to silence, that they all realized something magical had just happened.

Graham was the first to break the spell. "Holy shit," he whispered.

"That sounded damn fine!" Rob crowed happily.

Marcus swallowed hard as he stared at Kate. "How long have you been singing?"

"You mean in front of someone?" she asked breathlessly. "This was my first time."

Graham gave Rob a pointed look before clearing his throat dramatically. "I guess it's time Rob and I got going." He yanked at his friend's sleeve. "Come on, let's go."

Kate and Marcus never bothered to reply. They were oblivious to everything but each other.

"Don't bother getting up," Rob joked as he and Graham gathered up their things and headed for the door. "We'll let ourselves out." With that, they left.

Marcus got up from behind the piano and sat down beside Kate on the sofa. Gathering her into his arms, he tenderly kissed her. "I've been meaning to do that for a long time," he confessed.

Any lingering tension Kate may have felt disintegrated at Marcus' touch. "And I'm just realizing now how much I've been wanting you to do it," she told him solemnly. Kate wasn't sure how long they sat there wrapped in each other's arms. All she knew was that for the first time in her life, she felt safe and protected. Perhaps it was time to stop fighting the inevitable. She gazed at Marcus, her beautiful eyes luminescent. "Would you like to meet my daughter tomorrow?"

The grin that lit his face spoke louder than any words. "I thought you'd never ask."

The next day, they were on their way to Woodland Hills when the story of Karl Bauer's death made the news.

### CHAPTER 7

_1967_

After that night in his apartment, Marcus had an epiphany. With their melodic vocals, he became convinced they could make it as a group, and his energetic enthusiasm soon had Rob, Graham, and Kate on board. Rob named the group after the paisley scarves Kate liked to wear around her neck. They all kept their day jobs, and after a couple of months of solid rehearsals and Marcus fine-tuning their arrangements, they managed to save up enough money for some studio time so they could cut a demo tape. They recorded Marcus' first song, "Make a Wish".

Their demo tape spent the next four months making the rounds of the various record labels without so much as a blip of interest. At night, they would play parties, fairs, and every other gig Graham could land for them. Unfortunately, with the rise of rock music and the explosion of the British bands on the music scene, no one seemed particularly enthusiastic about the Paisleys' soft musical style. Rob and Graham were slowly becoming discouraged by their inability to get a record deal, but Marcus drove himself relentlessly, writing scores of new music and working on their arrangements.

The only time he ever took a break was to go with Kate to see Sonja, and they visited her every other day. The thing that Kate loved most about Marcus was the fact that he accepted Sonja for who she was. He wasn't aloof or intimidated by her daughter's behavior, and seemed quite happy to sit cross-legged on the floor of the playroom with her. He had asked her once who Sonja's father was, but after seeing how upset Kate had become, he never asked again. Kate felt guilty about how she'd reacted. She knew she owed Marcus an explanation, but was afraid to tell him. She had no way of knowing how he'd react, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing him. Next to her daughter, Marcus had become the center of Kate's universe.

It was only times like this, when she was stuck on the freeway, that Kate allowed herself to think about all the life-altering "what would happen if" questions she normally pushed to the back of her mind. _What would happen to Sonja if she was gone? What would happen to their relationship if Marcus found out who Sonja's father was?_ Kate was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't realize the car in front of her had braked suddenly. A second later, she hit the Cadillac's back bumper.

"Shit!" She jumped out of her car and went to inspect the damage. Seeing the occupant of the other car, an older woman, coming toward her, Kate immediately became apologetic. "I'm so sorry." She assessed the small dent in the other car's bumper before looking at the woman in concern. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," the other woman replied. "I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky that traffic was almost at a standstill."

"The damage doesn't appear to be too bad," Kate told her.

"Your car doesn't even have a scratch on it." The other woman chuckled in amusement.

Kate became embarrassed as she stared at her old tank of a car. "I guess they don't make them like they used to." She glanced around the packed freeway. "And there's never a cop around when you want one."

"Who says we want one?" asked the older woman brusquely. She withdrew a card from her wallet and wrote something on it before handing it to Kate. "Here's my contact information. Let's settle this amongst ourselves. No point making the insurance companies richer than they already are."

Kate looked at the card and then at the woman more closely. "Esther Solomon. Weren't you in _The King's Trojan Horse_?"

The other woman looked at her strangely. "How do you know that? The movie was scrubbed when the director died suddenly."

Kate grinned. "I'm Kate Holberg. We met on the set. My hands were subbing for Divinia's in the banquet and murder scenes."

"Of course!" Esther Solomon looked at Kate closely. "Divinia introduced us. It's a wonder you made the connection without us being in full costume. Have you been working on any other movies lately?"

"Not really. My boyfriend and I have been channeling most of our energies into getting our music career up and running."

"Oh?"

Kate became embarrassed for having brought it up. "Don't worry. You haven't heard of our group. We just did a demo tape recently that we're shopping around."

"Any luck?"

"Nothing yet," Kate admitted. "Some of us are getting a little discouraged, although my boyfriend seems to be a born optimist."

"What kind of music do you do?"

"Mostly soft pop," Kate told her.

Traffic on the freeway was beginning to inch forward, and it became obvious by the blaring car horns that they were holding up traffic. It was time to cut their reunion short.

"I'll tell you what." Esther became business-like. "Why don't you drop off a copy of your demo tape at our house and I'll have my husband listen to it?" She took back the business card she had given Kate earlier and scribbled her address on the back of it.

"Your husband?"

Esther nodded. "Didn't I tell you? Frank's a record producer."

* * *

Thanks to Kate's run-in with Esther Solomon on the freeway, the Paisley's soon found a good luck charm in the form of Frank Stromboli. When the call came from his office wanting to meet with them, Marcus was euphoric. Unfortunately, by the end of the meeting, his enthusiasm had waned dramatically. Although Frank Stromboli liked their sound, he felt it was too bland for people to take notice. He wanted Marcus to redo "Make a Wish" by infusing it with a folk melody, and instead of a four-part harmony, he only wanted a two-part harmony with Marcus and Kate. Frank had instinctively recognized that although Kate's voice spanned three octaves, her upper voice didn't have the same distinctive richness as her lower register. He encouraged Marcus to re-write the song in a key that would showcase her lower register.

"How do you like this guy?" Marcus fumed after their meeting. "One meeting with our group and he's already rearranging everything that makes us... well, us!"

"But how do you know what he's suggesting is wrong?" Kate asked reasonably.

"You're not agreeing with him, are you, Katie?" Marcus was staring at her with wounded eyes.

Kate took his hands and held them tightly. "You know I love you and that I believe in your incredible talent."

"Yeah, yeah." Impatient, he tried pulling away from her.

Kate would have none of it. "But the reality is that Frank Stromboli has a track record. You need to put aside your pride and see if he's right. If anyone has the talent to do that, it's you."

"He's asking us to change what the band is all about."

"Not that long ago, there was no band," she reminded him matter-of-factly.

After brooding for a few days, Marcus threw himself into reworking the entire song with a frenetic energy that temporarily excluded everyone from his life, even Kate. By this time, they had been living together for over four months, so when he locked himself into their bedroom for hours on end, Kate knew better than to disturb him. Unfortunately, Rob and Graham were less understanding about the changes and ended up leaving the group. It took Marcus almost three weeks to rework the song, and another couple of weeks for him and Kate to get the harmonies down.

Frank was enthusiastic about the changes. "Now _this_ is what I was talking about!"

Although Kate could tell Marcus still wasn't convinced, he eventually got caught up in Frank's enthusiasm. Frank arranged to have Marcus and Kate record a new demo, and with him shopping it around, it wasn't long before the Paisley's were signed to the Evergreen record label.

The Paisleys' first album, _From the Heart_ , hit stores nine months later. Frank made sure their first single off the album, "Make a Wish", got plenty of airtime so by the time their album came out, everybody who liked the single scrambled for a copy of the album. The Paisley's made a connection with audiences immediately, especially with those who listened to the vocal harmonies of the Mamas & the Papas and the folksy melodies of Simon & Garfunkel. _From the Heart_ was soon heading to the top of the charts.

With the Paisley's suddenly the hottest ticket in town, everyone began hounding Kate and Marcus for interviews. Soon, they were doing the talk show circuit in between working on their second album. It was while they were in New York, being interviewed by Ed Sullivan, that their live telecast was interrupted to announce the breaking news that California's governor, Irving Johnson—having abruptly resigned earlier that day—had been found unconscious in a hotel room after an apparent suicide attempt.

By the time their second album, _And This for You_ , hit stores, everyone was clamoring for more of the Paisley's. The album contained three Billboard Top 20 hits and went gold in just under five months. The Paisley's had become America's newest singing sensation.

* * *

They were in Boise, Idaho on the last leg of their North American tour, when Kate got a telephone call that virtually decimated her world. Within hours, their concerts were temporarily put on hold as Kate and Marcus scrambled to catch the next flight back to L.A.

Arriving at Woodland Hills, they were ushered into Dr. MacGuyver's office. He shook both of their hands, and his tone was somber while he explained what had happened.

"Did they find out what caused the explosion?" Kate asked tearfully. She gripped Marcus' hand, afraid to let go.

"Investigators believe the flow valve on one of the oxygen tanks in the physiotherapy room had been compromised during a patient's schizophrenic episode earlier that day," he explained.

"Was anyone else hurt?" Marcus asked.

"No. The explosion was contained to the physiotherapy room and the two patient rooms on either side of it, one of those rooms being Sonja's."

"Can I see her?" Kate's eyes were aquamarine orbs against the pale whiteness of her face.

Marcus looked at her worriedly. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Dr. MacGuyver cleared his throat uncomfortably. "The explosion was like an inferno. I'm afraid her... remains were charred beyond recognition."

"Then how do you know it was her?" Kate asked in desperation. "Maybe it was another patient who had come in to play with her." She was on the verge of a total breakdown.

"Sonja was having her nap when it happened. Her... remains were found in her bed." He avoided her gaze. "I'm so sorry."

" _No!"_ The agonized scream was torn from Kate as she finally gave in to the immensity of her loss.

The following days were a blur as Marcus took over the arrangements for the funeral. He also asked for copies of the police report, the fire marshal's investigation, and the coroner's report, but Kate refused to look at them. All she asked for was something of Sonja's that she could hold on to but there had been nothing left... the explosion had seen to that. Later in the week, when they stood beside Sonja's grave, Kate couldn't help feeling that a piece of her life had been buried alongside her daughter. She would never be the same again. The only things that kept her from losing her mind were the strong arm around her shoulders and the solid body beside her.

"This isn't exactly the right time or the place," Marcus said, his voice cutting into her thoughts, "but I want you to marry me, Katie."

She looked up at him, confused. "What?"

"I asked you to marry me."

There was no doubting the sincerity in his eyes. Kate looked away, hating herself for what she was about to do. "Do you know who Karl Bauer was?"

"Hey," he teased her, "how about a simple yes?"

"I asked if you knew who Karl Bauer was."

Marcus sobered at her expression. "Wasn't he that German director who died a while back?" he asked.

"Yes, he was," Kate confirmed vacantly. "He was also a Nazi monster who happened to be my father." She took a deep breath, unable to look Marcus in the eye. "And he was also Sonja's father."

All vestiges of color drained from his face. "Do you mean to tell me that—"

Kate turned and slowly walked away from her daughter's grave, unable to face him. God help her for telling him, but there was no other way if she was to have any hope for a future with Marcus. The identity of Sonja's father would always be a festering thorn in their relationship until she told him. It had been the right thing to do it now.

Running to catch up with her, Marcus grabbed her arm and spun her around. "I'm glad the sick son of a bitch isn't alive anymore because I swear to God I'd kill him for what he did to you," he told her angrily. "However, that doesn't change a damn thing as far as I'm concerned. I want you to be my wife because I love you like I loved that little girl we just buried."

Tears streamed down Kate's cheeks. "Thank you for saying that."

"It's the honest to God's truth," he told her gruffly. "So how about it... will you say yes?"

Kate melted into Marcus' arms. No words were necessary.

* * *

When their tour wrapped up a month later, Kate and Marcus were quietly married in Santa Monica. When the Grammy nominees were announced later that year, the Paisley's were nominated for three Grammys, including Best New Vocal Group, and ended up winning two of them. The Grammy awards were just the beginning in a long line of accolades that included the covers of several national magazines, a performance at the White House, and even an Oscar nod for one of Marcus' songs. However, all of their accomplishments paled in comparison to Kate's announcement of her pregnancy eighteen months after their marriage, which heralded the beginning of the end of the Paisleys' short but prolific career.

Although Frank tried everything he could to get them to change their mind, he was no match for Kate's determination. She had been given a second chance at motherhood and she embraced it with a vengeance. Next to Marcus, her baby became the most important thing in Kate's life. The Paisley's retired quietly after their fifth album and Kate and Marcus bought a house in Laurel Canyon. While Kate put her energies into decorating the baby's room, Marcus continued to write music. Not one to be a sore loser, Frank took Marcus under his wing, teaching Marcus everything he knew about the music business. Although Marcus continued to write music, the production end fascinated him.

As Kate eagerly awaited the birth of their baby, Marcus, under Frank's dedicated tutelage, slowly evolved into one of the music business' most sought-after producers.

### CHAPTER 8

_1973_

America had ringside seats when little Evelyn Stanton made her first public appearance leaving the hospital in the protective arms of her doting parents.

Although Kate had loved Sonja with every fiber of her being, Evelyn was nothing like her other daughter. Therefore, Kate found herself experiencing motherhood as if for the first time. It was more than just the differences in each child's physical traits that set them apart. Whereas Sonja had been unfocused and without expression, Evelyn was always animated, mischievous, and full of boundless energy that constantly kept Kate and Marcus on their toes. Despite her exhaustion from her daughter's constant demands, Kate felt blessed, happy, and most important of all, at peace for the first time in her life.

* * *

Evelyn Stanton was four years old when Esther convinced Kate to let her daughter audition for a television commercial. They were looking for a little girl who could cry on cue and little Evelyn nailed it on the first take. Not only did she collect a check for that commercial, but she was given her very own life-size princess doll house. By five, she was taking ballet, tap, jazz, and modern dance. In addition, she took voice lessons from a retired teacher from the Juilliard on Tuesdays and Thursdays. By the time she turned seven, Evelyn had done exactly sixty-four commercials for everything that included dolls wetting themselves, to bubble bath, to hawking toddler duds for a major clothing manufacturer. She even became famous locally as "L'il Spiff", the first spokes girl for Spiffy Joe's Drive Thru Restaurants.

As a young girl, Evelyn beat out over five hundred other girls vying for the lead in a revival of _Clarissa's Dream_ on Broadway, so Kate and Evelyn moved from L.A. to New York with Marcus commuting on weekends. Her agent convinced her parents to shorten her professional name to Lyn Stanton because it looked better on a Broadway marquee and her parents agreed. Lyn did eight performances a week, two on Saturdays, and an early show on Sundays. In between all of that, she had a tutor and as much of a normal childhood as possible.

Her role as Libby in _Daddy's Little Girls_ came quite by accident. Lyn had been one of the star attractions at a benefit for a children's hospital in Queens, and there she met the wife of one of the producers of a new show scheduled for the fall line-up at CBS. She had seen Lyn on Broadway and suggested that Lyn go out to L.A. to audition for the show. They still hadn't cast the role of the youngest daughter on the new sitcom, _Daddy's Little Girls_. It wasn't long before Lyn's agent pulled a few strings and she and Kate were on a plane, heading back to Hollywood.

_Daddy's Little Girls_ debuted on CBS to mediocre reviews. Although more or less panned by the critics, it was consistently in the top thirty during its primetime run. The show quickly found a fan base with its young teenage audience despite the fact that the plot was far from original, revolving around a widowed father with two young daughters. However, its popularity was due in part to the appeal of the young girls and the fact that it sold the perennial California dream of a mansion in Bel Air, a swimming pool, and lots of palm trees with the Pacific Ocean virtually in their backyard.

As both Lyn and Cherry Moore, who played her older sister Alana, grew into beautiful leggy teenagers, they were regularly featured on the covers of _Teen Beat Magazine_ and _Seventeen_. Lyn, dubbed by the press as "America's teenage sweetheart", even had a small Q&A column in _Teen Journal_ during the last two years of the show. Both girls made appearances at malls around the country, and were Johnny's darlings on _The Tonight Show_. Their faces were immortalized on lunch boxes, and it wasn't long after the first season that stores across the country were selling pinup posters and dolls that looked like them.

The fairytale came to a screeching halt when Lyn's sister on the show was found dead under the Santa Monica Pier, her life tragically cut short at sixteen, the result of an accidental drug overdose. Lyn knew her friend had had a death wish for a long time; too much fame and too much heroine had taken their toll. At first, public sympathy had been overwhelming, especially since Cherry's death was written into the show. However, once the next Hollywood scandal hit the media, interest in Cherry's death died, together with the public's interest in the show. _Daddy's Little Girls_ was eventually cancelled after a five year run. In the relatively short time it had been on the air, the show had become a true cultural phenomenon, spanning twenty-four countries worldwide in syndication. Nickelodeon still carried it every afternoon, and a new generation of kids was growing up wanting to be _Daddy's Little Girls_.

When the show ended, America's teenage sweetheart was seventeen and ready to retire. Frank Stromboli had been dead for a year, and Kate and Marcus' idyllic union had hit its first major stumbling block, thanks to a serious stroke that left Marcus partially paralyzed. Less than a year later, a second stroke took his life.

## PART TWO
### CHAPTER 9

_February, 2011_

_Hollywood, California_

_Just another screwed up day in Tinseltown_ , thought Liz Farrell as she impatiently surveyed the chaos around her. Swells of flamboyant he-shes had spilled out onto the Boulevard, forcing traffic to come to a grinding halt amid blaring horns and a cacophony of irate expletives from the stranded motorists. Adding to the growing bedlam were the groups of actor-wannabes, buskers, and opportunistic scam artists enthusiastically working the tourist trade congesting the terrazzo-squared sidewalks on either side of Hollywood Boulevard.

Although she worked for a tour company that exploited the dream factory myth, Liz still believed Hollywood to be a magical place. Her good friend, Otis, accused her of being a hopeless romantic but to Liz—whose entire childhood had been spent in a succession of miserable foster homes—Hollywood epitomized the very hopes and dreams she'd nurtured throughout her developing years. Of course, she'd also learned that dreams sometimes had a funny way of turning into reality, and not always in the way a person wanted them to.

Glancing in her rearview mirror, Liz sensed a growing restlessness among her charges, so she cranked up the air a notch and slid Kenny G into the CD player. A second later, the soothing notes from Kenny's clarinet wafted through the speakers.

"How much longer before we get to the Hollywood Bowl?" asked a British woman, looking up from the tour book she'd been reading.

"That's assuming we'll be able to fight our way through the rabid mobs," her husband added impatiently.

"I realize the congestion has slowed us down a bit," Liz commiserated, "but things should pick up once we're off of Hollywood Boulevard."

"Look!" cried one of the French tourists. "Zere's zee 'ollywood sign on top of zee 'ill!"

"What sign?" someone asked anxiously, worried that they might miss something. "Where?"

"I think he means the _Hollywood_ sign," said one of the older women in the group, "and it's there, up on that hill."

There was a collective gasp as everyone in the minibus craned their necks to the right. Smog was at a minimum, so the famous landmark could be seen in the distance.

"You'll be able to get a better look at it as we head up to the Bowl," Liz told them. "The sign measures 450 feet long, its letters are 45 feet high, and it's visible from pretty much everywhere in Hollywood. The sign originally spelled Hollywoodland, but the last four letters were removed in 1945." Her charges were spellbound. "In 1932, during the Great Depression, an actress actually jumped to her death from the sign's giant letter H."

Liz became distracted by a guy who jumped in front of the bus, dressed in a pirate's costume. The costume had seen better days and his sword was amateurish, made out of tin foil. He was just another out-of-work actor looking to make a quick buck from tourist photo-ops. He waved to everyone on the bus and they automatically waved back, snapping pictures furiously while he posed for his captive audience. Liz honked her horn in irritation and he finally stepped out of the way so she could turn onto Highland Avenue.

"Bleedin' wanker," the Brit said in amazement.

_How right you are_ , Liz thought irritably.

Traffic again came to a standstill. At this rate, it would take them another hour just to go up Highland to the Bowl. As Liz scanned the street carefully, looking for a possible escape route, a familiar flash of bright pink caught her eye; a sighting so rare these past few weeks that Liz immediately made the unprecedented decision to abort their current itinerary. She executed a hasty left turn into the Renaissance Hotel.

"What eez wrong?" the French tourist asked. "Why are we stopping 'ere?"

"Sorry, folks, but it looks like I was wrong about the traffic. We're going to have to put the Hollywood Bowl on hold until the roads clear up a bit." Liz ignored their murmurs of disappointment as she quickly improvised with a new plan. "Not to worry, though. I've got something else up my sleeve." She pointed to her left. "See those huge stone elephants over there? That'll be the next stop on your tour."

"What is that place?" one of the Canadians asked with interest.

"Those elephants guard Babylon Court, which is a massive three-story courtyard inspired by a scene from D.W. Griffith's movie _Intolerance_ , and is part of the Hollywood & Highland Center," Liz explained. "It's an amazing place with lots of stores and restaurants, and has easy access to Grauman's Chinese Theater, Hollywood Boulevard, and the Kodak Theater, where the Academy Awards are held every year." She consulted her watch. "You'll have the next three hours to shop and sightsee. We'll meet back here at four o'clock, and hopefully by that time, it'll be smooth sailing up to the Bowl."

"What's the point in having an itinerary if you can't stick to it," the Brit muttered waspishly as he scrambled to be the first one off the bus.

The others quickly followed suit as they collected their belongings and disembarked, eager to leave the confines of their bus. Liz smiled impatiently and made the appropriate reassurances as they got their bearings. When the last passenger finally got off, she grabbed the backpack she always kept with her, locked the minibus, and hurried over to where she'd spotted the pink. However, by the time she reached the spot, there was no sign of it anywhere.

"Damn!" She jumped on a bench and anxiously scanned the crowds, hoping the familiar pink would jump out at her. As luck would have it, she spotted it again as it was about to disappear through the stone archway leading to Babylon Court! She leapt from the bench and sprinted through the throngs of people. Liz concentrated on her quarry, who—at that precise moment—was leisurely rifling her way through every garbage receptacle in Babylon Court. Finally, she went inside the women's restroom, and Liz followed her a few minutes later... only to be immediately assaulted by the pervasive stink of foul body odor. Liz steadfastly ignored the smell as she locked the door behind her.

The woman was sitting on the floor between the rows of toilets, her pink raincoat discarded and lying in a heap at her side. The length of the entire countertop was littered with the contents of the various plastic shopping bags she had been carrying. She seemed unaware of Liz's presence as she struggled to remove her right shoe.

Liz swallowed the lump in her throat before going over and crouching down in front of her. "Here, let me help you." Ever so slowly, she reached for the woman's foot. The woman's immediate reaction was to cower, panic-stricken, against the tile wall.

"It's all right." Liz's voice was calm as she carefully took off her backpack. With slow, measured movements, she withdrew a bottle of water. Twisting off the plastic cap, Liz offered it to her.

Grabbing the bottle from her, the woman immediately dumped its contents all over herself.

Undeterred, Liz next withdrew a chocolate bar which she unwrapped slowly, conscious of the wary eyes that followed her every move. She held it just out of arm's reach, anticipating the eager hand that shot out to take it from her. "Not so fast," she said, smiling at her. "How about we make a deal?"

The woman continued to eye her warily.

"I'll give you the chocolate bar if you let me take off your shoes."

The words were barely out of Liz's mouth when the woman lunged for the chocolate bar. This time, Liz let her have it. The woman delicately nibbled at the nuts embedded in the chocolate exterior, while allowing Liz to undo the laces of her filthy red high tops. When the laces were undone, Liz stretched apart both sides of the right sneaker as far as they would go. To her consternation, the sneaker wouldn't budge. She resolutely took her fingers and eased them between the top of the sneaker and the woman's doughy ankles. After twisting the sneaker several times, she finally managed to pry it off.

Liz looked in revulsion at the mass of rotting flesh. Although the sole of the woman's foot was rough and calloused, countless earlier blisters had festered, leading to infection around toenails that curled incongruously against the contours of her sneaker. Taking a washcloth from her backpack, Liz went to the sink and wet it before liberally lathering it with soap from the dispenser. Stooping back down, she gently picked up the woman's foot and separated the toes in order to work her washcloth between them.

"Maria's little piggies." The woman's voice was raspy and barely audible.

Startled, Liz stopped what she was doing. "What did you just say?"

Her voice was stronger this time. "Maria's little piggies! Right, Lizzie?"

"Yes, Mom." The tears Liz had resolutely been holding in check now slid down her cheeks. "Lizzie's very happy to see Maria and her little piggies."

* * *

Liz looked up at the fast food menu behind the cashier's head and automatically chose a burger and soda. After paying for her meal, she picked up her tray and hurried over to join her friends.

"Sorry I'm late," she announced by way of greeting. "Did I miss anything?"

"Hi to you, too," Otis responded cheerfully.

"Just our usual debate over who had the weirdest tourists today," Harry told her. He handled the charters for their employer, Dream Factory Tours. "Otis wins this one, hands down."

"I wouldn't really call my group _weird_ ," Otis protested.

"Oh yeah?" challenged his friend. "Then what would you call The Divine Sisters of the Holy Order?"

"Spiritually uplifting," he replied smugly.

"Really?" asked Kim, who was sitting across from Otis. "I didn't think you went in for that kind of stuff."

"Why not? They prayed and sang a bunch of hymns I haven't heard since I was a kid." Otis looked positively blissful.

"Tell them about the tour you took them on," Harry urged.

"It wasn't a big deal," argued Otis. "They just wanted to tour some churches."

"We don't have a church tour," Liz reminded him as she nibbled on her burger.

"That's hardly a problem for an intrepid tour guide such as myself," he boasted teasingly.

"And where exactly did your Intrepid Wonderfulness end up taking them?" asked Liz suspiciously.

"To just about every church in L.A. County," he replied breezily, " _and_ I managed to collect almost a hundred and seventeen dollars in tips."

"Praise the Lord!" cried Mack.

"For that kind of money, I would've thrown in a couple of synagogues and a Muslim temple," Kim told him enviously.

"I hear our intrepid tour guide wasn't the only one with all the excitement today," Harry announced, staring pointedly at Liz.

Liz glared at Otis. " _You told everyone?_ "

Otis tried his best to look shamefaced. "Sorry. It was too funny not to."

"It's not your fault the guy had to take a leak," Mack reassured her.

"Am I the only one who doesn't know what happened?" Kim griped.

Liz gave up on her burger, having suddenly lost her appetite. "One of my Brits got propositioned in a restroom this afternoon," she explained.

"Had it been a hot-looking chick, the guy would've come all over himself," Harry predicted.

Mack shrugged philosophically. "Unfortunately for Liz's guy, the hand grabbing at his crotch belonged to a set of 44D's and a dick long enough to make your Brit sing "God Save Queen and Country" in falsetto!" Laughing uproariously at his own joke, he picked up his garbage and headed for the door.

Kim went over and gave Liz's shoulder a quick squeeze. "Chin up, kid. They don't pay us to babysit in the can." She looked anxiously at her watch before giving Harry the signal. "We'd better haul ass, too, otherwise we'll be late again!" With that, they took off after Mack.

"Are you sore at me for telling everyone?" asked Otis.

"I'll get over it," Liz replied curtly. "That Brit was a jerk from the moment he got on my bus, complaining about everything. I don't know how his wife puts up with him." She took a dejected slurp of her soda. "With my luck, he'll blame me for everything."

"I think he already tried, sweetie," Otis admitted.

Liz's head shot up. "Why do you say that?"

Otis shrugged. "He went and yelled at Delaney after you dropped off your group."

"What!"

"Yup. He threatened to sue the tour company for abandonment, not to mention his so-called emotional trauma."

"What did Delaney say?"

"Are you going to eat that?" he asked, pointing to her half-eaten burger.

She shook her head, watching as he took a huge bite. "Otis, would you get on with it? Please!"

"Delaney apologized and took down his complaint. As for the lawsuit, he told the guy to go ahead and try." He swallowed the last of her burger thoughtfully. "Which is why your buddy left with his knickers in a knot, muttering something about how all of us dirty Yanks stick together." Otis casually picked at a scrap of food caught between his two front teeth. "Be prepared to give a full report to our fearless leader when your shift ends."

"Oh, great," she moaned, shaking her head, "just what I _don't_ need on top of everything else that's happened today!"

"Where exactly were you when your Brit got propositioned?"

"We were at Hollywood & Highland," she replied tersely, "and I was probably in one of the restrooms with my mother at the time."

Not long after they'd first met, Liz had told Otis the story of her strange and screwed up relationship with her mother and it had cemented their friendship. No one else knew, and this was one secret she trusted Otis to keep. To his credit, Otis never judged her or tried to analyze the relationship Liz had with her mother, and she was grateful to him for that.

"It's been a while since you've seen Maria, hasn't it?"

She nodded, fidgeting with the crumpled hamburger wrapper. "At least a few weeks."

"How's she doing?"

"It took her a while, but at least she recognized me."

Otis looked at Liz closely, her turmoil apparent. "But?"

"She's in bad shape, Ote. She's obviously not eating right and her feet look terrible."

"Where is she now?"

"That's just it... I don't know!" Liz pulled agitated fingers through her hair. "Mom slipped out of the restroom while I was arguing with a security guard about her mess on the counter."

"No shit."

"You know, Ote, I get that she doesn't want to live with me, but she can't keep living on the streets either," Liz told him tearfully. "I simply can't bring myself to have her committed again." She buried her face in her hands. "What am I going to do?"

* * *

The ground underneath the Hollywood Freeway overpass was littered with beer cans, mounds of garbage, newspapers, and used needles. Maria navigated the rows of roughly-hewn shelters with a practiced familiarity. The last one consisted of nothing more than pieces of recycled cardboard built against a concrete support decorated with colorful graffiti whose entrance was covered with a piece of torn fabric. The feeble cries of a baby confirmed she was in the right place.

Pushing aside the fabric, Maria got down on her hands and knees and awkwardly crawled into the shelter while dragging a plastic bag in one hand. A young girl was trying to breastfeed a tiny baby, but it kept turning its head away, crying in frustration.

"Don't cry, baby," cooed Maria. When the baby kept right on crying, Maria became hysterical. "Shut up, baby!" She covered her ears with her hands and rocked back and forth, but she could still hear the baby's cries.

"What'd you get?" Sandy put down the frustrated baby before snatching the plastic bag out of Maria's hand.

"Food," Maria announced.

"I figured that, you retard," snapped the young girl. "I meant what _kind_ of food?" She thrust her hand inside the plastic bag before yanking it out quickly. It was covered in orange slime. "Ah, sheeeit! What the hell _is_ that?"

"Pancake," Maria answered, taking a piece of sticky cheese omelet from the bag and hungrily shoving it in her mouth. She chewed with gusto. "Good." She pushed a small piece of omelet against the baby's mouth, but the baby started choking. "Uh-oh!" yelled Maria, shaking her head back and forth. "No, no, no! Baby stop!"

"I told you before. April don't want nothing but tit's milk and I ain't got enough!" Sandy slapped the piece of omelet out of Maria's hand. "Leave her be. She'll stop bawling soon enough."

Maria's bottom lip quivered. She didn't like it when Sandy yelled at her. Now her feet hurt again. Reaching into the plastic bag, she pulled out a half-eaten chocolate bar, only partially covered in processed orange slime.

Sandy eyed Maria's chocolate bar hungrily. She took a necklace out of her pocket and held it out to Maria. "Give me the chocolate bar and go pawn this."

Maria took the dirty necklace from her, a huge smile lighting her worn face. "Maria's necklace!"

"Yeah." Sandy stared at her tiny daughter, who had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep. "Maybe you can get enough for it to buy us some real food." Snatching the chocolate bar from Maria, Sandy quickly finished it off in two huge bites. Looking around for her can of beer, she found it under a pile of rags and drank thirstily.

"Give me." Maria held out her hand expectantly.

"None left," Sandy told her. She belched loudly before crumpling up the can and throwing it in a corner.

Maria retrieved the empty can and held it above her upturned lips. When no liquid came out, she placed the empty can in her plastic bag, watching as Sandy hunkered down beside her daughter. April started whimpering, but Sandy just ignored her as she glared at Maria.

"What'ya starin' at? Go pawn that piece of shit, for Christ's sake!" she shrieked. Reaching under the rags, she withdrew a gun, which she pointed at Maria. "And don't come back until you got some milk, hear? Otherwise, you know what'll happen to ya. Now git!"

Maria left, her necklace clutched in her grimy hand as she made her way around the shelters and back up the path that led to the Hollywood Freeway. When she reached the chain link fence just beyond the freeway, she sat down and carefully put the necklace in her pant pocket.

Noticing the red footprints in the cement, she chortled happily. "Maria's little piggies!" Standing up, she took a step forward, only to crumple in pain. "Piggies hurt..." Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the last of her congealed omelet. After rubbing the omelet on the soles of her bleeding feet, she tried taking another step. This time, they didn't hurt as much.

### CHAPTER 10

Viewings of the Swanson Estate were by appointment only, giving Eve and Kate Stanton plenty of time to ensure that the prospective buyer's bank account could support the hefty asking price. The original house had once been an old artist's studio owned by Luella Swanson and Austen Crawford, film royalty back in the roaring twenties of the last century, but the 32,000 square foot mansion now standing on the twelve acre property held little resemblance to its predecessor. The insides of the main house were resplendent with intricate ceiling frescos while the grounds boasted stands of trees, an orchard of lemons and oranges, gardens and ancient wisteria, practically unheard of in modern day Los Angeles, where land was at a premium.

Stanton Realty Inc. had grown into one of the preeminent residential real estate brokerages in Los Angeles, catering exclusively to the luxury market, and the demand for prestigious homes had shown little signs of slowing down, even with the downturn in the economy as of late. These days, Kate was semi-retired and content to leave the day-to-day running of the business she had founded almost twenty years ago to Eve. However, it had nothing to do with Kate slowing down... far from it. It was more a matter of her priorities shifting in recent years to volunteer work and other philanthropic endeavors close to her heart. Kate also cherished and nurtured the close and loving relationship she had with her seventeen-year-old granddaughter, Karen. Of course, she still kept an office down the hall from her daughter and spearheaded some of Stanton Realty's more prestigious listings, such as the Swanson Estate.

In the few short weeks the estate had been on the market, Eve had shown it to a construction magnate from upstate New York and to a Japanese diplomat. Today, she was showing the estate to a former commercial airline pilot from Omaha, Nebraska.

"Have you ever been to Hef's crib?"

"Excuse me?" Eve stared at Calvin Davidson, caught off guard by his question.

"You know," he elaborated impatiently, "the Playboy mansion."

"No, I haven't," she replied shortly, determined to get on with the tour. Reaching the landing on the second floor, Eve guided him down the hall into one of the bedrooms. "The second floor consists of eight bedrooms, including a master suite with two balconies. Each of the bedrooms has an adjoining bath with imported French tile."

"That's an awful lot of bedrooms," was his less-than-enthusiastic comment.

"I don't know about that. I can see it coming in handy," Eve countered. "Especially if you have a lot of friends like Hef does."

He brightened considerably as he gave her an appreciative once-over. "I'm always open to new friends, especially if they look like you."

Eve managed to hide her irritation. Her gut was telling her that the client had no interest in this house and it wasn't because of the daunting price tag; Calvin Davidson could certainly afford it. Years ago, he had patented an epidermal cream for travelers with motion sickness. Thanks to a lucrative licensing agreement with several major pharmaceutical manufacturers, money worries were the last thing on Calvin's agenda as he sought to find the perfect party pad to rival that of his idol, Hugh Hefner. Unfortunately for Calvin, he sorely lacked Hef's boyish charm and just the thought of his overweight body in silk pajamas, well... Eve wasn't about to let her thoughts stray down _that_ path!

She quickly steered the conversation toward more neutral ground. "How about a walk through the gardens?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of giving this four-poster a test drive," he countered, giving her a lurid grin.

Before she could think of a scathing comeback, a frosty male voice cut in, "Sorry, but test driving the realtor isn't part of the tour."

Eve whirled around, seeing the familiar tall frame filling the bedroom doorway. "Paul! This is an unexpected surprise."

"My secretary booked a full two hours," Calvin Davidson told him dismissively, "so you'll just have to reschedule. I'm sure you understand."

"Unfortunately, your viewing's just been pre-empted." Paul's tone was clipped as he regarded the younger man with a steely glare.

Calvin wasn't used to being dismissed. "Who did you say you were?"

"He didn't," Eve jumped in, trying to smooth things over. "Calvin Davidson, this is Paul Wagner, the owner of the Swanson Estate."

The two men shook hands warily as Paul adopted a more civil tone. "Sorry to intrude like this, but something's come up requiring Ms. Stanton's immediate attention."

"Well, I—"

"I'm sure Ms. Stanton's office would be more than happy to reschedule," he told the former pilot, effectively ending the conversation.

Eve waited until Calvin Davidson had stormed out of the room and down the hall before turning to Paul. "That bulldozing tactic isn't the best approach when we're trying to sell your house, you know."

"That guy didn't care a hill of beans about this house," Paul responded acerbically. "He was only interested in getting you between the sheets."

When her mother had first heard rumors about the Swanson Estate going on the market, she had aggressively pursued the prestigious listing, knowing it would be a coup to the agency. Kate had known Paul since he'd been one of the producers of Eve's old television show, _Daddy's Little Girls_. At the time, he had seemed quite happy to sign the listing over to Kate. Eve just hoped Paul wasn't going to get into the habit of interfering while they were in the middle of a showing.

"Whatever Calvin's motives were, you needn't have worried. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Besides, I assume there's a reason for this visit other than your obvious need to guard my virtue."

"There is," he replied. "I had a proposition for your mother and I thought she'd be showing the house."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but Mom's been busy with the Foundation benefit and asked me to do the showing." She looked at him expectantly. "Why don't you give her a call?"

"I did. And I left her four voicemails," he told her in frustration.

Despite the scowl on his face, Paul Wagner was a handsome man. In his early seventies, he was tall and trim, his casual outfit of slacks and jacket complimenting his silver hair and handsome features. Eve suspected that even if he were to wear a cassock, Paul would still manage to look distinguished. The thick pelt of silver hair gave him a sexiness women of all ages would find attractive, she decided. Too bad her mother seemed to be immune to his charms.

"Sorry, Paul. Mom sometimes gets tunnel vision when she's involved in one of her projects. I promise I'll have her call you."

Paul brightened considerably. "I'd appreciate that. I'm planning on issuing a commemorative CD collection of the Paisleys' music later this year." His production company owned the rights to the Paisleys' songbook, which Paul had bought from Kate a few years after Marcus' death.

"Their fortieth anniversary," Eve mused.

"Exactly. I was hoping to convince your mother to collaborate with me on it, maybe do an interview."

Eve shrugged her elegant shoulders. "I don't know, Paul. Something tells me she wouldn't be interested in resurrecting that part of her life."

"The glory years, you mean."

She smiled. "I guess you could call them that, although I don't think Mom thinks of them that way."

"These days, everybody wants to connect with a part of their youth that was happy and uncomplicated. For many, the Paisley's and their music _are_ that connection."

"You're the consummate salesman, aren't you?" Eve couldn't help teasing him.

"Just like my old man." He shot her a devilish grin. "Besides, the Paisley's defined an era in music, as did the Beatles, the Bee Gees, and all those other groups. Hearing your mother talk about it and listening to their music again would take people back to a simpler time." He shot her a hopeful look. "So, what do you say? How about helping me convince your mother?"

"I don't know, Paul. Mom is stubborn about certain things, and resurrecting the past might be one of them."

His piercing blue eyes fixed themselves on her face. "Then I guess I'd better go and fine-tune my sales pitch."

Eve grinned as she regarded him in amusement. "Just between you, me, and these four walls, there's nothing wrong with your sales pitch."

* * *

The House of Chinny Chin-Chin on La Cienega was packed for lunch, as always. It served the best ginger lobster in L.A., and had been a favorite of the Devane clan for as long as Karen could remember. Father and daughter sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant, making a pretense of sipping their respective drinks while eying each other warily.

"How's Killenby and that girl you hang out with?" Eric asked casually.

"Her name is Ashley," Karen reminded him, unable to resist blowing bubbles through her straw. "Her dad invited me to go to Hawaii with them next summer." She looked at her father hopefully. "Can I go?"

"We'll see."

She tried a different tact. "I saw that woman D.A. on TV the other night. I met her at your office a couple of months ago, remember? Did you get her pregnant yet?"

"You know I can't talk about my patients."

"Sorry. Whatever."

"But since you asked, yes. She's four months along." He deftly picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks and held it out to her. "Try one of these. They're fantastic."

"No thanks." Karen wasn't about to make things easy for him.

"How's your Beemer running?"

"All right, I guess."

"How's your mother?"

She gave him a baleful glare. "Quit pretending like you care."

Eric sighed, dragging a hand through his full head of hair. "Your mother and I still have feelings for one another. That's never going to change."

"Sure, Dad, whatever you say." Karen brushed aside his explanation. She wasn't in the mood to listen to her father's bullshit. Although she blamed her parents' breakup on her mother, her dad certainly had no business getting himself engaged to this Brooke chick she was about to meet.

"I saw one of your mother's listings as I was driving over here," he mentioned casually.

She grunted in response, finishing off the rest of her drink. "So, where is she?"

"Who?"

"Brooke," Karen replied impatiently. The grass she'd smoked earlier in her car was wearing off, leaving her on edge. "Aren't we supposed to be having lunch together like one big happy family-to-be?"

"Brooke's running a little late, but she should be here soon." His eyes held her own. "Besides, this gives us a chance to get caught up."

"On what?"

"On what's going on in your life."

"I thought we just covered all of that," Karen told him woodenly.

"You're deliberately making this difficult."

"Probably because I think your whole marriage idea sucks," she countered caustically. "I don't see why you need to get married again, especially since you've already done it like a gazillion times. You could just live together like everyone else in L.A., for God's sake! It's not like anybody's going to be shocked or anything."

"I've only been married twice," Eric reminded her. "Besides, shacking up with someone isn't my style."

"Come _on_ , Dad!" Karen leaned forward, almost upturning the plate of dumplings in the process. "You barely even know Brooke—"

"Sorry I'm so late." A breathless Brooke seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

Startled, both father and daughter looked up. Eric quickly jumped up, allowing his fiancée to ease into the booth beside him before making the introductions.

"Brooke Connelly," he said formally, "I'd like you to meet my daughter, Karen." He gave his daughter a pointed look. "Karen, this is Brooke."

"Nice to meet you, Karen," said Brooke quietly.

Instead of answering her, Karen brazenly sized up the competition for her father's affection. Brooke was definitely a step up from the usual bimbos her father had been accustomed to dating lately. She was gorgeous and _very young compared to her fifty-six-year-old father_.

"Nice going, Dad." Karen leaned back, staring at Brooke rudely. "Does Caro know how young Brooke is?"

"Brooke's age is none of your business," retorted Eric, appearing nonplussed by his daughter's rude remark.

Karen pretended to smile sweetly. "Did my dad tell you I have a step-sister who's probably your age?"

"Your father's told me all about you and Caroline," Brooke replied just as sweetly.

" _What the hell is wrong with you?_ " Eric hissed. "You wouldn't be talking like this if your mother was here."

Seeing the look of fury on her father's face, Karen tried being more civil. "So, Dad says you have an interesting job."

"I guess you could say that." Brooke allowed herself a small smile. "I'm the general manager of a nightclub at the Beverly Highlander."

Karen leaned forward, momentarily forgetting her animosity. "You run Sins?"

"Yes, I do," she replied. "Have you heard of the place?"

"Are you kidding me?" Karen retorted. "Is it really true that people fuck in the johns all the time?"

Eric could only stare, clearly taken aback by his daughter's appalling language.

Brooke eyed Karen coolly. "I think most of the stuff you hear is pretty much hype."

"My friend, Spic, told me your DJ, Jericho D, is gay."

"Would it make any difference if he was?"

Karen pretended to consider the question. "Kind of. Spic wants to screw him some day. I don't think her fantasy includes old Jericho getting hard for the home team, if you know what I mean."

"Well, I don't think your friend's going to have much to worry about in a little while."

"Why's that?" Karen asked her.

"Jericho's given notice," Brooke told her. "He's been signed up by Reisen, one of the top clubs in Vegas."

"Too bad for Spic." The whole conversation was beginning to bore Karen. "Can we order now?"

Eric ignored his daughter's question. "There's something Brooke and I need to discuss with you."

"If you're going to ask me to be a stupid flower girl or something, you can forget it. I'm too old and I'm not doing it."

Eric cleared his throat nervously. "We were hoping you'd be a big sister."

Karen eyed her father suspiciously. "To who?"

"To the baby Brooke and I are going to have."

For almost a full minute, there was silence as Karen's brain processed his announcement. Then came the explosion. "You got her _knocked up_?" she shouted in disgust, oblivious to the stares around her.

Brooke tried to explain, "Karen, you have it all wrong."

"No, I think I definitely have it _right_ ," Karen shot back angrily. "I don't freaking believe you guys!"

"Dammit, Karen!" Eric gripped the sides of their table in an obvious attempt to keep his temper in check. "I want you to apologize to Brooke right now."

"It's okay, Eric—"

"And they say kids screw up their lives!" Karen bolted from their booth, needing to escape before the waterworks started. "Screw lunch. I'm outta here!"

Eric tried to block her path, but Karen charged past him out of the restaurant. Jumping in her car, she tore down La Cienega, eager to put as much distance as she could between her and her father. _What the hell had he been thinking?_ Before Brooke, her father had gone out with a string of big-breasted Playmate rejects, but none of them had lasted. This thing with Brooke was a whole new ballgame since marriage and a baby changed everything. Once the stupid kid was born, her father would have absolutely shit-all time for her. She might as well pack her bags and head for frigging Siberia!

* * *

It was a little after four o'clock; unusual for her mother to be home so early. Karen watched from behind dark glasses as she slid open the sliding glass door and came outside. In her late thirties, Eve Stanton still had the enviable figure of someone in her twenties. As she gracefully walked across the lawn toward the pool, Karen flipped face down on the air mattress and pretended to ignore her.

"Hi." When Karen didn't respond, her mother bent down and lightly splashed her to get her attention.

Karen removed one of her ear buds and looked at her. "Hey."

"When did you get home?"

"A while ago." Karen flipped over onto her back again before re-inserting her ear bud.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Lunch with your dad today."

"Figures, he'd call you," Karen remarked bitterly. "Anyway, there's nothing to talk about."

Eve undid her jacket. "What did you think of Brooke?"

"Stupid question, Mom!"

"Why?"

Karen yanked out both of her ear buds this time and glared at her mother. "Do you really want to know what I thought about her? I thought she was amazing looking and that Dad's robbing the bloody cradle!"

Eve swallowed hard. "Exactly how young is she?"

"How should I know?" Karen sat up, her full breasts straining against the confines of her bikini. "Like Caro's age, or even younger."

Once again, Eve swallowed hard.

"And do you know what the worst part of it is?" she continued indignantly. "Brooke's freaking knocked up!"

"I see."

Karen looked at her accusingly. "You don't seem too broken up about it."

She shrugged. "Your father already shared that piece of news with me when he called me earlier."

"And?"

"And what?" asked Eve. "That I think your father's ruining his life by marrying Brooke? That she's looking for a rich meal ticket?" She shook her head helplessly. "I can't say any of those things because I never even met the woman."

"Thanks for the support," Karen muttered miserably. "I knew you don't give a shit."

"I didn't say that."

"Then do something!"

"Like what?" Eve chose her words carefully. "Look, honey. Your dad's making some choices which you may not agree with. They may even piss you off."

"Gee, you think?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Your dad's got a right to live his life," she continued firmly, "and if Brooke makes him happy, then there's not much we can do about it."

"What kind of crap is _that_?" Karen began paddling furiously toward the other end of the pool. "I swear, I just don't frigging get you sometimes, Mom."

"Well, what would you like me to say," asked Eve, following her, "that he can't marry her?"

"That's exactly what I want you to say." Karen got out and grabbed the beach towel lying on the patio table. "Tell Dad you made a shitty mistake, you won't work so much, you actually give a crap about him, and that you don't want him to marry this Brooke chick." There was a pregnant pause, and when she spoke again, her words were barely audible. "And tell Dad to come home."

"I'm sorry." Eve looked at her somber reflection in the water. "I can't do that."

" _Why not?_ "

"Because it's not that simple anymore."

"You're full of shit, Mom!" Karen threw the towel back on the table. "All you care about is yourself and your stupid career."

"That's not true!"

"Then why won't you tell Dad to come home?"

"Because he's having a baby with someone else!"

"So what?" she retorted. "They can get rid of it."

"Come on, Karen." Eve tried taking her daughter in her arms. "You're not being reasonable."

"And whose fault is that?" Karen bit out angrily.

"I don't want to continue this discussion if you're going to act like this."

"Sure," Karen taunted her, "avoid confrontation like you always do!" Karen stomped toward the house, pulling up short at the sight of her grandmother standing on the patio watching them. "Grams!" She gave Kate Stanton a warm hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought take-out," replied her grandmother, giving her a shrewd look, "and some moral support in case you needed it."

Eve walked up to them slowly. "Thanks, Mom, but I think your moral support's a little misplaced today."

Karen glared at Eve before giving her grandmother a final peck on the cheek. "Grams, maybe _you_ can talk some sense into Mom because she refuses to listen to me!" With that, she stormed into the house without a backward glance.

### CHAPTER 11

There had been no clap of thunder or other ominous sign to forewarn him of her sudden arrival on his doorstep, spouting little more than a litany of barely coherent gibberish.

"Trade for tit milk! Tit milk for April."

"What is she saying, señor?" his housekeeper asked, cowering just inside the doorway.

"How the bloody hell should I know?" Leo Bauer made no effort to mask his irritation at being called away from his dinner guests to deal with something he paid his housekeeper to handle.

"Maria trade," the woman announced, "priteee picture." The dirty hand hidden inside her pocket now thrust a worn photograph at him.

The name Maria made Leo's blood run cold. He furtively searched the derelict's face for some modicum of her former beauty, but there was nothing in her features to suggest she had any connection to the woman who had consumed his every conscious thought for most of his adult life.

"I call the police," his housekeeper announced.

"No!" His voice was little more than a strangled command. "No police. I'll deal with her." Leo waited a beat as he struggled for composure. "Go tell my guests I'll be with them momentarily."

The housekeeper scurried off. Only then did he turn his attention back to the woman. With a trembling hand, he carefully took the proffered photograph from her. Reaching for the reading glasses in his breast pocket, Leo perched them onto his nose before looking at it closely. Despite the creases having worn deep grooves into the photograph, the image was unmistakable.

"Why did you come back?" he demanded hoarsely. "Why now?"

"Maria here!"

The gravity of those two coherent words shocked his brain. A multitude of possibilities for her reappearance came to mind, but only one made sense. The photograph proved it. _Maria was coming back to him!_ Her reappearance was divine providence in his darkest hour; a sign that everything would be all right in his world. Gut-wrenching need made him reach clumsily for her arm, but she easily twisted out of his grasp. "Why are you acting like this?" Leo's eyes were tormented. "I would never hurt you, you know that."

Despite his reassurances, Maria backed away from him, clearly wary of his actions.

"I just want to talk to you." This time Leo lunged at her, but missed completely. "Maria... please!"

With a muffled cry, she ran from him, stumbling down the driveway. His first instinct was to run after her, but then Leo remembered his dinner guests. With unsteady fingers, he carefully folded the photograph and put it in his pocket, bleakly realizing that he had let Maria get away from him a third time, a mistake he vowed never to again repeat.

* * *

It was two in the morning, but Hollywood Boulevard still teemed with life; from the sausage vendors littering the sidewalk, the sounds of their sizzling meat electrifying the humid night air, to the winos solemnly nursing their bottles of elixir hidden inside of dirty paper bags. Adding to the congestion on the boulevard were the scam artists who scuttled along the sidewalks like frenzied beetles, hoping to score a quick buck off the late-night tourist trade. Leo's shoulders were hunched and his hands thrust into his pockets as he cut a wide swath around the festering sea of humanity. He forced himself to remain calm.

Maria had disappeared as abruptly as she had come. He had asked around—dutifully checking all the locations in and around Hollywood and Highland that had been eagerly divulged for the price of a ten dollar bill—yet none had yielded Maria. Ditto for the block around Frederick's of Hollywood. Every head of matted hair was cause for a second glance, but the past four hours had been an exercise in utter futility. Some sixth sense told Leo she wasn't far; that it was just a matter of him being able to find her as she had found him earlier tonight.

The laden shopping cart came out of nowhere, careening into Leo's side with a painful jolt, pulling him from his revelry. The force of the impact scattered the pile of bags from the cart around the sidewalk at his feet. The owner of the cart muttered something guttural under her breath as she stooped to pick them up. The glint in her blue eyes was unmistakable. _They were taunting him_. She was no better than the trash in her cart, and yet the scathing look she showered upon him was a testament to his ineptitude. His jaw clenched imperceptibly as she turned her cart around and loped down the alley behind a tired-looking pawn shop.

Leo closed his eyes, trying to forget the derelict's face. _His father would never have allowed her to act with such disdain in_ his _presence_. With slow, measured steps, he followed her into the alley. It was strewn to overflowing with trash cans and garbage bags ripped open by stray animals, as well as the usual assortment of discarded bottles and decomposing food, a veritable smorgasbord for the rats scurrying about under his feet. She was bent over a dirty cardboard box and didn't hear him approach.

He felt unaccountably aroused inhaling the stench of her unwashed body and his even breathing slowly turned to ragged gasps as he watched her every move. A rushing sound filled his head, impeding his ability to think. Closing his eyes, he waited for the noise in his head to subside, but it didn't... it only got louder.

_She must die!_

"No, Father," he whispered. "She'll be my salvation."

Hearing his voice, the woman gave a start, stumbling backwards until she hit the ground. Leo fell on top of her, her scream muffled by his hand as it closed over her mouth. He felt some of her rotting teeth give way under the pressure of his hand. Her strong odor permeated his senses, exciting him, as he lifted the layer of rags to reveal painfully thin thighs marked by scars, the apex of which bore a few sparse pubic hairs. The rushing noise in his head became louder still.

_She's not Maria_.

"Don't worry, Father, I'll find her."

Prying her legs apart with his knees, he unzipped his pants, all the while watching the derelict's eyes. Suddenly, they were _Maria's_ eyes and they no longer mocked him. They were now beckoning to him. He knew what he had to do.

After all, he was his father's son.

### CHAPTER 12

"Happy birthday, Esther." Kate Stanton smiled at the tiny old woman in the wheelchair, her pale blue rinse complimented by the white corsage pinned to the lapel of her dress.

"Everyone's acting as though I've reached a milestone." Esther Solomon shrugged pragmatically. "I go to sleep, and some days, I want to wake up. Not much of an accomplishment."

"It is when you're ninety-four," Eve retorted. She gave the old woman's frail shoulders an affectionate squeeze.

"Let me tell you young girls something." Esther shifted to a more comfortable position. "It's no fun growing old, especially when you're left alone."

Kate smiled at her reference to them being "young girls".

It didn't go unnoticed by Esther as she pointed an arthritic finger at both of them. "Laugh all you want, but from where I'm sitting, the other side of seventy is practically puberty."

Kate and Eve had been coming to the Entertainment Foundation for more than ten years to visit Esther. Esther was Eve's godmother and she was like an extended member of their family. After Esther's husband, Frank, had died, Esther's health had slowly begun to decline. Ten years ago, it got to the point where she couldn't look after herself any longer and had made the decision to move here. The Foundation provided a variety of services to those who had served in the entertainment industry, and Kate had been a tireless ambassador and campaigner for the Foundation for a number of years. Her most recent brainchild was an auction to be followed by a black tie benefit to raise money for two new physiotherapy pools. Considering that a huge percentage of L.A.'s population was somehow connected with the entertainment industry, there was no shortage of deep pockets for Kate to target, and she went after all of them with an energy, enthusiasm, and good humor which made her hard to resist.

Surprisingly strong fingers took hold of Eve's hand. "Did your mother tell you that my husband, Frank, was in the recording business?"

Recognizing that the Alzheimer's had a hold on Esther's memory today, Eve pretended to look surprised. "Your husband was Frank Stromboli, the record producer?"

Esther smiled complacently, happy to have a receptive audience. "The one and only."

"So your husband was the one who discovered my parents?" Eve asked in encouragement.

"Louis B. Mayer wasn't the only one with a nose for new talent," Esther sniffed.

"You must've been very proud of him," Eve remarked.

"Old Louis may not have had the only nose for talent," cackled one of the Foundation's newer residents, an elderly man sitting next to Esther, "but he certainly acted like he did, the obnoxious a-hole!"

"Oh hush up, Dickie!" cried Esther. "You had it in for L.B. ever since you defected to Warner Brothers."

"Dickie had no choice when MGM started laying off its Foley artists," explained a lovely octogenarian with a tube of oxygen running into her nose.

"What's a Foley artist?" asked one of the nurses who was checking Dickie's blood pressure.

"A Foley artist works with a sound engineer after a movie's been shot to create sound effects, such as logs falling or bones crunching," Dickie explained.

Esther added loyally, "And Dickie was MGM's best, wasn't he, Sigi?"

"He certainly was," Esther's friend agreed before reaching out to stroke her husband's shoulder affectionately.

"Anyway," continued Esther, going back to the topic of Eve's parents, "your parents' group was one of the most popular folk groups of the sixties, second only to Simon and that other hippie fellow."

"Garfunkel," supplied Eve automatically. "And to think they gave it all up, just to have me."

"A crying shame was what my Frank called it."

Kate, who'd been quiet up until now, was quick to pipe in, "I think it's time we got this birthday party on the road." Without further ado, she went into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a tray of tiny Faberge-like cakes she and Eve had made for the occasion, much to the delight of everyone in the room. Kate had also baked a small slab cake, to which she and Eve added two candles in the shape of a 9 and 4. Amid the clapping, countless photographs, and singing, Esther blew out her candles.

"Today, I'm very glad I woke up," she announced happily. Her eyes misted over as she looked at mother and daughter. "Thank you for the lovely cakes."

"I have one more surprise for you," Kate announced happily. "As today also happens to be the anniversary of _The Czar's Wife_ , a comedy you had starred in back in 1934, I've arranged for a special screening starting in a few minutes."

Everyone clapped in excitement.

"It's nice to have friends who care just when you think everybody's forgotten," said Esther happily.

"Would you lovely ladies allow me to escort you to the screening room?" Dickie held out one arm to Esther and the other to his wife.

Esther gave her friend a hopeful look. "What do you say, honey?"

Sigi looked at Dickie with an intensity that excluded everyone else. "Esther and I would be delighted to have you escort us."

Dickie's face was a picture of pure bliss. Although it was an awkward little procession with Esther in a wheelchair, none of them seemed to notice as they slowly made their way into the screening room. Kate and Eve followed behind them at a distance.

Eve whispered in her mother's ear, "They're good for each other, aren't they?"

"They seem to have a close bond, although the other two have only recently moved here to the nursing lodge," Kate told her. "It's going to be hard on them when Esther's memory eventually fades away." She cleared her throat, overcome by emotion. "How's my favorite granddaughter?"

Eve looked pained. "Still up in arms about Brooke."

Kate looked at her daughter shrewdly. "How are you dealing with the whole Brooke business?"

"Eric and I have been over for a long time. I just have to get Karen to accept it."

"Some men's lives become more complicated as they get older," Kate remarked sadly.

"Some men also become increasingly foolish in their old age," Eve added, her expression grim. "I just hope Eric knows what he's getting himself into." She pointedly cleared her throat. "Speaking of getting into things, why haven't you been returning Paul Wagner's phone calls?"

"I've been busy."

"Hmm." Eve looked at the heightened color staining her mother's cheeks. "It seems to me like you're avoiding him."

"Don't be ridiculous." Kate looked mildly annoyed. "I listened to his voicemails. I know what he wants."

Eve stopped walking and took her mother's arm. "The same thing you wanted when you went after his listing. Seems pretty reasonable from where I'm standing, unless it's something else you're afraid of."

Kate looked away, unable to meet her daughter's gaze. "We'd better get inside. Otherwise, they'll start the movie without us."

* * *

Karen Devane parked at the 7th Street/Metro Center before carefully locking her car and heading for the Metro where she took the red line to Hollywood. Not exactly her preferred mode of transport, but it wasn't like she could just show up driving her Beemer in front of her Holly friends. It wouldn't gel with them, especially since Laurie, her best friend from Hollywood High, rode the bus for over an hour just to get to school every day. Not that Laurie actually _went_ to class. She was usually too wasted to give a shit, one way or the other.

Her mother hated Laurie; thought that she was a bad influence on Karen. If only her mother knew the half of it! Her mom thought she'd been smart to transfer Karen to Killenby, an exclusive college preparatory school on L.A.'s west side, but hadn't realized that mere geography wasn't going to keep Karen from seeing her friends, especially since her dad had splurged on the Beemer for her sixteenth birthday. Part of the extravagance was due to her old man's guilt trip about the divorce, and the other part had to do with the fact that he knew the expensive car would piss off her mother. Karen was at the point where she didn't give a crap what her parents did. If they wanted to self-destruct, that was their problem.

Not that they weren't civil to each other; they were nauseatingly civil, especially in front of her. Although Karen blamed her mother's anal work habits for their split, her dad was partly to blame, too. He had been really pissed when her mom had gotten her real estate license and gone into business with her grandmother. Apparently, he had wanted a stay-at-home wife, like his first one. His first wife had been one of those Park Avenue Princess types who had always wanted him around, but with her dad still in med school at the time and him spending long hours at the hospital, he hadn't been there much. In retaliation, his wife had become anorexic and eventually starved herself to death. However, much of this was second-hand info from her half-sister, Caro, who lived in New York.

While she was certainly bitter about being transferred to Killenby against her will, that's not to say life there was all bad, because it wasn't. Life was just _different_. Most of the parents of her friends at Killenby, like Ashley's parents, were in the entertainment industry and had more money than they knew what to do with. From the time she had turned ten, Ashley had had a personal trainer, a counselor, a nutritionist, and a driver; pretty heavy stuff for anyone, let alone a young kid. According to Ashley's parents, these people were supposed to make Ashley a better-rounded person. She lived in a fancy mansion in Holmby Hills, went on great vacations, and ate only at the best restaurants. She lost her virginity at thirteen and had known she was going to get her first car, a Mercedes, at sixteen.

Ashley and Laurie were definitely worlds apart, and would probably hate each other on sight, yet Karen liked them both. They were like her ying and yang and she always hung with one or the other, depending on her mood.

Karen got off at Hollywood and Highland and checked out the action on the street. The usual groups congested Hollywood Boulevard while Virgin provided the background beats. She crossed over to the other side of the boulevard, hitting the coffee shop at a run. Laurie and Spic were already there, in their usual booth.

"Hey," said Karen, settling into the cracked vinyl. She automatically reached for a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit up. "What gives?"

"Not much," replied Laurie, picking at a scab on her cheek. Her face looked worse than usual. "I think I need a little somethin', somethin'."

"Yeah," Spic offered, "about ten hours of zzz's."

"Screw you," said Laurie mildly. She lit a new cigarette with the butt of her old one. "Try getting on a bus at five in the morning after you've been out all night."

"Did you ditch first?" Karen asked, draining the rest of her friend's coffee.

"That, plus third and fourth."

"So, you should've been good to go by fifth. What happened?"

"I started tweaking," admitted Laurie.

"On what?"

"Pink Champagne."

"Holy shit!" Karen shook her head in disgust. "No wonder your face looks like crap."

"I came into some stuff, okay?" Laurie became defensive. "You know how it is."

"Where'd you get the speed?"

"From me," admitted Spic.

Her real name was Frederica Dwyer and her father was Kieran Dwyer, one of Hollywood's most prolific agents. Equally well-known throughout the industry were his legendary "pharm parties" where the contents of every guest's medicine cabinet ended up in big glass bowls throughout his house. Guests could help themselves to a buffet of uppers, downers, speed, and everything in between. Needless to say, Spic got her nickname after she'd started cleaning out all of the pill bowls, and bringing the leftovers to school to share with her friends.

"Enough talk." Laurie threw some bills on the table before getting up unsteadily. "Let's go find us a wino!"

The three girls marched onto Hollywood Boulevard, Karen suddenly ducking behind an awning to light a joint. She took a deep drag, letting it fill her lungs before exhaling. The immediate rush felt good. Taking another deep pull on her joint, she handed the roach to Spic. Laurie was pressed against the wall, waiting eagerly. Karen's pupils dilated as they fixed on Laurie's parted lips. Their lips came together with only the slightest pressure. Karen released the sweet smoke in a gentle stream into Laurie's mouth, feeling her friend shudder. Karen's senses exploded again in a second rush. It definitely felt good, just like the taste of Laurie's lips.

### CHAPTER 13

Liz's small one-bedroom apartment in Hollywood was her pride and joy, not to mention most of her monthly income. Situated just north of Hollywood Boulevard, on La Brea, her building represented some of the glamour of old Hollywood, from the pink stucco on the exterior walls to the tall stately palms gracing the canopied entranceway. Her apartment was the size of a shoebox, but it had nice hardwood floors, newer appliances, two decent-sized closets, central air, and a wonderful balcony. Best of all, it was just minutes from the Farmer's Market, the freeway, Sunset Strip, and Hollywood and Highland. It was also the first real home Liz had ever known.

She had spent months decorating her apartment, going to swap meets and yard sales to find just the right pieces to suit her taste. She always joked that her decorating style was "swap meet chic" since the most expensive furniture in her apartment was her dining room set, which had set her back $150. The balcony was a myriad of colors and scents with a small, wrought-iron table and two chairs occupying one corner.

Her mother seemed impervious to her surroundings as Liz gently led her inside the front door. Once inside, Liz automatically went to turn on the music, but checked her impulse. She wasn't sure how her mother would react to it, and watched silently as Maria went around the apartment, fingering the various knickknacks displayed on the shelves.

"See you, see me," Maria muttered as she stared at her reflection in the large mirror in the hallway. "No good!"

Earlier this morning, when Liz had found her outside of Grauman's, she had been silent and uncommunicative. Later, when she'd managed to coax her mother into a walk-in clinic, Maria had become hysterical when the doctor had tried examining her feet and had to be lulled into submission with a chocolate bar. Glancing at her watch, Liz noted it was almost lunchtime. She wanted to give her mother some lunch followed by the antibiotics the doctor had prescribed. Luckily, the doctor had taken pity on Liz and written the prescription in her name, which meant that her drug plan covered it.

Liz had just taken a carton of eggs from the fridge to make scrambled eggs for their lunch when Maria began wailing at the top of her lungs. Glancing in the living room, she was startled to find her mother sitting on the floor, alternating between trying to rip the bandages from her feet and smashing her head against the wall when she couldn't get them off.

Liz rushed over to her. "Mom, stop it!" Sitting down behind Maria, she cradled her mother's head against her chest. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Take socks off!" Maria was surprisingly strong as she tried to free herself from Liz's grip.

"They're not socks on your feet, they're bandages." With shaking fingers, she checked the ugly scratches above her mother's ankles where Maria had been ripping at her skin.

"Off!" Without warning, she lunged backwards, hitting Liz directly in the face.

The impact sent excruciating pain shooting through her nasal cavity and caused her eyes to tear. "Stop it!"

"Off!" Maria's fingers continued to rip at her bandages.

"No!"

Maria's second body blow came immediately after that, forcing Liz to angle her body in such a way that her arm took the impact of the onslaught. It lasted for several minutes. When her mother finally went limp with exhaustion, Liz made up her mind and removed the bandages.

"You can't keep hurting yourself every time you want something," she told Maria angrily.

Her mother stood up carefully, tottering as if she were in high heels, before clutching the wall for support. Sitting down again, she immediately picked at the scab on the sole of her left foot.

Liz was quick to intervene. "Don't do that, Mom, or I'll have to put your socks back on." She reached for the discarded bandage, only to have her mother rip it out of her hands.

"No sock, Lizzie!" Huge tears pooled in Maria's eyes before sliding down her lined cheeks.

Liz immediately became ashamed of herself. "Okay, it's a deal. No sock for now, okay?" She turned on the television to a cartoon, planted her mother in front of it, and then went to the bathroom to assess the damage to her face. The cheek under her right eye looked a little tender, her nose was bleeding, and there was blood along the front of her T-shirt. She looked like she'd just gone ten rounds with Tyson, but all in all, she would live. Glancing in the living room on her way back to the kitchen, Liz saw her mother staring mutely at the television screen, momentarily distracted from the task of picking at her scabs.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down as she automatically broke eggs into a bowl for the scrambled eggs. Every now and then, she would glance into the living room, but her mother remained exactly as she had left her. It was only after turning from the stove with two plates of steaming eggs and toast that Liz noted her mother was no longer watching TV. She rushed through the living room into the bathroom with mounting alarm, but Maria was nowhere to be found. Racing to the balcony, she involuntarily glanced over the side rail to the tropical garden, two floors below. There was no sign of her mother anywhere.

Back inside, Liz mentally reviewed a short list of all the possible places her mother might have gone off to when she noticed the closet door slightly ajar and heard the muffled snores. Liz peeked inside to find Maria curled up against a pair of rubber boots, sound asleep. With a sigh of relief, she realized she'd been given a temporary reprieve. Gently covering her with a crocheted blanket, Liz decided to have a quick shower while her mother slept.

Stepping under the cold spray, she gingerly washed around her sore face, feeling utterly spent. Just one lousy episode with her mother and she was already bruised and battered. Nothing had changed with Maria; nothing ever did. If something made her mother angry, she became violent, striking out at herself and anyone else in her path. Maria needed care, but deep down, Liz wasn't sure if she was capable of providing it. _You can always have her committed_ , a little voice reminded her. Just as quickly, her conscience discounted the idea. Her mother had been locked up almost all of her life, and Liz wasn't about to have her committed again. She had some vacation time coming and would use it to look after her. Her mother would just have to get used to living with her and that was all there was to it. Feeling better once her decision had been made, she got out of the shower and quickly dried off.

Just as she was about to blow dry her hair, Liz heard a noise from the other room. Rushing from the bathroom, she found the front door wide open and the closet empty. Maria's shoes were exactly where she'd left them, but Maria and Liz's backpack were both gone. Running out into the hallway, she saw that it was deserted. With mounting dread, Liz scrambled back inside and threw on some clothes before taking the stairs, two at a time, down to the lobby. Out on La Brea, she scanned the empty street. Her mother was long gone.

_By the time Liz Farrell turned ten, she had lived in eight different foster homes in and around the Los Angeles area. Quiet and unassuming, she was a good student, but in her home life, Liz didn't fare as well. Fiercely private and mostly uncommunicative, she preferred her own company to that of her foster siblings, which made her a prime target for their taunts and the butt of their many jokes_.

_When she was seven and living in an apartment complex in Canoga Park, one of Liz's foster siblings, a twelve-year-old bully named Shane, and three of his best friends, molested her underneath the seldom-used stairwell leading to the boiler room_.

_At thirteen, Liz had pushed one of her foster sisters from a tree after the other girl made fun of her unflattering haircut. Once back from the emergency room, her foster sister sported a cast and a deep-seated hate for Liz. A few days later, Liz came home from school to find her foster mother and Liz's social worker having a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Liz had hidden outside of the door and shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversation_.

" _I wish you'd reconsider and let Liz stay," said the social worker. "I'll have a word with her to see if we can't straighten everything out_."

" _No," said her foster mother adamantly. "There's a rift in the family and it's that girl's fault. She just flies off the handle and does these awful things, like pushing my Tina out of a tree!_ "

_The social worker consulted the open file in front of her. "Maybe Liz has inherited some of her mother's genetic traits_."

" _I don't care what she's inherited from that lunatic," said her foster mother stubbornly. "I know this sounds terrible, but I don't want that girl living in my house anymore. Maybe she should be locked up with her mother_."

_The rest of their conversation was lost on Liz as her head reeled in disbelief. It sounded as though her mother was alive!_

_After that, Liz tried to learn more about her mother from her social worker, but the other woman steadfastly refused to discuss the matter. Frustrated and unable to get anywhere, Liz reluctantly let the matter drop_.

_She ended up going to a group home for troubled teens, where Liz stayed until she turned eighteen. She hated it at Hailey House. Most of the girls there were tough and many had juvenile records for stealing and assault. As with all of the other places where she'd lived, Liz stuck mostly to herself and befriended no one except for one of her schoolmates, Alice Kinkirk. When Liz found out that Alice's mother was a reporter for the_ Southern California Free Press Gazette, _she became Alice's new best friend, and it wasn't long before Liz became a regular fixture at Alice's house on weekends_.

_One Sunday morning, Alice's mother poured herself a mug of coffee and joined the girls as they finished their breakfast_.

" _Is everything all right with your food, Liz?" she asked kindly_.

_Liz nodded enthusiastically. "I love the way you make your hotcakes, Mrs. K. They always taste amazing_."

_Alice's mother beamed. "You're welcome to stay with us any time you want_."

" _Thanks a lot_."

_Mrs. Kinkirk cleared her throat. "Have you thought about what you're going to do when you leave Hailey House?_ "

" _I'm going to get a job," she replied, "and maybe go to night school. I was thinking of getting a degree in business_."

" _Do you have any family that can help you out?_ "

" _I think my mom's alive, but she's locked up somewhere and can't help_."

" _Locked up?_ "

_Liz nodded. "That's what my social worker told my foster mother before I was sent to Hailey House_."

_Alice's mother tactfully changed the subject and the rest of Liz's visit passed without incident. Six weeks later, Liz celebrated her eighteenth birthday with Alice's family. Liz was genuinely touched by the chocolate cake, her favorite, as well as by the gifts from Alice and her parents. Later on, while Alice was getting some help from her father with her homework, Mrs. Kinkirk suggested that Liz help her with the dishes_.

_As Liz loaded the dishwasher, Alice's mother casually asked, "Do you know which hospital you were born in?_ "

" _St. Rose's in Santa Monica," Liz replied. "Why?_ "

_She answered Liz's question with another question. "Does the name Weaver mean anything to you?_ "

_Liz thought for a moment. "I don't think so_."

" _What about Woodland Hills Lodge?_ "

" _No." She looked at Mrs. Kinkirk closely. "Why are you asking me all of these questions?_ "

" _Because I think I may have discovered some information about your mother_."

" _What information?" Liz asked eagerly. "Do you know where she is?_ "

_Mrs. Kinkirk led Liz into her office before closing the door. Taking some photocopies from her desk, she handed them to Liz. "There was an Elizabeth Farrell born at St. Rose's, in Santa Monica, exactly eighteen years ago today to a Maria Weaver. Father is listed as unknown. The address given for Maria Weaver was one in Woodland Hills." She looked at Liz closely, waiting for a reaction. When there was none, she continued, "When I cross-referenced the address on the computer, I found that the address in Woodland Hills belongs to Woodland Hills Lodge_."

_Liz stared at her in confusion. "I don't understand_."

" _Woodland Hills Lodge is a home for the mentally ill," Alice's mother explained. She came around the desk and sat beside Liz. "Your mother was a patient at Woodland Hills_."

" _What was wrong with her?_ "

" _She was diagnosed as autistic," Mrs. Kinkirk explained carefully_.

" _Are you telling me my mother's crazy?_ "

" _I think mentally challenged is the proper term_."

_It didn't take Liz long to reach the obvious conclusion. "Oh my God!_ "

_The older woman was quick to reassure her. "It wasn't your fault_."

_Liz stood up and anxiously paced the small room. "If my mother was mentally challenged, she wouldn't have understood the concept of sex, right?_ "

" _Yes, I suppose that's true_."

" _Then the only way my mother could've become pregnant was if she'd been raped!" Liz faced Alice's mother, her face ashen. "Who raped her?_ "

" _The police were called in, but no one was ever charged in your mother's rape_."

_Liz's mind reeled from all of the information. "And I'm the end product of that rape." Her voice was bitter, "Happy birthday to me_."

" _Listen, honey, you're not the only kid in the world who's the by-product of a mistaken night of passion, an unplanned pregnancy... or a rape," Mrs. Kinkirk remarked candidly. "You have to focus on what lies in your future, not the circumstances that led to your conception_."

" _Kind of hard to ignore, though, wouldn't you say?_ "

" _I'm sorry to have been the one to tell you this_."

" _That's okay," Liz replied with false bravado, "but it doesn't change the fact that I want to see my mom_."

_Alice's mother shook her head. "I'm afraid it's not that simple_."

" _Why not?_ "

" _Your mother dropped off the map after you were born_."

" _What?_ "

" _Not long after she gave birth to you, Maria was moved from Woodland Hills Lodge_."

" _Where'd she get moved to?_ "

" _That's just it, Liz," said Mrs. Kinkirk in frustration. "I have no idea. It's like she disappeared off the face of the earth_."

" _I don't understand it." Liz suddenly became fearful. "You don't suppose she died giving birth to me, do you?_ "

" _I don't think so," she replied grimly, "but I promise you, I'll find out, one way or the other_."

_The tears Liz had bravely been holding in check now coursed down her cheeks and she didn't have the strength to pull away when Alice's mother took her in her arms. All of the frustration she'd felt for years came bubbling to the surface and she sobbed without restraint, unable to stop. When her tears were finally spent, Liz pulled herself together_.

" _I won't give up until I find her, okay?" Mrs. Kinkirk gently pulled the damp hair away from Liz's face_.

_Liz nodded, unable to speak_.

_True to her word, three days later, Liz got a call from Alice's mother to meet her at their house after school. When she arrived, the older woman was waiting for Liz, full of nervous energy_.

" _The reason I had such a hard time finding your mother was because she'd been moved to a private sanitarium in San Francisco_."

_Liz looked overwhelmed. "I just want to see her_."

" _I figured as much, so I called Serendipity and made a few discreet inquiries." Mrs. Kinkirk's features became set. "It appears the only way you'll ever get to see your mother is by approval from her doctor_."

" _Then I'll have to get his approval," Liz replied quickly_.

_Over the next few months, Liz wrote several letters to Serendipity's Door, but all of them came back with the same response: there was no patient by the name of Maria Weaver staying with them. She voiced her frustration to Alice's mother_.

" _Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." Mrs. Kinkirk sipped her coffee thoughtfully. "Maybe we should consider a different line of attack_."

" _Like what?_ "

" _I talked to my editor this afternoon," she told Liz. "I suggested running a story on your mother and she agreed, as long as we gave Serendipity prior warning_."

" _Then what?_ "

" _If they don't respond, we publish the story_."

_Liz took a deep breath. "Okay, let's do it_."

_Unfortunately, nothing prepared Liz for the events that unfolded once Serendipity had been notified of the impending story. First, Liz received notification from the sanitarium that effective immediately, Maria Weaver would be released into her custodial care. Second, Liz never heard from Alice or her family again_.

### CHAPTER 14

The parking lot of Ralph's grocery store on East Compton was almost full, so parking spots were scarce. Leo had to drive around several times before he found a spot. Getting out of his car, he pressed the remote, locking it; he would come back later for it. There were lots of late-model cars there, but not many that were black. Leo didn't think it would be that hard to find the car, and tried to be as inconspicuous in his search as he could, but it wasn't easy; the tool he'd slipped inside his pant leg was making it difficult for him to walk. He was glad he'd at least remembered his baseball cap, which served to keep his face partially obscured.

He finally spotted the late-model black sedan parked between an old pickup truck and a rusty Chevy four-door. Leo checked the license plate to make sure he had the right car. Although he could've had his pick of vehicles in this lot, he had purposefully chosen this one because its owner was an illegal alien who would never call the police. Going over to the driver's door, he glanced around to make sure he wasn't being watched. As discreetly as he could, he removed the Slim Jim from his pant leg and slid it between the window and the weather stripping. With the newer model cars, the doors housed various function controls as well as air bags and electrical wiring for power locks. Luckily, with this being a much older car, Leo didn't have to worry about any of that getting in the way of what he was trying to do. He slowly moved the piece of spring steel back and forth, all the while keeping an eye out for nosey passersby. Suddenly, he felt the tool grab the lock rod before the lock flipped over.

Triumphantly, he slid the tool out before opening the door and getting in. It was sweltering inside the car, but he didn't dare waste precious minutes opening the windows. Reaching down under the dashboard, his shaking fingers found the wires he needed in order to hotwire the car. When the huge V8 roared to life, he wasted no time in pulling out of the parking spot before cruising down the laneway and out onto East Compton without a backward glance.

### CHAPTER 15

Her feet hurt, and now her stomach did, too. Stopping, Maria sat down and touched her bleeding heel with the tips of her fingers. Bringing her bloody fingers up close to her face, she smelled them, not noticing the black vehicle that had quickly slid behind another parked car. She stood up and stared at the pole across the street with the twisted blue sign before looking down at the sidewalk. She saw that the last slab, right before the sidewalk ended, had all four corners missing. She still had a long walk ahead of her.

Maria left the sidewalk and walked up a grassy slope to a closed gate, the grass tickling her bare feet. Carefully placing her backpack down on the ground, she reached over the gate and undid the latch. Pushing it open as quietly as she could, she walked across the yard, hoping not to wake the big dog sleeping in the house. He had barked at her once before. The other side of the house had a chain link fence that had been shredded, and she gingerly pushed her way through the fence on her hands and knees, pulling at her backpack as it dragged behind her. When she was through, she picked up the backpack and trudged along the path that led to the concrete embankment.

She made her way down the embankment, trying hard not to fall. The traffic echoed all around her as she turned and limped her way along the junction to the freeway underpass. She paused to look behind her, noting that the red piggies were following her. She giggled before resuming her journey.

* * *

Leo quickly sandwiched his stolen car between the two Japanese models parked illegally on the street. He didn't want Maria to see him. He waited until she'd gone through the gate of a house before getting out of his car and sprinting across the street. He was just in time to see her go through a shredded chain link fence on the other side of the yard before her limping form receded down an embankment.

He quickly scanned the street and the house to which the yard belonged. All was quiet except for some guy about two blocks away, walking in the opposite direction. Quickly making up his mind, he unlatched the gate before stepping into the yard. He saw the blood in the grass and his heartbeat quickened. It could only be Maria's blood. If she was injured, it might make things easier when he grabbed her. Halfway across the yard, he noticed the piles of shit that littered the far side of the yard like miniature landmines. His brain had barely registered the connection between the shit and the existence of a dog when a black Rottweiler fiercely lunged at the French doors of the house, barking hysterically at the top of its lungs. Taken aback, Leo tore back across the yard, fumbling with the latch on the gate in his haste to get out of there.

Back in the relative safety of his stolen car, he breathed deeply, waiting for his heart rate to go back to normal as he went over his options. The yard was obviously a short cut. The embankment on the other side had to lead under the Hollywood Freeway. Maybe that's where Maria slept when she wasn't roaming the streets. His hands shook as thoughts of her immediately consumed him. He needed her. Her innocence and purity would absolve him.

Managing to get his car out of its tight spot, he quickly turned onto Highland Avenue, heading north. At the first intersection, he turned left, slowing his speed as he scanned both sides of the street. Damn! She had to be here somewhere! Looking into his rearview mirror, he caught the unmistakable glimpse of a police cruiser and immediately adjusted his speed. His heart hammered in his chest. He'd have a hard time explaining what he was doing in a stolen vehicle if the cops stopped him. Forcing himself to check his rearview mirror a minute later, he saw with relief that he had not attracted the cruiser's attention. Visibly shaken by his close call, he reluctantly decided to call it a day.

* * *

Traffic was light as Liz navigated Las Palmas, but she barely noticed. She was too focused on every face that crossed her path to be aware of her surroundings. Somewhere close to here, her mother was walking around injured and barefoot, and Liz had to find her. Maria was a creature of habit, and up until a few months ago, it had been relatively easy for Liz to keep tabs on her. She had her usual haunt at the Hollywood and Highland Center, and the six-block radius around it. Liz had been searching for Maria since her mother had left her apartment, but so far she had no luck in finding her.

She leaned against the nearest wall, lifting each leg to tiredly rotate her ankles. Ironically, the pain in her feet reminded Liz of the dire condition her mother's feet were in and the thought of dirt seeping into those open wounds gave her the impetus to get back to her search.

Despite her resolve, the shop window on the corner of the next block caught her eye. Liz had never noticed the store before, so she figured it was probably new. It was totally out of character with the rest of the stores on the block in that it didn't have the requisite flashing neon sign and scruffy exterior of most of the junk and pawn shops surrounding it. An ornate Victorian sign proclaimed the store to be Vintage Variables, and the entire storefront looked like it had been transplanted from Rodeo Drive. Peeking in the window, Liz spied an old Victrola off to one side with stacks of 45s and LPs surrounding it. Being an avid collector, the pull of the vinyl was too much to resist, and her search was temporarily put on hold as Liz impulsively went inside to have a quick look.

No one bothered her as she quickly flipped through the piles of old records on the table. In the first pile, she found a Fats Domino classic, "Ain't That a Shame" which Liz put to one side. In the third pile, she found a lesser-known Elvis cut called "Baby Let's Play House" as well as "Make a Wish" by the Paisley's. A quick inspection confirmed that her selections appeared to be in good condition, and all were in their original picture sleeves. At two bucks a piece, they were a great find!

Liz hurried over to the cash register and stood in line. The customer in front of her unexpectedly stepped back, right onto her already sore foot. Wincing in pain, Liz dropped the Elvis 45. Bending down to pick it up, an old framed poster propped against a far wall caught her eye. _I've had seen that picture before_. Liz left the line to take a closer look. Standing in front of the framed poster, she knew without a doubt she wasn't mistaken.

When her mother had been released from the sanitarium in San Francisco, she had with her a small suitcase that contained a few articles of clothing, a hairbrush, and two other items which Liz had found to be unusual. Inside an eyeglass case—her mother didn't wear glasses—she had found what appeared to be an old coin necklace and a photograph of a vivacious young woman, posing prettily at the helm of a sailboat.

Not long after moving in with her, both the necklace and photograph had disappeared. The movie poster at her feet was of that same picture. The poster's colors were unnaturally bright, dating it back to when Technicolor had been in its infancy, and it advertised a movie called _One Spark Too Many_. It listed Sigourney Johnson, Dennis Diego, and Jasper Kendrall as its stars.

Liz's mind reeled in confusion. _Her mother's photograph had been of the same woman in the same pose, but wasn't a poster shot. Who had given the photograph to her mother, and more importantly, why?_

### CHAPTER 16

Eve disconnected her call. The satisfied look on her face spoke volumes as Kate eyed her daughter in amusement from the comfort of the club chair across from Eve's desk.

"I gather you got some good news?" Kate asked.

"It's a done deal. The Luftkins are going to buy the house on Bellagio," Eve told her.

Kate nodded complacently, not in the least surprised. "I told you they would."

"I just don't understand how you could've been so sure," Eve argued. "Especially since the husband had been adamant about wanting to buy a property in Bel Air."

"Because you told me the wife loved it," Kate explained patiently, "and because the visceral connection a woman has to a house will always trump anything a man may want. Remember that." She got up and went over to the door. "Want some real coffee from Starbucks to celebrate? I'm about to walk over and get some before I pick up the programs for the benefit from the printer."

Eve shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I promised the Luftkins I'd stop by with the paperwork."

There was a perfunctory knock on Eve's door before it was flung open by their receptionist, Beth, carrying an enormous vase of tiger lilies.

"Oh my!" Kate exclaimed. "Who are those for?"

Eve pointed to the small white envelope attached to the flowers. "Why don't you read the card and put us both out of our misery?"

Kate opened the envelope and scanned the card quickly.

"Well, what does it say?" Eve asked impatiently.

"It says: _If I've done something to offend you, please let me make it up to you... P_." Kate felt acute embarrassment wash over her.

"Who's P?" Beth asked.

Eve glanced at Kate, taking in her mother's discomfiture with amusement.

Kate ignored Beth's question, hastily stuffing the card back into its envelope. "I suppose it's too late to send them back."

"I wouldn't say that." With an air of conspiracy, Beth put a hand on Kate's arm. "I meant to tell you earlier, but the guy who delivered the flowers is sitting in reception waiting to see you."

"You mean the delivery man?"

Beth shook her head. "Nope. I think it's P, and I don't mind telling you, he looks _hot_ for an older guy."

Kate tried to hide her embarrassment behind a mask of annoyance. "Tell him I'm not in."

Beth rolled her eyes. "It's a little late for that. I already told him you were in a meeting."

"So tell him I left."

"I think he's been waiting long enough to figure out this place doesn't have a back entrance."

Kate turned on her daughter. "You didn't put Paul up to this, did you?"

"What do you think, Mom?"

Kate immediately felt ridiculous. Eve had hit the nail on the head the other day. She _had_ been willing to jump through hoops in order to get the listing for the Swanson Estate, but now that Paul wanted something from her, she kept giving him the cold shoulder. It was too painful, although Paul certainly didn't know that. She gave Beth a resigned smile. "I'll tell you what... send him into my office. After ten minutes, buzz me and remind me of my next appointment."

"You're the boss," Beth muttered as she left.

Eve turned to face her mother, trying to keep a straight face. "Buzz me if you need reinforcements."

Kate shot her daughter a murderous look as she left.

* * *

"Look at me in profile," Ashley said, staring straight ahead, "and be totally honest, okay? Can you see a bump?"

Karen looked at her friend's new nose closely. "Nope."

"Are you sure?"

"Honest, Ash. I can't see a thing."

Ashley visibly relaxed. "This has been the absolute worst nightmare. At first, my doctor just wanted to remove the bump, but then it became a whole new ballgame when he didn't find any cartilage in the tip of my nose."

"Are you sure he wasn't just scamming you for more cash?" Karen took a deep drag on her cigarette. "I mean, your nose looked like it had just as much cartilage as everyone else's."

Ashley giggled, lighting her own cigarette thoughtfully. "That's just the beginning. You should've seen the look on my mom's face when Dr. Adam then told her my nose was too long and had to be shortened."

"What'd she do?"

Ashley giggled. "She acted like my nose was some kind of mutant deformity and told him to just fix whatever had to be fixed."

"Which nose guy did you use?"

"Some M.D. out in Calabasas, of all places," Ashley confided with a shudder. "I told Mom there were plenty of good nose doctors in Beverly Hills, but my mom's yoga buddy's best friend's shrink used Dr. Adam and he came highly recommended."

"Well, at least your nose looks great now," Karen said sincerely.

"It should since it cost enough," she remarked, glancing into the rearview mirror before changing lanes.

"How much?"

"More than Heather's boob implants!" Heather Markham was a year older than both of them and was one of the most popular girls at Killenby, thanks to her reputation for giving a great party. She lived in Pacific Palisades, and when she had been thirteen, her parents went away for the weekend, leaving her in charge of a full liquor cabinet as well as her dad's Ferrari. Her reputation as a party princess was made after _that_ weekend. Nowadays, getting an invite to a Heather Markham party was a major event.

"Did you tell Heather that?"

"Not to her face," Ashley admitted. "But I made sure I told all the right people." She looked at Karen closely. "Speaking of telling the right people, did you give your dad the pitch about Hawaii?"

"He said he'd think about it," Karen said shortly. She was still pissed about the whole dinner episode and hadn't spoken to her father in a while. "Are you sure your parents are going to let us use your house in Hawaii by ourselves?"

"We'd hardly be alone." Ashley finished her cigarette and lit a joint, inhaling deeply before passing it to Karen. "There'd be a house full of servants to spy on our every move." She momentarily closed her eyes when she stopped at the next intersection. "You just need to chill. It'll all work out."

"Whatever." Karen wished she hadn't agreed to come with Ashley to her brother's bar mitzvah. She had wanted to be there when her boyfriend, Josh, cut his track at the studio.

"So where's your brother having his bar mitzvah?" Karen finally asked.

Ashley shook her head in disgust. "The Whisky A Go-Go."

Karen looked at her friend in disbelief. "You're kidding me, right?"

The Whisky A Go-Go was located on Sunset Strip in West Hollywood. It was opened in the early sixties and had introduced the concept of go-go dancers in cages. From rock to punk to heavy metal, the Whisky had played an important role in the career of many southern California bands such as The Byrds, The Doors, and Frank Zappa.

Ashley sighed in disgust. "You know my brother and his obsession with The Doors."

"That in itself is more than weird," Karen admitted. "I would've thought your dad would want him having it over at the Fox commissary or some other place like that, not at a nightclub like the Whisky."

Ashley turned onto Sunset and pulled into a parking lot not far from the Whisky. "You know my dad wasn't around much when I was growing up, and when he was, he and my mom argued all the time. Well, I think this is his way of trying to make up for lost time by basically agreeing to whatever Eric and I want."

"Sweet." Karen got out of the car, waiting for Ashley to lock it and set the alarm. "So what you're saying is that I shouldn't be bitter about my parents' divorce, right?"

Ashley shrugged her bare shoulders philosophically. "All I'm saying is that most of our friends' parents have either gotten a divorce or are going through a divorce. No biggie." She tossed her car keys in her Marc Jacobs bag before flinging the bag over her shoulder. "Most of the time, the divorce is never about us, it's about them."

Karen shook her head. "It's not that easy."

"Maybe not," conceded her friend, "but the first rule of survival is that you have to make it work for you."

The two girls linked arms as they went inside. The music was deafening and the place was already packed with people. Go-go dancers gyrated in cages suspended from the ceiling. Karen grinned, almost getting burned by the glass blower turning out little glass creatures for each kid to take home. The club had more carnival games than an actual carnival and there was a band playing Doors music while waitresses, dressed in scantily-clad cocktail dresses, handed out appetizers.

"What is _that_?" Karen yelled, pointing to a hut with flashing strobe lights off to one side of the room.

"I think that's where kids can make their own video games." Ashley pointed to the other side of the room. "My dad also hired a T-shirt maker. We have to make sure we get a one before we go."

Everywhere Karen looked, she saw kids. Some were excited and running around, others looked bored and probably wished they were elsewhere. All in all, this was just like any other kid's party, except that this one probably cost as much as an average house in middle America. Here, the kids weren't dressed to the nines in their best party dresses, but wore designer jeans, Jive tees, two hundred dollar jackets, and Doc Martens.

Karen shook her head. "I _cannot_ frigging believe all of this!"

Ashley gave Karen's arm a squeeze. "Aren't divorces great?"

### CHAPTER 17

The huge property had been an all-but-forgotten parcel of land in Benedict Canyon when his father had purchased it for next to nothing from a California land baron who'd lost most of his fortune when the market crashed in the late twenties. Leo suspected that the selling feature for his father had been the huge underground bunker; the previous owner's brainchild, who'd been a paranoid recluse and had it built after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Atop the entrance to the bunker was a dilapidated old hunting lodge, which Karl Bauer kept intact; the only modifications he'd made to the building were to make it more secure, and to add blackout paint and steel bars on all of the windows and the one door. And while construction began on the elaborate Spanish hacienda that was to serve as the main house on the property, his father had spent a small fortune in running electricity and plumbing into the bunker. Lush landscaping soon hid what little there was to see of the building.

Construction on the main house had been completed two years before his father had died, and he had left the property to Leo. With the advent of technology, Leo had further secured the property and bunker some years later with a highly sophisticated alarm system. It was his private sanctuary—where he felt closest to his father—and until recently, this was where he had come to seek solace and to reaffirm his purpose.

Leo took the key from inside his pant pocket and unlocked the lodge door before carefully replacing it. He stepped inside and turned on the lights before going over to the far wall and deactivating the alarm system. As always, he was immediately blinded by the vivid red that covered the walls, ceiling, and floor.

Taking several cleansing breaths in an effort to calm his inner turmoil, Leo took off his shirt, followed by his pants, then his socks, and lastly, his underwear. Each article of clothing was neatly folded and placed on the chair in the corner, the only piece of furniture in the room. His meticulous ritual usually had a calming effect on him, but today he could find no solace in anything he did.

Removing the strand of nylon rope coiled loosely over the back of the chair, he went and stood in front of the mirror attached to the opposite wall. He had shaved this morning and his genitals were smooth to the touch, although he noted with annoyance that his penis was already rigid. A film of sweat broke out on his forehead as he looped the strand of rope into a noose-hold by bringing the loose ends back through the looped end. He pushed it to the base of his body, close to his pelvis, before turning the noose side down toward his balls, executing three or four simple twists. It was difficult to maneuver the rope around his stiff penis, even with his practiced hands. Taking the separated strands of rope, he wrapped each one around each of his balls, rotating to keep them even. After he separated his balls with the rope, he left about three inches of strand on each side. Those, he brought to the bottom of his balls and tied them off before taking the excess up around his swollen shaft and tying it again.

He gave the package a firm tug. The immediate shock of pain was reassuring. Satisfied that his balls and penis were tightly bound, he reached for the crisply laundered shirt and trousers hanging on a peg on the wall and put them on, followed by a dark tie. The hat and armband quickly followed suit. The effect was immediate as his heart quickened its beat. Slowly but surely, Leo felt the customary heat start at the tips of his toes and work its way up his entire body. Searching in the mirror for the reassuring bulge, Leo realized that his penis was no longer straining against its bindings and had gone limp. He was in control.

Leo walked across the room to another smaller room lined with shelves, which held gardening tools and other outdoor paraphernalia. Going over to the farthest shelf, he tugged at it and it opened smoothly on well-oiled hinges to reveal a steel door with a panel of numbers on it. Punching in a series of numbers he had branded to memory, Leo waited until he heard the door click and unlock. The steel door and the keyless entry had been another one of his innovations. On the other side of the door was a long, dim corridor leading down into the underground bunker, and it took several minutes for his eyesight to adjust to the dimness.

Walking awkwardly over to the flag, he knelt in front of it. He tried concentrating on its bold colors. The strength of those colors should have infused him with power. Despite his single-minded purpose, he felt Maria's presence taking over, wantonly enticing him with the purity of her body and soul. Except that her body was pure no longer; he had seen to that. The rushing sound filled his head again. He shook it violently.

"Stop laughing at me, Father."

The rushing noise only became louder. He tried concentrating on the flag in front of him. Instead, images of Maria, spread-eagled on her stomach while he took her from behind, played across his mind. To his mortification, the rope around his penis seemed to chafe against his renewed erection. Biting back a sob of frustration, he picked up the riding crop and struck it directly over the bulge in his pants. A shiver went down his spine. Pulling down his pants, Leo again raised the crop, the next blow harder than the first, sending an erotic shock through his constricted scrotum. He was unable to stop himself as he dealt his body blow after blow until it was saturated in sweat. Finally, his excitement could be contained no longer and he came all over the flag with huge, rapturous spurts of sticky liquid.

When he was finally spent, he felt no peace. He felt only anger and shame, as well as an urgent need to be with Maria once again.

### CHAPTER 18

"These are lovely," Esther said in delight. "It was nice of you to bring them for me."

"I know how much you love roses," Kate told her as she placed the roses and baby's breath in a crystal vase, doing her best to hide her surprise at Esther's wan appearance. "How are you feeling today?"

Esther avoided Kate's eyes as she smoothed the covers over her lap. "I'm no better or worse for wear, as the saying goes." She took Kate's hand and pulled her down beside her wheelchair. "Now you didn't come all the way out here just to talk about my health, did you?"

"I didn't?" Kate asked, feigning innocence.

Esther gave her a knowing look. "We've been friends for a long time, and I know when something's bothering you. Lucky for you, I've got all my marbles today, so shoot." She sat up straight in her wheelchair. "I'm all ears."

Kate grinned at her, unable to suppress her amusement. "Has anyone ever told you you're a nosy old busybody?"

"I should hope so," the older woman shot back. "It's what keeps my ticker ticking. So, what gives?"

"Paul Wagner has decided to put out a special anniversary edition of the _Paisleys' Greatest Hits Collection_ and he's asked me to be a part of it."

"And you said?"

Kate sighed. "I agreed to do it. It seemed fair considering he practically handed me the listing on his estate."

Esther nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe your head is telling you the time is right."

Kate decided to tell her what had been uppermost on her mind for the past few days. "Paul's also invited me to go with him to an art gallery in a few weeks," she said hesitantly, "in San Francisco."

" _Really_." That one word spoke volumes as Esther gave Kate a shrewd look. "It seems to me like there's a bit more than just a tit for a tat going on between you two."

Kate grimaced. "I wish you wouldn't use those words. Anyway," she forged ahead, "we'd leave Friday afternoon and return on Sunday."

"Make sure you pack a few sweaters," her friend offered sagely. "It can get chilly at night this time of the year... from what I can remember, of course."

Kate looked at her in exasperation. "Is that all you're going to say?"

"What else do you want me to say?" Esther asked reasonably. "Do you want me to tell you that you shouldn't go?"

"Of course not." Kate flipped open one of the magazines lying on the table. After a moment's pause, she sheepishly asked, "Should I go?"

"It depends on what you're afraid of."

"What makes you think I'm afraid of something?" Kate impatiently threw the magazine back on the bedside table, studiously avoiding her friend's gaze.

"Because you keep answering my questions with questions." Esther took hold of her hand. "You don't have to tell me you're attracted to the man. Anyone with half a brain can see that." She held up her hand to ward off her friend's immediate protest.

Kate slumped down onto Esther's bed. "So, it's that obvious, is it?" Seeing Esther's lascivious grin only made her feel worse. "Don't answer that."

"Let's examine the facts." Esther straightened her back, all businesslike as she began ticking points off on her arthritic fingers. "He's a single, attractive man, last time I saw him. Takes after his father in the looks department. He's got a healthy bank balance and he's straight. What's not to like? Hell, _I'd_ even go if he promised to spring me from here."

"Maybe I'm reading more into his invitation than I should be," Kate argued. "After all, we're supposed to be looking for a piece of art for his main foyer."

"Maybe you're not," Esther countered.

Kate fiddled with the coverlet on Esther's bed. "This is ridiculous. I'm acting like an inexperienced school girl trying to figure out how far to go on a first date." She stared at her friend helplessly. "What should I do?"

"I think you should go," said Esther firmly. "Marcus would want you to go. Just make sure he uses a condom."

"That _wasn't_ funny!" Kate pretended to glare at her balefully. "Someone your age shouldn't have their mind in the gutter."

"Someone my age is just grateful to have my faculties at all... most of the time, anyway," Esther retorted wickedly. "Besides, you're never too old for a lecture on safe sex. And you're forgetting one thing."

"What's that?" asked Kate suspiciously.

"If all Paul Wagner wanted to do was jump your old bones, he could've asked you to go with him somewhere on his jet and then deflowered you in the sky."

Kate rolled her eyes. "I think I'm a little beyond deflowering."

"The point is, there are worse things you could do than be in the man's company for a few days, right?"

"Right," she admitted.

"Good." Esther pointed toward the door. "Now that we've got that settled, you can take me for a spin in this Godforsaken contraption."

* * *

Eve was just starting to slice radishes for the salad when she heard the front door slam. "We're in here!" she yelled.

A minute later, Karen came into the kitchen. Seeing her grandmother sitting on one of the stools pulled up to the counter, she went over and pecked her on the cheek. "Hey, Grams."

"Hey yourself," Kate replied fondly. "How was the recording session?"

"It wasn't a recording session." Picking up a sliced radish, she plucked it in her mouth. "We watched Josh's new music video."

"This Josh, he's a friend of yours from school?" Eve asked. "I don't recall you mentioning him before."

"I don't always talk about all of my friends," Karen retorted before quickly changing the subject. "What's for dinner?"

"Lasagna," Eve told her. "Why don't you set the table?" Expecting her daughter to raise an objection like she usually did, Eve was surprised when Karen went to the cupboard and began taking out plates. A look passed between Eve and her mother; Kate had noticed it, too.

"Grams, are you staying for dinner?"

"Is that an invitation?" Kate teased her.

"I'll take that as a yes." Karen took out an extra plate and began setting the table. A minute later, she blurted out, "Caro called as I was on my way home."

Eve looked at her daughter closely. "And how is your sister?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Is she planning on coming to L.A. anytime soon?"

"I think she's planning on coming once the baby's born," Karen replied.

Her comment was followed by an awkward silence. Finally, Kate said to no one in particular, "The lasagna smells almost as good as mine."

Karen continued setting the table without comment. She was obviously preoccupied.

Eve tried a different track. "So, what's new with Caro?"

"Not much," Karen replied shortly. "Mom, did Dad ever fool around while you guys were married?"

Eve was so taken aback by her daughter's question that her knife slipped and she almost cut herself. "What would make you ask such a thing?"

"I don't know," she replied impatiently. "I'm just asking a simple question. Did Dad ever fool around while you guys were married?"

"Of course not." Eve put down her knife and looked at her daughter evenly. "As far as I'm aware, your father was always faithful to me. Now why are you suddenly so interested in what your father did while we were married?"

Karen shrugged. "I don't know."

Eve wasn't buying into it. "Come on, Karen, level with me."

"I told you, I don't know, okay?" She marched over to the fridge, throwing open the door before immediately slamming it. "And did you know that Brooke's not having their baby? That they're using a surrogate?"

"So, _that's_ what this is about." Eve looked over at her mother before crossing the kitchen and putting her arms around her daughter's shoulder.

Karen nodded, shrugging off her mother's arm.

Eve pulled out a stool and sat down. "Your father already told me about the surrogate."

"Thanks for not telling me," she retorted. "Although, I'm willing to bet he didn't tell you _who_ they were using as their surrogate."

Eve shook her head. "I didn't want to know."

"Well, _I'll_ tell you," she said in a clipped tone. "It's Rina Lyons." Waiting for the impact of her words to sink in, Karen wasn't disappointed by her mother's reaction.

"Rina Lyons?" Eve's brows knit together in consternation. "Isn't that _Caro's friend_?"

"The one and only."

Kate turned to her daughter. "Didn't I meet her some years back during one of your Fourth of July barbeques?"

Eve nodded grimly. "Did your sister know your father was planning on using Rina as a surrogate?"

"She says she didn't," Karen answered. "And I don't think she likes the idea very much."

_I'll say_ , thought Eve. _What the hell had Eric been thinking?_

"Is that why you were asking whether your father was ever unfaithful?" Eve asked. "Because you thought he might have been fooling around with Rina?"

Karen nodded, unable to look her mother in the eye.

"I think you're off base here, sweetheart," Kate said soothingly. "Your dad wasn't a wandering Lothario."

"A what?" Karen asked.

"Someone who goes around obsessively seducing and deceiving women," Eve answered automatically.

"How can you be so sure?" she challenged.

Eve stood her ground. "I just am."

"Well, _I'm_ not," she argued stubbornly. "Look at the facts. When you guys split up, he started dating all those young models and for a while last year, there were those two ex-Playboy bunnies. Now Dad's engaged to Brooke, who's almost as young as Caro, _and_ he picks Caro's friend to have their baby. Admit it, Mom. Dad's hardly Husband-of-the-Year material!"

"Look, honey, I can't really comment on your father's actions," Eve said, carefully choosing her words, "but I'm quite sure he wasn't having an affair with Rina, or anyone else, during the time we were married. Don't forget, your father's medical specialty is reproduction."

"Dad told Caro that Brooke can't have any kids. Apparently, Dad and Brooke made some kind of arrangement with Rina, which is why she's doing this," Karen continued. "It kind of makes you wonder what kind of arrangement they've got, doesn't it?" she asked spitefully.

### CHAPTER 19

"I just don't understand it." Liz unlocked her apartment door and tiredly collapsed onto the sofa. "We've searched everywhere my mother usually hangs out. Where can she be?"

Otis, who'd gone straight to her refrigerator, came back carrying a small tub of leftover macaroni salad and two forks. He sat down beside her. "I don't know, but I think we're going to have to call in some reinforcements."

She sat up, immediately on the defensive. "No way, Ote. I told you before, no police."

"I know that," he argued. "I wasn't talking about the police."

"Then who?" she asked suspiciously.

"The gang from work."

Liz shook her head. "No."

"You're being unreasonable."

"This is my problem. I don't want to burden anybody else with it."

"Well, you're going to have to if you want to find your mother," Otis told her matter-of-factly. "Besides, it makes sense if you think about it. Five of us searching are much more effective than one or two of us." Seeing her waver, he drove his argument home. "Let's face it, you've been searching for days, we searched all night and we've turned up nothing."

Liz was too tired to argue anymore. "Do you think they'll mind helping?"

"It's all in the presentation." He grinned. "Those guys would walk down Hollywood Boulevard naked as jaybirds if it meant a free party pizza and a couple dozen beers. Plus, they're good guys."

She smiled, feeling better. "Maybe you're right."

"We'll spread the word tomorrow between shifts." He tore the tub off the macaroni salad and tried handing her a fork. "Let's dig in. I don't mind telling you, I've worked up a king-size appetite."

Liz was deep in thought and ignored the utensil. "I've spent my entire childhood thinking and dreaming about my mother, and then my entire adult life checking up on her and worrying about her, trying to figure out where she goes and what she does, yet everything about her has been a mystery from day one." She took a letter from her pocket and handed it to Otis. "And then there's this."

"What is it?"

"Another dead end, that's what," she replied. "It's from the _Southern California Free Press Gazette_."

"What do they want?" he asked, scanning the contents of the letter quickly.

"It's not what they want. It's what _I_ wanted from _them_. That's where my friend's mother used to work," she explained in frustration. "I figured the answers to Mom had to be connected to the sanitarium where she used to live. Since they weren't answering my calls or letters, I wanted the paper to publish a story on her. The paper had been gung-ho to publish the story before, but now they refuse to touch it with a ten-foot pole. Kind of makes me wonder."

"Maybe your mom's story isn't newsworthy anymore."

"I don't buy that," she told him firmly. "Years ago, when Mom was released from Serendipity's Door and my friend and her family disappeared, the _Gazette_ just clammed up."

"Maybe there's a conspiracy going on," he suggested jokingly.

Liz looked at him seriously. "I wouldn't be surprised if there was." She watched as Otis went back into her kitchen and started rooting through her cupboards. "Third cupboard to your left." With a small smile, she shook her head as he took a box of chocolate chip cookies off the shelf.

"How'd you know I was looking for these?"

Liz rolled her eyes. "Don't you ever stop eating?"

He shook his head. "Not if I can help it." He became serious at the worried look on her face. "You don't really believe there's something going on, do you?"

"I honestly don't know what to believe anymore," she replied.

"Have you tried the nut house where your mother stayed?" he asked.

"They threatened me with a harassment suit last year if I didn't leave them alone," she admitted, "and my Mom's doctor at Serendipity died last year in a car crash."

"How convenient," Otis remarked.

Liz threw up her hands in frustration. "No matter which angle I try, it all leads to one big dead end."

A thought occurred to Otis. "Didn't you once tell me that some outfit was paying your mother's freight?"

"It was some German company, but an Internet search came up empty." She went to the closet and pulled out the framed poster, propping it against the coffee table in front of him. "And then there's this."

"What's that?" he asked.

"I bought it in a store on Las Palmas selling vintage memorabilia."

"I didn't think old movies were your thing."

"They're not. But this poster's identical to a picture my mom had with her when she was released from Serendipity," she explained. "Except that hers wasn't a picture of the poster. It was an actual photograph of _this_ woman posing for _this_ movie poster."

"How'd your mom get the picture?"

"I have no idea." Liz went over to her dining room table where she'd left her notebook. Flipping it open, she glanced at the notes she'd made earlier. "I checked the Internet to see if I could find something about the movie, but there wasn't much to go on. Apparently, _One Spark Too Many_ came out in 1946 and was touted to be an MGM blockbuster except that it ended up being only a so-so movie. Then I checked out the actors. Not much written about Sigourney Johnson or the other guy, Dennis Diego. Sigourney was a young actress from the forties who only did a few pictures before she retired to marry her director from _One Spark_."

"She's not a bad looking chick."

"Wikipedia didn't have anything on her at all. Dennis Diego was some Latin heartthrob from the silent movies whose career was pretty well dead by the time he did this picture. He got electrocuted on a set in Mexico a year after doing this movie, and Jasper Kendrall just died a couple of years ago."

"Not much to go on, is it?" he asked.

"Nope." She shook her head in frustration. "Call me crazy, Ote, but somehow I know there's a connection between this poster and my mother. I just wish I knew what it was."

_With a mother to suddenly support and no skills to speak of, Liz immediately set about looking for work. She found a job as a dishwasher in a family-owned restaurant in Tarzana. The place was a dump that paid only minimum wage, but Liz was grateful for the job, determined to support her mother so she wouldn't have to be institutionalized again. She worked dinner hour until close and shared a two-bedroom apartment with Dixie, one of the waitresses from the restaurant, along with the countless one-night stands that seemed to clutter Dixie's already complicated life. Dixie worked the day shift and was willing to keep an eye on Liz's mother for a small fee while Liz went to work. Once the restaurant closed at two in the morning, Liz had time for a quick nap in her car before she went to her other job delivering newspapers until dawn. She delivered the paper daily and worked at the restaurant six nights a week. By the end of the third month, Liz was physically exhausted from her non-stop work schedule, as well as emotionally drained from caring for her mother during the day_.

_Liz was lucky enough to find a clinic downtown where her mother was given free medication to help deal with her mood swings. Maria never spoke more than the odd word or two, and despite her erratic behavior, Liz cherished their time together. She was determined to make up for all the time she had lost growing up without Maria_.

_One morning, on returning to the apartment after a particularly tough time delivering her papers in a torrential downpour, Liz was alarmed to find Maria squatting in a corner of their bedroom, her knees drawn up to her chest, seemingly mute. It was only when she crouched down to her mother's level that Liz noticed the ugly welt on the side of her left cheek. When Liz reached out to touch it, her mother flinched in fear, retreating even further from her_.

" _Mom," Liz tried to keep her tone even so as to not upset Maria, "what happened to your cheek?_ "

" _No touch, Lizzie!" Her mother began sobbing, clawing at the wall in an effort to get away from her. "I be good!_ "

" _It's okay, Mom," Liz crooned. "I'm not going to hurt you_."

_After several minutes of coaxing, her mother finally allowed Liz to take her in her arms. When Maria had calmed down enough to fall asleep, Liz put her to bed before going to find Dixie. She was in the kitchen, wearing a stoned look and a man's worn undershirt as she tried to clear enough space on the countertop to measure coffee into the ancient relic of a coffee maker. Her efforts were hindered by a horny stranger in jockey shorts, tonguing her inner lobe. Liz guessed him to be Dixie's newest one-nighter, having never seen him before_.

" _What happened to my mother's face?" she asked Dixie. "She's got an ugly welt on her cheek_."

" _She musta fallen," came her roommate's sullen response_.

" _How?_ "

_Dixie didn't answer, distracted by the tongue in her ear and the hand playing with her exposed nipple_.

" _How about some titty to go with my hard on, babe?" The guy bent down and sucked on the nipple_.

" _Not now, Todd." Dixie's efforts weren't very convincing. "I gotta get to work_."

" _How about some answers," Liz interjected_.

" _I gotta get to work_."

" _Not until you tell me what happened," Liz persisted_.

" _I'm not her god-damned babysitter," whined her roommate_.

" _But you were supposed to be keeping an eye on her," Liz accused. "It's part of our deal_."

" _Deal my fuckin ass!" Dixie yelled, yanking her breast out of the guy's mouth. "She was goin' around bustin' all of my dishes_."

" _So what did you do?" Liz asked incredulously. "Smack her with a dish?_ "

" _Nope." The guy's hand snaked down to raise the hem of Dixie's undershirt before sticking his finger into her vagina. "I smacked her with the back of my hand_."

" _You let this_ asshole _touch my mother?_ "

" _I had to. The old cow was acting like a god-damned lunatic." Todd's fingers came out of Dixie's vagina, his hard on having deflated at the onset of Liz's wrath. "I don't need this shit from either of you cunts." With that, he ambled back to Dixie's bedroom_.

" _Look, this just ain't workin' out for me," Dixie told her, lighting a crooked joint she pulled out of an empty peanut butter jar. "You and your old lady'd better split_."

_Liz nodded, unable to speak as she watched Dixie follow Todd back to her room, evidently forgetting she was supposed to be going to work. Calling in sick at the restaurant, Liz scoured the paper, managing to find them a room at a small boarding house, not far from LAX. It didn't take her long to figure out why the rent was so cheap. The boarding house was directly on one of LAX's busiest flight paths and the reverberation from the planes made the walls vibrate, causing Maria to wail at the top of her lungs. Liz's solution was to turn up the volume on the radio in order to drown out the noise. She tried locking Maria in their room when she went to work, but was called home twice because her mother managed to get out. Maria would pace the halls, beating on doorways and cackling at the top of her lungs_.

_One day, about a week after moving in, Liz came home from doing her paper route to discover that her mother was nowhere to be found. She frantically searched the building, and when her search came up empty, Liz called the police. Maria's disappearance made the evening news. After following countless leads, the police eventually picked up Maria on Hollywood Boulevard. Liz didn't know what to make of the situation. While her mother obviously had some mental challenges, her sense of direction was uncanny, so for her to be roaming Hollywood Boulevard didn't make any sense at all... unless her mother hadn't wanted to come back_.

_In desperation, Liz went to the drug store and bought some sleeping pills. She gave her mother two pills about an hour before she went to work. The pills worked for almost three weeks before Liz came home to find Maria missing again. This time, the media wasn't notified and the police took longer in finding her. They even recommended that Maria be put under constant supervision, something Liz couldn't afford. Over a period of six months, Liz's mother left and was brought home four more times. Each time, Liz became more despondent_.

_The last time she ran away, Liz didn't call the police. She found her mother curled up on a bench in the park where they took their daily walks, sound asleep. Staring at her mother's peaceful face in slumber, Liz came to the realization that although her mother didn't want to live with her, she could never have Maria institutionalized again. That left her with only one alternative. She would have to let her mother go_.

### CHAPTER 20

Karen Devane was at one of the most exciting parties of her entire life. It was to kick off the release of her boyfriend Josh's new single, "Taggin'". Several of Albatross' executives were in attendance, including Lionel Connors, the owner of the Malibu beachfront where the party was being held. Josh took her around and introduced her to everyone, making her feel special. Outside, the paparazzi were camped out along the perimeter of the property, rabidly snapping pictures of everyone, including several of Karen in her new bikini.

Josh had been given carte blanche with the invitations, and much to her annoyance, he had taken it upon himself to invite Laurie and Spic, Karen's friends from Hollywood High.

"I told you I'd already invited Ashley and some of my other friends from Killenby," she had informed Josh when he had first told her the news. "You shouldn't have invited Laurie and Spic without running it by me first." Laurie was a stoner and Ashley was pure Beverly Hills princess. Although Karen liked them both, that didn't mean she wanted them at the same party.

"Well, _excuse me_ ," Josh told her sarcastically, "but aren't you forgetting this is _my_ party?"

"I know that," she argued, "but Laurie's really high maintenance and I don't think she and Ashley are going to get along."

"For Christ's sake, they won't even have to eyeball each other, if that's what's worrying you. There are going to be tons of other people there."

"Thanks for being so supportive," she retorted.

"Listen, if you don't want your friends to come, then un-invite them. I honestly don't give a shit."

"You know I can't do that," she shot back heatedly.

"Whatever," was his disinterested response, "but if you ask me, I think you're making too big a deal out of this whole thing."

Karen still had her doubts as she introduced Ashley and her other friends to Laurie and Spic.

"Hey." Ashley's gaze was cool as she gave Spic a cursory once-over before her eyes came to rest on Laurie's nose. "Your nose looks almost as good as mine. Maybe you used the same nose guy?"

"Huh?" Laurie's eyes were unfocused, probably from the two joints she'd smoked earlier. "Are you friggin' kidding me?"

_Hardly the beginnings of a life-long friendship_ , thought Karen, as she watched her friends from Killenby head down to the beach to play volleyball, while Laurie and Spic got swallowed up in the mix of people. Pretty soon everybody appeared to be having a great time except for her. Despite the great music, the free-flowing booze, and the interesting people, Karen was finding it hard to get into the swing of things.

Josh appeared out of nowhere. Pulling her into a corner, he tried to get one hand down the front of her bikini bottom while balancing a sweaty glass of vodka and a lit joint in the other. Much to Karen's annoyance, he was totally shitfaced.

"That thang you got on is fuckin' too much," he mumbled.

"Quit trying to cop a feel." Karen managed to avoid his roving hand.

"I can't helf m'self," he replied, slurring his words. "How's about you and me gettin' horizontal?"

"Maybe later," she replied distractedly, "after I find Laurie and Spic. Have you seen them?"

"Forget about 'em." His eyelids drooped, a combination of too much booze and too much grass. "Les go."

"Later, okay?" She plucked the lit joint from his fingers and took a deep drag. Karen had nothing against doing recreational drugs, but she absolutely hated it when Josh got so stoned he could barely stand up.

"You're no fun," he whined before stumbling out toward the pool.

_You're not exactly a barrel of laughs either_ , Karen thought as she stomped outside to where the cooks were grilling steaks. "Have you seen a really skinny girl wearing a blue tank top and jeans?"

"You mean the chick with the pock marks on her face?" one of them asked.

"Yeah," Karen said quickly. "She's the one."

"That chick is loco." The Hispanic cook stuck his finger in the general direction of the kitchen. "I told her I didn't have any blow, but she didn't believe me."

"Shit!"

At a party like this, scoring some blow would be about as hard as finding ass wipe. Making a beeline into the kitchen, Karen was relieved to find a glassy-eyed Laurie propped up against the counter, stoned out of her mind. She was in the middle of a heavy petting session with one of Josh's crew, but her faithful sidekick was nowhere to be found.

"Hey."

Laurie looked at Karen, trying to focus. "Hey yousef," she muttered. "This is a fucktastic party!"

"Yeah," Karen replied automatically. "Where's Spic?"

Laurie shrugged before replying vaguely, "Gone."

"Gone where?"

"Upstairs, downstairs—"

"To the moon," her companion offered before howling like a wolf at the top of his lungs.

Inwardly, Karen fumed as she left the kitchen and went upstairs. Why the hell she felt responsible for her friends was beyond her. Unfortunately, her screwed up sense of duty was making her miss out on a great party.

On the second floor, she opened the first door to her right and peeked inside. It was a deserted little storage room. Walking a little further down the hallway, she put her ear to the next door and heard muffled sounds coming from inside. Yanking the door open, she saw Badass Bowser, one of the artists on Albatross' label, being serviced by a girl Karen didn't recognize.

The other girl in the room invited Karen in. "Want in on our private party?" she asked, holding out a tube of lipstick. "We still have _Scarlet Angel_ left, if you want it."

"No thanks." Rainbow parties were definitely not her scene, even if the dick was semi-famous.

About to give up and head back downstairs again, Karen heard the sound of shattered glass and then a voice, sounding suspiciously like Spic's, let out a painful, "Damn!"

"Spic?" Karen crossed the carpeted hallway and rattled the locked doorknob. "Is that you? Open up!"

"Just a sec," came her friend's muffled response. "I sliced open my god-damned finger." A minute later, she opened the door and let Karen in. There was unraveled toilet paper all over the bathroom floor, along with traces of blood and broken glass. Also scattered throughout were a bunch of pills.

In one quick sweep, Karen took in the entire picture, including the open medicine cabinet. "Tell me you weren't stealing pills from Lionel Connors' medicine cabinet."

"Are you kidding me?" Her friend could barely contain her excitement, despite her pale features. "That old fart has enough pills to start his own drugstore."

Karen surveyed the blood seeping through the wadding of toilet paper on Spic's finger. "How bad is it?" she asked.

Her friend reached for the cabinet, suddenly unsteady on her feet. "I'm not sure."

"Here, let me take a look." Unwrapping Spic's finger, she held it under cold running water. The gash was deep, almost to the bone, and Karen's stomach churned. Spic would need stitches to close the wound.

"I've got to get you to a hospital."

"There's no way I'm going to any hospital," Spic argued belligerently as Karen bandaged her finger with gauze she found in the medicine cabinet. "I hate hospitals."

"Too damn bad," Karen told her, holding her ground. "You should've thought of that before you tried stealing the pills, you jerk."

"Screw you," Spic said weakly.

"Love you, too," Karen replied, surveying the mess in the bathroom. "Let's go."

Spic followed her meekly out of the bathroom and down the stairs. Surprisingly, the kitchen was deserted.

"Where the hell is everybody?"

"Probably watching the fight," Spic replied.

"What fight?"

"The one down there," she replied, pointing her bloody finger in the general direction of the beach.

"Oh no!" Karen's stomach sank like a stone as she saw the tangle of bodies surrounding the volleyball net, cheering and yelling. In a flash, she was running out the door and down the steps toward the beach. Clawing her way through the crowd of boisterous bodies, she saw Ashley and Laurie locked in mortal combat. Without thought for her own safety, she jumped in the fray in an effort to separate her two friends. Karen was saved from getting dragged down as Josh and one of his crew separated the two girls.

"I'm gonna kill you, bitch!" Laurie screamed, trying to break away from Josh. Her tank top had ripped and was hanging from her lanky body.

"She's an animal! Get her away from me!" returned Ashley. Her new nose was bleeding profusely; the blood coursing down her face into her bikini top.

A tall, surfer type was busy taking phone shots of all the action. "This here's _Jerry Springer_ gold, man!"

### CHAPTER 21

Paul Wagner sent his chauffeured car to pick up Kate on Friday afternoon for their trip to San Francisco.

"Good afternoon, madam," the chauffeur told her formally. "Mr. Wagner has asked that I take you to the airport to meet him." He held out his hand. "I'm Darryl, his personal driver."

"Nice to meet you, Darryl," she told him, shaking his hand. "Where exactly is Mr. Wagner?"

"Mr. Wagner's been delayed in Toronto, but expects to be landing at the airport shortly," he told her apologetically.

"Toronto!" Kate was confused. "I thought Paul had been in Sao Paulo."

"He was," Darryl explained, "but he had to fly to Toronto yesterday."

"Your boss certainly gets around," Kate remarked dryly, handing him her overnight bag.

The driver grinned. "That he does, ma'am."

The ride to the airport was uneventful, and when the car pulled up to the tarmac in front of a private jet, Kate was suitably impressed.

"Mr. Wagner made good time," Darryl remarked, helping her from the car.

"No wonder," Kate muttered as she made her way up the steps of the aircraft.

She was greeted in the plane by a flight attendant dressed in a smart uniform of dove grey. "Welcome aboard, Mrs. Stanton."

"Thank you."

She handed Kate's overnight bag to a waiting steward before motioning to the well-appointed cabin. "Please make yourself comfortable. Mr. Wagner is just freshening up and will be right with you."

Kate sat in one of the chairs flanking a small table that was strewn with papers. The leather was soft, supple, and luxurious, enveloping her in a cocoon of comfort. A minute later, Paul came out of what was probably a washroom. He was dressed casually in jeans and a shirt. His face was freshly shaven, but nothing could mask the tired lines around his eyes and mouth. However, his face lit up when he saw Kate.

"Glad you could make it," he told her, giving her a quick hug.

"You really know how to treat a girl in style," she remarked laughingly. "I've been having _Pretty Woman_ flashbacks since Darryl came to my door to pick me up."

One of his eyebrows lifted questioningly as he threw himself into the chair opposite her. " _Pretty Woman_ flashbacks?"

"You know," she explained, a little embarrassed. "The private jet to San Francisco, the driver named Darryl—"

"Except for one major difference," he argued. "I'm no Richard Gere."

"There's _that_ obvious point," she conceded with a smile.

"Besides, you're better looking than Julia Roberts," he told her seriously.

"And you need new bifocals," Kate quipped.

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'm not wearing any."

The mood in the cabin became instantly charged with electricity as Kate looked at him. She was saved from responding by the arrival of Lauren, the flight attendant, who told them to ready for takeoff. Once they were airborne, she took their drink orders.

"I hope I didn't embarrass you," he told her quietly.

"As a matter of fact, you did."

"I was merely stating the obvious." He toyed with a sheet of paper on the table before telling her bluntly, "I'm sure I'm not the first man to ever compliment you on your looks."

"You're not," she replied, trying to search for the right words, "it's just that I'm not used to your... candor, if that's the right word for it. It's been a long time since I've let a man—"

"I've been known to tell it like it is," he admitted sheepishly.

"That's a trait both you and Marcus have in common." Kate immediately wished she could take back her words. This certainly wasn't the time to be mentioning Marcus. "Sorry."

"For what?" he asked. "Bringing up your husband? It doesn't bother me."

Nevertheless, she changed the subject, "You look exhausted."

"I am," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "I've been having my share of problems the last few days."

"So I heard."

He shrugged. "Not to worry. Anyway, all I need is a few hours of sleep and I'll be as good as new."

"Good to see you're so resilient," she joked.

When Lauren returned with their drinks, he took a thirsty swallow of his light beer. "I've made an appointment at the Shaw Gallery for eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course," she replied. "I'm at your disposal this weekend. I've also brought some digital photographs of the front foyer. They might be helpful tomorrow at the gallery."

"Good thinking," Paul told her approvingly. "I'm glad one of us had the presence of mind to think of it."

"Judging by your globetrotting schedule, I'm surprised you even know which city you're waking up in," Kate remarked dryly.

"It helps to have good people around you," he told her.

"Like Darryl," she supplied automatically.

"Yes, like Darryl," he agreed with a lopsided grin. "Lately, though, I've been giving some thought to scaling back on my work schedule."

"Work is rewarding, but pursuing those things you're most interested in is far more rewarding."

He gave her a measured look. "I'll keep that in mind."

They spent the next hour in companionable silence. Paul did some of the paperwork he had brought with him while Kate scanned a few of the magazines Lauren had thoughtfully provided. At some point, she looked up to find Paul's head resting against the back of his seat. His eyes were closed, and judging from his even breathing, Kate could tell he was fast asleep. Despite her better judgment, she was drawn to his face. Paul's face was relaxed in repose—his long lashes fanned out against his cheeks and the lines around his mouth and eyes had softened—making him look younger, more vulnerable somehow. As if sensing her scrutiny, Paul's eyes opened, and Kate's heart did a little flip flop.

"Why are you looking at me?" he asked softly. "Was I snoring?"

"Of course not," she denied.

"I don't usually doze off when I'm in the company of a delightful woman."

"Nice save," Kate teased before rewarding him with a smile.

Their eyes met and held; the connection finally broken when the pilot announced their descent into the San Francisco Bay area.

* * *

"What's up with you and Ashley?" Heather Markham asked, coming up to Karen as she was collecting her books from her locker.

"What are you talking about?" asked Karen in annoyance. "There's nothing up with us."

"Then why is Ashley going around telling everybody what a total write-off your boyfriend's party was?"

"Ashley hasn't been here," Karen snapped at her. She was appalled to think that her best friend would backstab her like that. Sure, Ashley had been AWOL from school since the party, but Karen figured she was taking some time off.

"Have you ever heard of a phone?" Heather inquired smugly.

"I still don't believe you."

"Suit yourself." Heather shrugged, pretending not to care. "But she also told me that her dad wants to sue Albatross Records for what happened."

Karen slammed her locker door shut and began walking down the hall toward the student parking lot. "If this is your lame-assed way of trying to find out what happened at Josh's party, I'm not falling for it. Besides, you've been pissed at Ashley ever since you found out her nose cost more than your boobs."

"Whatever." Heather followed Karen out to the parking lot. Her SUV was parked beside Karen's Beemer. "All I can say is that you'd better watch your back."

Karen was getting tired of the whole conversation. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that her new nose job is going to need readjusting, thanks to that psycho-bitch friend of yours from Holly High that jumped her at the party," explained Heather with feigned patience.

"Oh shit!" said Karen, leaning weakly against her car. "No wonder she hasn't talked to me since the party. Part of that was Ashley's fault, too."

Heather ignored her comment. "Maybe Ashley's thinking of getting back at you."

"How?"

Heather shrugged, her 40C breast implants rising and falling with perfect precision. "Didn't Ashley know your boyfriend before he met up with you?"

Karen frowned at her. "Yeah. So?"

"So, nothing." Heather got into her car. "Just watch your back, is all."

Karen held on to Heather's car door to prevent her from closing it. She felt sick in the pit of her stomach. "Are you trying to tell me that Ashley is going to go after _my_ boyfriend just because she got punched in the face?"

"Don't say you haven't been warned—"

"Why that _bitch_!" Karen fumed. If Ashley thought that she was going to go after Josh, a busted nose wasn't the only thing she'd have to be worried about! "Maybe that's why she came solo to the party. So she could flirt with him." She took her cell phone out of her purse, ready to do battle.

"Don't bother," said Heather. "She won't talk to you."

"Of course not." With that, Karen threw her cell phone back into her purse before reaching across Heather's breasts to grab her cell phone off the passenger seat. "I'll just have to use yours!"

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking, attacking Ashley like that?" Karen and Laurie were in the coffee shop on Hollywood Boulevard. Josh was across the street, checking out his new CD. It was the first time Karen had talked to Laurie since Josh's party. Spic's finger had taken nine stitches to close the wound, so she had been laying low for the past week.

"No one's gonna call me a hoe for no reason," Laurie replied calmly. She had smoked some grass before meeting Karen and was feeling its mellowing effects. "I know her type. Miss fat-ass fuckin' WASP princess who's a total anal bitch."

"Anal bitch or not, you had no right attacking her and wrecking Josh's party," Karen reprimanded her. She was totally pissed off. Sometimes, Laurie was just too much. "What were you doing down by the beach anyway? The last I saw you, you were making out with this guy from Josh's crew."

Laurie reached for the open pack of smokes on the table and lit one, letting the smoke saturate her lungs. "We'd both smoked some weed and he was feelin' up my pussy when he sees one of Miss WASP bitch's friends and thinks he knows her. Next thing I know, we're on the beach. She insults me, and then _pow_ we're at it."

Karen lit up, too. "I should never talk to you again after what happened."

"But you will," Laurie assured her confidently. "Wanna try scoring some booze?"

"I can't," Karen glanced at her watch, "I promised to do some stuff for my grandmother." Butting out her smoke, she threw a few bills down on the table before getting up. "I have to go. Are you staying or what?"

"Naw." She got up on shaky legs. "What's the point?"

Karen looked at her friend with a twinge of pity. She looked so spaced out and defenseless. "You gotta get your shit together."

"Screw you!" Laurie snapped by way of a response.

"Come on," Karen said impulsively. "You might as well come with me and Josh. We'll give you a lift home afterwards."

"Isn't he pissed at me?"

"He'll get over it."

* * *

It had taken Leo weeks to find Maria again after he'd lost her going down the embankment. He had eventually found the squatter's slum underneath the freeway overpass, but she hadn't been there. And then today, during his daily drive along Hollywood Boulevard, he'd finally spotted Maria and managed to tail her here. However, the fact that she had come _here_ , to Kate Stanton's house, hit home the fact that Maria was a loose cannon who had the ability to destroy him... better yet, _all of them_. Leo could feel the sweat collect along his spine. His hands involuntarily shook as he clutched the steering wheel, feeling as though he was about to become physically ill. He knew what he had to do—he'd known it since Maria had showed up at his door—but knowing it and doing something about it were two different things. The thought of her made his gut ache with longing for her. Despite her treason by showing up here, Leo still loved her.

He'd been hoping that the rock the kid threw at her would've cracked her head open, or at the very least, knocked her unconscious. That would've made things easier for him, but no such luck. She had more lives than a mangy cat and fought like a wild animal. Then, without warning, she was off... shuffling along the side of the road, with the nicer looking girl chasing after her in high heels, of all stupid things.

His father's voice came roaring into his head. _Do it now!_

"I can't, Father. I love her," he cried feebly.

Looking at the road in front of him and behind him, Leo noted that it was devoid of traffic. Now was the perfect opportunity to kill Maria. He swore softly under his breath as his head filled with the now familiar rushing noise.

"Leave me alone, for Christ's sake!"

_Kill her now!_

"I can't..."

_You can and you will!_

With Leo's window of opportunity closing in around him, he was having trouble breathing. It was now or never. He eyed the battered photograph on the seat beside him. His mother's face taunted him, forcing him to take action. Inhaling a deep breath, he abruptly put the car in gear, the adrenaline making his heart pound against his chest. With a squeal of tires, he headed for his mark. Soon he would be free of Maria, once and for all.

In that split second before the car hit her, she turned and he saw her face. It was no longer old and wrinkled; it was young, beautiful, and trusting as it had been back in the beginning.

"No!" he screamed.

Unfortunately, it was too late to stop.

* * *

Kate's balcony had a great view of the San Francisco skyline; a view meant to be shared with someone. Almost immediately, she chided herself for being ridiculous. The last thing she wanted, or needed for that matter, was to get involved with Paul Wagner, especially at this stage in her life. Putting away the few articles of clothing she had brought with her, Kate glanced at her watch. She still had time for a quick soak. Running a bath, she poured a generous amount of bath salts into the water. Taking off her clothes, she quickly secured her hair on top of her head with a clip and eased herself into the tub's scented warmth. She closed her eyes, wondering what Paul was doing before discarding the thought. Better not to go down _that_ route!

Kate was roused from her daydreams by the distinct ring tone of her cell phone, which was lying on the bed where she'd thrown it. She ignored it, knowing it would go straight to her voicemail. She became annoyed when it rang again several minutes later. Getting out of the tub, she threw on a terrycloth robe that the hotel had supplied and quickly checked her display. It was Eve.

"Hello!"

"Why didn't you answer your phone the first time I called you?" Eve's voice was unusually sharp.

"What's wrong, honey?" Kate asked instinctively.

"Mom, I'm really sorry to be calling you but... I need you."

"Oh my God!" Kate felt fear clutch her heart. "Is it Karen—"

"She's not hurt," Eve told her brusquely, "but there's been an accident involving someone else. Karen's somehow mixed up in all of it."

"For God's sake, Eve," she implored. "Tell me what happened!"

"It's too complicated to try and explain over the phone. Please just get back here as soon as you can, okay, Mom?" Eve cut off the connection without waiting for her response.

Kate stared at the phone in her hand, trying to comprehend what had just happened. _I need to go home right now_. Shaking off her shock, she went to the door adjoining her suite to Paul's and opened it, only to be confronted with another closed door. Trying the knob, she realized it was locked. She knocked on it hesitantly. When there was no answer, she put her ear to the door, but there was only silence on the other side of it. In desperation, she began pounding on the door, hoping Paul was still in his room.

"Paul, are you in there?" she cried. "Paul, if you're in there, open up!"

After what seemed like an interminably long time, the door was unlocked and Paul appeared, wearing only his jeans. From his disheveled appearance, it was obvious he'd been sleeping again. "What's wrong, Kate?"

"There's been an accident," she told him quickly. "I've got to get back to L.A. right away."

"Has anyone been hurt?" he asked, immediately switching to alert mode. "Is it Eve or Karen?"

"It's Karen. Apparently, she hasn't been hurt, but she's involved somehow." Kate felt suddenly overwhelmed. "Eve didn't go into details."

"Get dressed," he ordered. "I'll make the arrangements."

Kate made to leave, but stopped abruptly. "I'm so sorry about this, Paul."

He bent down and gently kissed her cheek before reaching for his shirt. "Don't worry, my fair Kate. I'll have to think of some way for you to repay me."

## PART THREE
### CHAPTER 22

_July, 2011_

_Los Angeles, California_

Kate arrived at Hollywood Division a little before midnight; Paul had come back to Los Angeles with her. He hadn't said much on the trip home, but had held her hand during the car ride, squeezing it reassuringly every once in a while. She had been grateful for his calm, take-charge presence.

When Darryl pulled up in front of the police station, Paul turned to her. "Are you sure you don't want me to come inside with you?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so," she told him, "but I appreciate everything you've done to get me here so quickly." Flashing him a grateful smile, she got out of the car and hurried up the steps of the police station.

It was Friday night and Hollywood Division was a frenzy of activity. Telephones were ringing, people hurried about, and the place was filled with all the noises generally associated with a very busy police station. Kate ignored everybody as she made a beeline for the reception desk. She waited impatiently until the woman looked up from her computer screen.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"My name is Kate Stanton," Kate explained hurriedly. "I understand my daughter and granddaughter are here. Their names are Eve Stanton and Karen Devane."

Before the woman could reply, a familiar voice called out to her. Turning, Kate was relieved to see her daughter. Eve looked exhausted.

"Eve!" Kate anxiously took her daughter's hands in her own. "Where's Karen?"

"She's in one of those rooms," Eve told her, pointing down the hall. "We haven't been allowed to talk to her yet, and now Eric's gone to pick up his attorney."

A uniformed officer appeared at Eve's side. "You can go to your daughter now. She's in Interrogation Room 5. If you'll follow me, please," he told her formally.

Eve turned to her mother. "You'll come with me, won't you, Mom?"

"You bet I will," she told Eve, giving her daughter's hand a reassuring squeeze.

They followed the officer down the corridor to the last room on the left. After a brief knock, he opened the door, standing aside to let them in. Karen was sitting on one side of a tired-looking table and across from her was an older woman who stood up when Kate and Eve entered.

"Mom! Grams!"

They rushed in and threw their arms around Karen.

"I thought they'd never let me see you," Karen told them tearfully.

"We're here now, sweetheart," Eve told her daughter soothingly.

The other woman held out her hand. "You must be Ms. Stanton."

Eve nodded briskly. "Yes, I'm Eve Stanton and this is my mother, Kate."

"I'm Detective Koranski," said the older woman. "I'm in charge of this investigation."

"I'm not altogether sure what has happened," Eve told her, "so I'd appreciate it if you could enlighten us."

"A woman of no fixed address was killed late this afternoon," the detective told her.

"And my daughter witnessed her death?" Eve frowned. "Wouldn't you normally just write up a report or something instead of dragging her in here?"

"I'm afraid it's a little more complicated than that," Detective Koranski informed her.

"How so?" Kate looked at the other woman blankly.

"Maybe your granddaughter should be the one to tell you what happened," the detective suggested.

"Karen?" Eve looked at her daughter expectantly.

Karen refused to make eye contact with her.

"We're waiting, Karen." There was an edge to Eve's tone now.

"We never meant for that woman to get hurt." Karen looked at her mother imploringly through tear-stained eyes. "You've got to believe me!"

"We do believe you," Kate told her firmly, keeping her gaze fixed on her granddaughter. "Now tell us what happened, honey."

"I went to your house this afternoon with a few of my friends to drop off the stuff that's being donated to the Foundation auction," she began hesitantly.

"What friends?"

"Just some friends," Karen told her mother defensively. "Laurie and Josh."

"I see." Eve shot Kate a quick look that spoke volumes.

"Oh my God, Mom!" Karen threw her hands up in the air. "I knew you'd make a big deal out of nothing, which is exactly why I don't tell you anything!"

"That's enough, Karen." Kate rubbed her temple tiredly. "So what happened when you got to my house?"

"A homeless woman was beating up on your mailbox," Karen explained. "We figured she was probably trying to steal something or put something inside."

"I had a couple of officers go back to Mrs. Stanton's house, but there was nothing inside of the mailbox," the detective informed Eve.

"Well, she _was_ freaking out about the mailbox," Karen insisted. "And she kept saying something about tit's milk."

" _Tit's milk?_ " Eve repeated blankly.

"I'm pretty sure that's what she was saying," her daughter replied. "Then, after she tore the lid off Grams' mailbox, the woman went psycho and attacked Laurie." Karen looked away, unable to meet her mother's eyes. "Josh just lost it and threw a rock at her. I told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen."

"Oh my God," said Eve quietly.

"It gets worse," the detective warned her grimly.

"Then Josh threw another rock at her," Karen told them, her voice barely audible. "The first one hit her in the stomach, but the second one hit her on the head, cutting her forehead open." Karen looked at Kate, her eyes full of tears. "I got scared, especially when she looked so confused. I told Laurie to call an ambulance, but the woman freaked out and tore off down the street."

"What were you kids thinking?" Eve asked in horror.

"I tried to help her, Mom, you've got to believe me!" By this time, Karen was sobbing. "I didn't want her taking off while she was bleeding like that, so I ran after her, hoping to stop her until the ambulance came. But then, this asshole in a car comes out of nowhere and runs her down."

"You mean to tell me that someone just ran over the poor woman?" Kate asked incredulously.

"He didn't even stop! By the time I got to her, it was too late!" Karen collapsed into her grandmother's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Dear God." Eve massaged her throbbing temple and turned to the detective. "You said before the woman had no fixed address. Do you have any idea who she was?"

Detective Koranski shook her head. "Not yet."

"Now what?" Eve asked, looking at the detective expectantly. "My daughter told you what happened."

"It's not as simple as that," the detective explained. "Their irresponsible conduct may have contributed to this woman's death, and so far, we haven't been able to corroborate your daughter's story—"

There was a brief knock on the door. It was opened by Eric and a man about Eric's age, looking every inch a distinguished professional despite the fact that he was wearing formal evening clothes.

Eve stood up. "Mark, thank God you're here!"

"Sorry, Eve," said the other man apologetically, "I came as fast as I could." Coming into the room, he gave her a quick hug. "How are you holding up?"

"Okay," she replied, giving him a watery smile. "You remember my mother, don't you, Mark?"

"Of course. How are you, Kate?" Mark squeezed her arm reassuringly before turning to the detective. "I'd like a few minutes to confer with my client and her family."

"Of course," said Detective Koranski, giving them a tight smile before leaving the room.

Mark sat in the chair previously occupied by the detective before regarding them somberly. "I was able to take a quick look at the preliminary report when I came in," he told them. "The police are considering pressing charges."

"For what?"

"Reckless endangerment."

"What?" Kate held her granddaughter's hand tightly. "That's ridiculous!"

"I'm telling the truth," cried Karen. "I tried to help that woman, but somebody ran her over. Ask the others if you don't believe me!"

"I'm afraid that's going to be a little difficult," Mark told her.

"Why?" Eve asked.

"Because her friend, Josh, fled the scene and the police are still looking for him." The look he gave her was sympathetic, as if to cushion the blow of what he was about to say next. "And Karen's other friend was apparently under the influence of some narcotics when the police arrived. She's been examined by a doctor to make sure she's all right, and now they're just waiting for her to come down from whatever she's on."

"Laurie should be able to corroborate my daughter's story," Eric told him. "Surely, that should be enough for the police."

"What about the car that hit the woman?" Eve inquired impatiently.

"Karen was only able to give them a few digits from the license plate, but a fairly good description of the car... probably not enough to track it down, though." He consulted his notes. "The investigation of the crime scene and the coroner's preliminary report indicate that Karen's account of the hit and run appears to be consistent with the bruising on the body, as well as the skid marks on the road."

"I just want to go home," Karen said plaintively.

"Please, Mark." Eve looked at their attorney imploringly. "There must be something you can do."

He stood up. "I'll give it a shot. Why don't you guys sit tight until I get back." With that, he left the room, leaving the four remaining occupants to stare at the walls in silence.

Roughly seven hours after arriving at Hollywood Division, a very tired but relieved Karen Devane walked out of the police station on the arms of both her parents and grandmother, amid a frenzy of waiting paparazzi, eager to document the release of L.A.'s newest celebrat.

### CHAPTER 23

Liz pulled into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn on Highland around noon on Saturday to drop off the last of her tourists, two spinster sisters and a pair of newlyweds from Des Moines. Liz wasn't sure why the young couple had even bothered taking the tour. As far as she could tell, they had spent the entire four hours lip-locked and groping each other in the back seat of her minibus. They had elicited many a disapproving grunts from her passengers, including some particularly baleful stares from one couple traveling with their teenage son. Luckily for the teenage son, the newlyweds' make-out session had been a welcome distraction to what otherwise might have been a boring, and certainly humiliating, sightseeing excursion in the company of his parents.

The newlyweds muttered something appropriate as they alighted from Liz's minibus before making a beeline toward the hotel, blissfully oblivious to the disapproving stares from the two spinster sisters following them at a safe distance. Liz quickly looked at her watch. She had another tour starting in less than half an hour. With any luck, she'd have just enough time to get to the designated pick up spot over on Sunset.

Putting her minibus in reverse, she pulled up short as an unfamiliar four-door came to a stop behind her, blocking her way. Two men in suits got out of the vehicle, followed closely by Otis, who had been in the back seat.

"Ote!" Liz looked at him in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Liz," came his subdued response.

"I thought you were off today," she continued, eyeing the two strangers with interest. "Who're these guys?"

"I'm Detective Warner and this is my partner, Detective Cassidy," replied the older of the two men, flashing Liz his badge. "L.A.P.D."

Liz looked at Otis. "Are these guys friends of yours?"

"Not exactly." Otis fidgeted uncomfortably. "They're here to talk to you."

"About what?"

"We'd like you to come down to Hollywood Division with us."

"What for?" Liz asked. The fact that everyone looked so serious immediately put her on edge.

"Because it would be better to talk to you there than in this parking lot," the one identified as Detective Cassidy told her.

"Either you tell me what this is about or I stay exactly where I am," she said stubbornly.

"This is about a hit and run that occurred late yesterday afternoon on North Pinero," Detective Warner informed her.

"And you're thinking I had something to do with it?" Liz asked worriedly. "I mean, I was working, but I had the Beverly Hills/Bel Air run." She looked at the older detective's face, but it remained impassive. "Otis can vouch for me and so could the forty or so passengers in my minibus yesterday."

"Has anything been stolen from you recently?" Detective Cassidy asked suddenly.

"Stolen?" she repeated blankly.

"Or is unaccounted for," offered his partner helpfully.

"No." Liz shot Otis a confused look, but he studiously avoided her gaze. She was losing her patience. "Look, I already told you. I didn't have anything to do with the hit and run, nor did I have anything stolen recently. Can I go now?"

"The victim of the hit and run was carrying a backpack."

Liz's heartbeat quickened. "A backpack?"

"Uh-huh." Detective Warner watched Liz's face carefully. "And inside the backpack was a prescription with your name and address on it."

"You said there was a victim," she managed to ask. "Who was it?"

"An unidentified woman," his partner explained. "We were hoping you'd be able to tell us who she was."

" _Was?_ " Liz looked at them with huge, fearful eyes.

She didn't notice as Otis came up beside her and took her hand. "Your mom died on impact, Liz. I'm so sorry."

" _No!_ " Liz's world began spinning out of control until there was nothing left but blackness.

* * *

There was no way the police could connect him to the car. His face had been obscured by an old baseball cap and he'd painstakingly wiped every visible surface of the car before he'd abandoned it. No, he'd certainly covered his tracks well enough, and by all accounts, Maria's death barely rated a short paragraph in the _L.A. Times_.

His hand visibly shook as he anxiously flipped through the _Los Angeles Daily News_ , noting that the hit and run didn't even rate coverage. Most of the coverage had come from that bleeding heart publication, the _Los Angeles Downtown News_ , which had devoted an entire small column and the headline "Homeless Woman Victim of Hit and Run". _Nothing to worry about_ , he reassured himself. In the cesspool of crime that was Los Angeles, a hit and run involving the homeless rated about as much attention as another drive-by in East L.A.

No one would connect him to Maria's murder. No one even cared. He thought of her innocence and his stomach churned. He remembered her face just before he'd struck her with the car and felt a sharp pain, like a knife twisting in his gut. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip. Even if no one cared, he did. The urge to throw up became overwhelming. _What have I done_?

_His half-brother, Irving, had found the investigator's report in his father's safe after his father's death. He was shocked and sickened by the fact that his stepfather, one of Hollywood's most respected directors, was a Nazi war criminal and the girl that they'd raped had been Karl's own daughter. Being the weak imbecile that his brother was, he pulled out of the governor's race and tried to commit suicide, but he couldn't even manage to pull that off properly. After pressure from their mother, Irving reluctantly told her about Kate and the rape. It was his mother who had recognized the threat Kate and her daughter posed to the family, and it was also his mother who had come up with the plan to stage the child's death and give her a new identity. Ironically, while it was his father that had been the Nazi, his mother was far more ruthless in getting what she wanted, even if it meant blackmailing the child's doctor into helping her carry out her plan. Unfortunately, the one thing his mother hadn't counted on was falling in love with another woman's child_.

_Despite his better judgment, Leo finally went to see this creature that had captivated his mother. He did so reluctantly, forced to deliver a shiny new bicycle with training wheels his mother wanted her to have, yet driven by a need to see firsthand his mother's folly. He would have been lying to say he had not been curious, yet the significance of the girl's existence had diminished for him somewhat, wrapped up as he had been with his own wife and their new life together. However, his mother, she had spoken of, yearned for, and cared about no one else for the past nine years except this young girl borne of his father's and brother's shameful deviance_.

_The sight that had awaited him was one that would be etched on his brain for the rest of his life. Her room could have been any young girl's room, from the rocking chair with the comforter draped over the arm to the picture of his mother in the silver frame. The only thing that set it apart from every other girl's room was the special bed with the built-in restraints and the utter pandemonium as two orderlies tried to hold the girl down while a nurse gave her a sponge bath. The girl's nude body has smears of dried blood all over her legs and torso, and she was screaming at the top of her lungs_.

" _What happened to her?" he asked sharply_.

" _Who are you?" asked the nurse in annoyance, as the girl kicked the sponge out of her hand_.

_When he told her, her attitude immediately became respectful. "Some days, like today, we can't get her to wear any clothes. She menstruated for the first time today and became unduly alarmed." She waited for the orderly to pull the girl's legs apart before retrieving the sponge and applying it to the girl's inner thigh. "Once I get her cleaned up, I'll give her a shot to calm her down_."

" _You mean drug her," he clarified_.

_The nurse never heard him as the girl managed to get one of her feet loose, sending the basin of bloodied water flying before it hit the nurse head on_.

_He went over to the bed. Removing the sponge from the nurse's hand, he quickly took charge of the situation_.

" _Why don't you go get changed and I'll deal with cleaning her up." The tone of his voice brooked no refusal. When the nurse and orderlies left the room, he turned to the girl. "Hello, Maria. It's time you and I finally met_."

### CHAPTER 24

" _Grounded!_ You're not being fair!" Karen threw herself onto the sofa, glaring at her mother in mutiny. "You're treating me as if I was a criminal."

"Don't be ridiculous." Eve ignored her daughter's sullen outburst. "You know why you're being grounded. Your father and I both agree on this."

"Great!" Karen argued bitterly. "Why is it the one time you two happen to agree on something, it's about my punishment?"

"Don't think of it as punishment," Eve suggested. "Think of it as a period of reflection."

"Not funny," she bit back. "Just because I was hanging with Laurie, who you can't stand, I get punished for it." She grabbed one of the cushions and hugged it to her chest. "Well, you can't treat me like this, you know. I'm not some little kid you can send to the corner for a time out."

Eve rolled her eyes. "If only it were that simple." She looked at her mother, who was sitting on one of the kitchen stools, sipping a mug of coffee. "Feel free to throw in your two cents' worth."

"I never should have asked Karen to stop by my house to drop off those boxes," Kate told her daughter quietly. "I blame myself for what happened."

"Mom, please!"

"It's true," Kate stated.

"Come on, Grams!" Karen threw the cushion back onto the sofa and went over to her grandmother. "You had nothing to do with what happened. If that stupid woman wouldn't have been screwing around with your mailbox or attacked Laurie, nothing would've happened to her. I just wish I knew what she'd been up to."

"Can you please drop it?" Eve slammed the refrigerator door with more force than she intended. "You heard what that detective told us. There was nothing in your grandmother's mailbox. They looked."

"So you're saying I'm a liar?" Karen questioned, staring at her mother intently.

"No," Eve replied, "I'm just saying that maybe you were mistaken."

"That's just great." Karen's stared at her mother with wounded eyes. "My own mother doesn't believe me."

"It's not that I don't believe you," Eve argued. "But if she was trying to put something in the mailbox, where is it?"

"I don't know, okay?"

"Better yet, let's go with the theory that she took something _out_ of your grandmother's mailbox. What was it and where is it? The police didn't find anything on the woman when they examined her."

"How the hell should I know?" Karen yelled at her.

Eve took a deep calming breath. "Why don't you sit down and I'll fix you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry," was her daughter's sullen response.

"How about a game of poker?" Kate offered. They had been known to play for hours at a time.

"I'm not in the mood," Karen told her before turning back to her mother. "Thank God you believe me about the car, at least. Without those stupid skid marks on the road, you probably would've thought I was making that up, too."

"You're being ridiculous!" Eve snapped back.

"Am I?" Karen asked her.

Eve put down the head of lettuce she'd been washing and stared at her daughter. "I believe you tried to help that woman and I believe someone ran her over. Okay?"

"Then let me tell my story on _Letterman_ ," Karen implored eagerly.

Eve stared at her daughter in disbelief. "So, _that's_ what this is about? You want to go on _Letterman_?"

"It doesn't have to be _Letterman_ ," Karen quickly told her. "I can always do _Entertainment Tonight_ or _Access Hollywood_. Take your pick."

"I pick nothing!" Eve shook her head vehemently before throwing down the knife she'd been holding. "So forget about it, okay?"

"No, it's not okay!" Karen argued. "You saw what it was like when we left the police station. There were cameras everywhere! Everybody wants to know my side of the story. Why won't you let me tell them?"

"Because they don't care about the victim of the hit and run," Eve tried to explain. "What they care about is exploiting the fact that I was once famous, your grandmother was once famous, you're my daughter, and now this has happened. If any of those shows were genuinely interested in what happened, then why did they want to interview me and your grandmother as well?"

"Oh my God, Mom!" Karen shrieked angrily. "For once in your life, get over yourself. This isn't about you, it's about me!" She ran over to the front window and lifted the slats of the plantation shutters. "Do you really think all those people camped out on our street give a shit that you used to be on some stupid TV show way back when?"

"Do you honestly think they'd give a shit if you were just anybody's kid?" Eve hit back. "Don't fool yourself, even for a minute. You'd be a five second story on the six o'clock news. However, the fact that you come from a showbiz family makes it a hot story." Eve stared with distaste at the horde of paparazzi camped out on the street in front of her house. "Those people are going to squeeze every last ounce of juice from this story while they can."

"So you're going to keep me locked up in this house like a virtual prisoner just because you're hung up on yourself?" she asked incredulously.

"Stop trying to twist things around," Eve told her. "If I were you, I'd spend a little less time worrying about your public image and a lot more time being remorseful over what happened."

Karen's eyes filled with tears. "Sometimes, Mom, you're too much!" With that, she ran out of the room in tears.

Eve was left propped against the kitchen sink, her head in her hands. "Whatever happened to the nice kid we raised?"

"She's still a nice kid," Kate told her, "but right now, she's just confused. Once all the excitement dies down, I have a feeling she'll come around."

"I'm not so sure about that." Eve began shredding the head of lettuce in frustration. "She's been hanging around with that druggie behind my back, not to mention that twenty year old who's supposed to be her boyfriend." She gave up and threw the rest of the lettuce in the sink. "It's like I suddenly have no idea who my child is anymore."

"Every kid goes through growing pains."

"Growing pains are one thing, but this is a full-blown rebellion ever since Eric and I split up." Eve slumped into the nearest chair. "And now, a woman is dead and all Karen's worried about is going on _Letterman_."

* * *

Karen was heading toward English class on Wednesday afternoon when she heard Ashley calling out her name. She kept right on walking.

"Would you wait up!" Ashley finally caught up with her. "What's your rush?"

Karen gave her a frosty look. "What do you want?"

"Why haven't you called me?"

"I did call," she pointed out. "Remember that little screamfest we had over the phone after Josh's party?"

"I was just pissed about my nose," Ashley explained.

Karen glanced at her friend's face. "So, how is it?" she asked grudgingly.

"Nothing that another trip to my nose guy couldn't fix," Ashley told her airily.

"I'm still pissed at you anyway."

"Whatever." Ashley inspected her nails. "I can't believe you'd be willing to give up our friendship over what happened at Josh's party."

"You don't deserve my friendship."

"I just don't get why you had to invite that slut, is all," her friend retorted. "She was way out of her league."

"Why do you care?" Karen asked. "She's _my_ friend."

"You need to pick better friends," Ashley snapped.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." Karen started walking away.

"Wait!" Ashley caught up with her. "Do you want to hang after school?"

Karen looked at Ashley in amazement. There was no such thing as rejection in Ashley's vocabulary. "I can't. I'm grounded."

"You can't be serious!"

"The way my parents are acting, I may as well have driven the damn car that killed the woman," she remarked bitterly. "My mom is really pissed about all the publicity and shit."

"Then I guess she's not going to like what I have to show you," Ashley told her.

"What are you talking about?" Karen asked suspiciously.

"This." Ashley opened her binder and took out a folded newspaper. "I picked this up last night."

"What is it?" Karen asked.

"Just look at the front page, idiot!"

Karen unfolded the paper. "Aw, shit!" It was _Truth or Diss_ , one of the tabloid rags sold at supermarket checkout lines. The headline screamed: WILD CHILD OF AMERICA'S TEENAGE SWEETHEART OUT OF CONTROL! Underneath the headline were two pictures of Karen, one where she was leaving Hollywood Division, and the other where she was caught in the middle of the fight between Ashley and Laurie at Josh's party. Karen groaned as she scanned the article on page nine. "My mother's going to go ballistic when she finds out about this."

"Don't tell her," was Ashley's immediate response.

Karen gave her a look of disbelief. "Like you honestly think she's not going to find out."

"Just make sure you're not around when she does," Ashley advised.

"You know what?" Karen turned and started walking back to her locker.

"What?" Ashley asked, trying to keep up with her.

"Since my mother's already going to be pissed at me when she sees the paper, I say screw third period. Let's go get our nails done."

"How about dumping third _and_ fourth so we can get facials while we're at it?" she suggested.

"Sounds like a plan. Let's go!"

It felt good being friends with Ashley again.

### CHAPTER 25

Liz came out of her stupor long enough to realize that someone was knocking on her front door. She didn't have any intention of answering it. After a few minutes, the knocking became more insistent, so she grabbed a pillow and threw it over her head to muffle the noise.

"Liz, I know you're in there."

There was no mistaking Otis' voice. "Go away!"

Thankfully, he must have decided to leave because there was only silence after that. She was about to slide back into her stupor when the pillow covering her head was yanked off and thrown to one side. Liz visibly winced when Otis turned on her overhead light, blinded by the intensity of the glare.

"Shut off that stupid light!" she ordered. "You're hurting my eyes." She grabbed the edges of her comforter and threw it over her face to block out the light.

"Too damn bad!" With one swift jerk, he yanked the comforter down to her waist. "At least I know you're still alive."

"I didn't ask you to come," she muttered, "so get the hell out!"

"No!" he told her firmly. "You've been holed up in this place way too long."

"I took a leave of absence," she told him shortly. "I'm entitled."

"You're entitled to grieve, kiddo, not turn into a drunken Garbo." He grimly eyed the empty vodka bottle that had fallen to the floor.

"You're not my shrink," Liz shot back. A sledgehammer was pounding somewhere in the neighborhood of her brain, making it impossible for her to do much of anything let alone argue. "Just leave me the hell alone."

Instead of answering her, he went over to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes. California sunshine flooded the small bedroom, causing Liz to groan in misery as she covered her eyes with her hands.

"Look," she tried reasoning with him. "I promise I'll get up soon. I just need a bit more time, okay?"

"No way," Otis replied firmly. "First, you're going to go have a shower—"

"I don't need a shower," she told him belligerently.

He wrinkled his nose delicately. "That's a matter of opinion. Believe me, the dried puke and oily hair ain't gonna get any of _my_ juices flowing."

"Screw you," she told him.

"And after that, you can get your scrawny butt in to the kitchen so I can feed you."

"I'm not hungry."

"What a surprise," he replied sarcastically. "We'll give it a shot anyway." He pulled her cover all the way down her bed. "Now, are you getting up or do I need to put you in the shower myself?"

"All right, all right!" she bit out angrily as she sat up. The room immediately started spinning, and she grabbed onto Otis' arm until it stopped.

"Are you okay?" he asked, frowning in concern. "Try standing up... don't worry, I won't let you fall."

"What's wrong with me?" Liz muttered.

"When was the last time you actually ate something?"

Her brows furrowed together. "I'm not sure. Maybe a few days ago."

"It's a wonder you can stand at all." He waited until she was upright before he let her go. "Are you sure you can manage in the shower by yourself?"

"If that's your subtle way of trying to score an invite, you can forget it," she snapped at him with some of her old spirit before closing the bathroom door firmly behind her.

Half an hour later, Liz had to admit she felt almost human after her shower, and Otis had been right... she _had_ looked a sight with her gaunt features and unkempt oily hair. Wearing a clean pair of pajamas and a fresh robe, she silently made her way to the kitchen, surprised to find Otis the epitome of domesticity as he sliced a fresh baguette. There were two steaming bowls of chicken noodle soup already on the table, as well as some sliced melon. He looked up from his task when he saw her.

"You certainly look better," he remarked before making an exaggerated show of sniffing the air. "And you smell better, too."

"Shut up," she told him, managing a small smile. "Where did all of this food come from?" Liz asked, pointing to the bread and sliced melon.

"I brought it with me."

She looked at Otis in surprise. "You?"

"Of course me," he told her. "I do know how to shop, you know."

"I've just never seen you do it."

"It's one of life's great mysteries." He nodded in the general direction of the table. "Now sit down and eat before you keel over."

Liz obediently sat down and started spooning hot soup into her mouth. The first few mouthfuls tasted strange, but then her taste buds acclimatized. Otis didn't say much as he munched his way through four slices of baguette and finished off his own soup, all the while watching her like a hawk.

"Thanks, Otis," she told him, pushing back her empty bowl. "I guess I probably needed that."

"That, and a whole lotta loving," he replied gruffly. Changing the subject, he pointed to the beautiful urn on the small sideboard beside Liz's dining room table. "Nice piece. Is it new?"

"You could say that." Liz looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "It's got Mom's ashes in it."

"You had her cremated?"

"Since our relationship never did cover things like a last will and testament, I figured I'd have her cremated so she could be with me all the time."

"Kind of like the opposite of when she was alive, right?"

"Something like that." Her eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Want to talk about it?"

"About what?" she asked him, her voice flat. "How the coroner ruled that Mom died of a broken neck or about the anonymous donation in her name?"

"Any idea where the money came from?" he asked curiously.

"Where do you think?" There was no mistaking the look of contempt on her face. "It was nothing but blood money to ease someone's guilty conscience, that's all."

"Still," he reproached her, "you should've taken it."

Liz looked at her friend sheepishly. "Of course I took it. It may have been blood money, but I'm not stupid."

"Do you think that girl could've been telling the truth?" he asked.

"What does it matter?" she replied bitterly. "The point is that bitch and her friends provoked my mother until she had no choice but to run. That makes them just as guilty as the psycho who actually ran her over."

"You should see some of the press that chick's been getting," Otis told her in amazement, "all because her mother was in some TV show a long time ago. It's unbelievable."

"Yup. She's a regular hero. Meanwhile, all that's left of my mother is in that urn over there."

"Are the cops still trying to find the driver of the car?" He picked up the last piece of baguette and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing loudly.

"Who knows? I keep phoning the police station every couple of days and I always get the same response: it's still an active investigation."

"That's good news," he told her. "It means they haven't given up."

"But there's not much to go on," she argued, dejection washing over her in waves. "They found the car. It belonged to some guy from Compton who had reported it stolen a few days before my mom was killed. The trail ends there."

"So what are you going to do now?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I was thinking of quitting."

His head shot up. "Why?"

"Because there are so many unanswered questions," she told him.

"And you think you're the one who's going to find the answers by quitting your job?"

"Who else gives a damn enough to try?" she challenged him. "Do you think the cops actually give a crap about another homeless woman? The city's full of them. Her death just makes it one less person to deal with."

"Quitting your job isn't the solution," he told her gently. "Besides, you can't afford to quit."

"I have some savings," she said.

"Great! Use it on a cruise to Cabo, but not for this," he argued.

"I haven't made up my mind what I'm going to do yet."

"Make sure you run it by me first." He stood up and began collecting their dishes. "You know none of this was your fault, right?"

Liz didn't reply. In desperate need of some air, she went out on the terrace and sat down. Otis followed her a few minutes later.

"We both know it _was_ my fault."

"I'll tell Delaney you need an extra week off," he offered by way of response.

She gave him a sad smile. "You can't keep looking out for me all the time."

"Who's looking out for you?" he scoffed. "I just don't want to do your crappy runs."

"Do you know the funny part, Ote?" she told him. "Even though my mom and I didn't have a conventional relationship, I really, really miss her." Her carefully maintained composure began cracking. "I had actually been thinking of taking some time off work to bring her home and look after her for a while."

"I know you loved her," he told her gruffly before guiding her into the comfort of his arms. "You don't have to tell me that."

Liz didn't put up any resistance as the tears coursed down her cheeks. "What am I going to do?"

"How about living your life for once?" he suggested quietly.

"I will eventually." She looked up at him with tear-stained eyes. "Just as soon as I find out who killed my mother."

* * *

Karen Devane raced down Orange Street in her Beemer, ignoring the speed limit as she tried dodging the car that had been tailing her since she left Killenby. The passenger window of the car was rolled down and some jerk with a zoom lens was snapping pictures of her. She screeched to the right, narrowly avoiding another car that suddenly appeared in the lane beside her. Two blocks later, she was finally able to shake the car. Great! Her picture was probably going to end up in another trashy rag and her mother would find out she was cutting class again. Like she wasn't already in enough trouble! Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about class and this time, it was legitimate. She needed to clear up some things with Laurie about the day the woman was killed. Although she had tried calling her friend several times in the past few days, Laurie had been unreachable. She was probably the only kid on the planet who didn't own a cell phone.

Pulling into the parking lot at Hollywood High, Karen checked her watch. First period would be over in a few minutes. Laurie never went to first and second got ditched more often than not. She would either be by the bleachers or in the girls' washroom. Karen hurried over to the athletic field. Scanning the bleachers, she recognized one of the guys from her freshman English class. Although they'd only shared the one class before she left Hollywood High, they had been tight.

"Pan!" She waved to him.

Recognizing her, Pan jumped up and came over to her, throwing his arms around Karen in a giant hug.

"What brings you back, girlfriend?" he asked. "Decided to slum?"

"I came to see Laurie," she told him, surreptitiously taking stock of his fishnet stockings and Daisy Duke short shorts. "Have you seen her today?"

He nodded grimly. "She's in bad shape, probably coming down off of something."

"Where is she?"

He inspected the black polish on his fingernails before answering her. "Laurie mentioned something about going over to the parking lot at Snowby's. She's probably going to do another rail."

"Shit!"

Taking his compact out of the long trench coat he was wearing, he freshened up the hot pink lipstick on his lips. "That girl is outta control!"

"You think so?"

"It's not just me. _Everyone's_ talking about her and that's saying _something_ , especially in a place like this where strange is, you know, the _norm_."

"Well, I guess I'd better go find her." Karen gave him a quick hug before leaving.

"Don't be a stranger!" he yelled after her.

She waved in response as she jumped back in her car and drove the two blocks to Snowby's, Hollywood High's official burger joint. The service sucked, the food was sub-par but the kids were allowed to loiter without too much of a hassle which made it a favorite hangout. Karen saw a group of girls she didn't recognize hanging out in the parking lot and went over to them.

"I'm looking for a girl called Laurie. Have any of you seen her?"

"Who wants to know?" asked a tall girl with attitude.

"A friend," Karen replied coolly.

"How do we know you're a friend?" she countered.

_Just who did this chick think she was? Laurie's frigging bodyguard?_ "Look, just tell me where she is. Pan told me she was here."

Miraculously, the mention of Pan's name opened the door for instant friendship. Pan had certainly come a long way. "Why didn't you say so," one of the other girls replied. "Laurie's in the back with Sara, behind the dumpster."

"Shit!" Laurie behind a dumpster meant she was up to no good. Karen hurried around back.

"Laurie!" she called out.

The dumpster was located by the back door, wedged in near the fence, conveniently out of sight, unless someone was looking. Gingerly making her way behind the dumpster, Karen saw the back of a girl's ass and could hear the sounds of giggling.

"Hey, is Laurie back there?"

"Who wants to know?" The question was followed by another eruption of giggles.

"Her friend wants to know."

"Does her friend have a name?"

Karen bit back her impatience. "It's Karen."

"Hey, whatcha doin' here?" came Laurie's slurred question as she glanced over her companion's shoulder. Laurie looked awful, like she hadn't slept in days.

"I came to see you," Karen told her. "What the hell are you guys doing?"

Laurie's companion held out a can of air freshener. "Wanna snort? There's still a few good blasts left."

"No thanks," Karen said tersely before turning back to Laurie. "Come on out of there. I want to talk to you."

"You don't know what it's been like today," Laurie told her weakly. "My mom was giving me a hard time this morning because I came home late." Laurie's nose was running, but she didn't seem to notice. "Then I got to school and everything just went south after that. Some dyke teacher starts harassing me about a smell coming from my locker. Like everyone's on my friggin' case this morning. Jesus! I just had to get a little somethin' somethin'."

"So you decided to burn out your brain cells by snorting that shit."

"Excuse me for not havin' the friggin' cash for an elitist rail!" she yelled.

"Look, I didn't come here to argue with you," Karen told her impatiently. "I just want to talk to you."

"So talk."

"Not here." She nodded in the direction of the restaurant. "Come on. Let's get something to eat."

"Not hungry," Laurie replied moodily.

"Then we'll get some coffee."

Laurie's rheumy eyes lit up with hope. "How about spotting me some cash?"

"Maybe." Karen knew the thought of getting her hands on some cash would make Laurie follow her anywhere.

The restaurant wasn't busy this time of the morning and they were able to get a table without any problem. After a waitress had taken their order, Laurie didn't waste any time in getting to the point.

"So what'dja want to talk to me about?" Her nose started running again. This time, she used the back of her arm to wipe it away.

Karen was equally direct. "The day that woman was killed."

Laurie started fidgeting with the corner of her paper placemat. "That was bad news, man. Those pigs treated me like shit, cuffing my hands and feet to a god-damned bed while I crashed; a totally bad scene."

"You could've waited until the cops left before getting high," Karen pointed out.

"Don't go blamin' me for everything." Laurie's tone was sullen. "It was your asshole boyfriend who took off and left me hangin' with the cops!"

"I don't want to talk about him." After his brief run from the law, Josh had turned himself into Hollywood Division the next morning with an attorney from Albatross Records. He tried calling her once, but Karen refused to return his call. He'd been a jerk for taking off on them, and Karen had no immediate plans to hook up with Josh again.

"Too bad about that crazy chick," offered Laurie, spooning five teaspoons of sugar into her coffee. "She was totally off the wall."

"She's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Yeah?" Laurie took a sip of her coffee. Grimacing with distaste, she added a few more teaspoons of sugar.

"Are you sure that woman didn't have anything on her when you searched her?"

"Like what?" Laurie scratched at a scab on her face.

"How should I know?" Karen asked irritably.

"Why'dya care?" Her friend drained her cup of coffee.

Karen let out a deep breath. "Because my credibility is shot to hell, that's why! The cops think I'm lying through my face, my mother doesn't believe me, and even my own grandmother's wondering what the hell's going on."

"Nuthin'," she muttered vaguely. "She didn't have nuthin' on her."

Karen shoved aside her coffee cup. "What the hell was she doing there then?"

"I guess it sucks to be you," Laurie told her.

Karen looked at Laurie closely. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nuthin'." Laurie's haggard features focused on Karen's face. "So, are you gonna spot me a twenny, or what?"

* * *

Her mother was already home when Karen walked through the front door after school. That was unusual. She was sitting at the kitchen counter, with a copy of _Truth or Diss_ in front of her. The rigid set of her mother's shoulders had Karen's guard up immediately.

There was no greeting or smile as her mother got straight to the point. "Where were you today?"

"At school."

"Nice try, but the school called me when you didn't show up for first period." Eve fixed her gaze on her daughter. "Want to try again?"

"I _was_ at school," Karen told her, "this afternoon."

"Tell me something, Karen." Her mother's expression was somber. "Do you think all of this is some kind of a joke?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Karen went over to the fridge and began rooting around inside.

"I'm talking about _this_!" Eve yelled, going over to her and waving the tabloid in front of Karen's face. "The fact that your biggest concern lately is courting unwanted publicity, not to mention your hell-bent defiance of our rules!" She threw the paper down in disgust. "You had no business being at that party, and now the press is doing its best to blow the whole thing out of proportion."

"I had every right being at that party. Josh is my boyfriend." Karen slammed the fridge door.

"He's a twenty-year-old man. You're not even seventeen yet."

"I can't believe this! First you ground me, and now you're policing who I hang out with? No bloody way, Mom!"

"You're in no position to be calling the shots." Eve was so riled up she didn't even notice that Karen swore. "A woman's dead because of the stupid choices you made. Thanks to Mark, your ass has avoided jail, but instead of showing remorse like any decent human being would, here you are, splattered all over the front page of this stupid rag like some out of control brat."

"But, Mom—" Karen fought back tears as she tried to make her mother listen.

"I've had enough of the buts, Karen!" Eve grabbed her daughter's arm. "All I can say is get your shit together and start towing the line. Your grounding still stands. You go to school. You come home, no exceptions."

"Mom, you don't understand!"

Her mother tilted Karen's chin, forcing her to look directly into her eyes. "I think it's _you_ who doesn't understand."

With that, Karen watched through a haze of tears as her mother picked up her car keys and left the house.

* * *

They hadn't spoken since the day after their aborted trip to San Francisco when Paul had called to find out if everything was okay. He had called again today, wanting to meet with her. Now, as Kate stood outside the front door of the Swanson Estate with Paul at her side, she felt ridiculous when he removed his necktie and tied it loosely around her head, effectively covering her eyes. With everything that had been going on lately, the last thing she was in the mood for was games.

"Are you sure you can't see?" Paul asked.

"Not a thing," Kate assured him. "You could've just told me what the surprise was without all of the theatrics."

"No way," he whispered in her ear. "That would spoil all of the fun, now wouldn't it?"

Despite her bad mood, Kate's reaction to his closeness was immediate. Something tightened in her stomach as she felt his warm breath on her ear. Although she resisted the impulse to lean against his solid body, he must have felt something too because neither one of them moved for a minute.

Breaking the spell, Kate tried to keep her voice light. "Since I'm all but totally blind, I hope you intend on catching me before I take a tumble."

"Don't worry, we're not going far," he replied.

Kate heard the front door open and felt his steady hand on her elbow, guiding her inside the house. She'd barely taken a few steps when he told her to stop.

"For this I had to be blindfolded?" she muttered, yanking off his tie. "I could've just closed my—" Kate was speechless, her anger evaporating as she stared at the painting that almost entirely covered the two-story foyer.

"Well," asked Paul, as impatient as an eager adolescent, "what do you think?"

"I think it's absolutely perfect," she replied. And it was. The huge canvas was an abstract of complementary primary colors which blended together to infuse the entire foyer with a vibrancy that seemed to bounce off the plastered walls. Quite simply, the painting absolutely _worked_ in this particular space.

Kate looked at Paul in confusion. "Is this the painting we were going to look at in San Francisco?"

"Nope." He was watching her closely, a conceitedly smug look on his face.

"Then where did you find it?"

"You're not going to believe me when I tell you," he warned her.

"Try me."

"In the Reinhart Studios backlot. Soundstage 6 to be exact."

She stared at him. "It's from a _film set_?"

"Yup." He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "And do you know who the artists were?"

Eve shook her head. "I'm afraid to ask."

"Try a sound technician's five-year-old daughter and her kindergarten class."

"You're kidding me!" She shook her head in disbelief. "When I think of what a canvas this size would have cost you at that gallery in San Francisco... and where you found this—" The absurdity of the situation was more than Kate could take in her present frame of mind, and she started to laugh.

"Don't forget the sheer mastery of the artists who painted the canvas!" he reminded her, laughing right along with her. Sobering for an instant, he looked around in appreciation. "I'm glad the foyer's been redone. Opening up the entrance has made a huge difference."

"It almost seems a shame to be selling it."

"As much as I love this place, I live by myself and don't need all this square footage." He shrugged pragmatically. "But who knows? If I had someone to share it with, the circumstances might be different."

When Kate didn't respond, he turned her to face him. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

"It's not you."

"Then what?" he persisted. "If you're worried about the little Picassos responsible for this masterpiece, don't worry. I made sure they got a kick start to their college tuition fund."

Kate managed a small smile. "That's not it either."

"Come on. Follow me." Paul led her into the formal living room where he sat her on the sofa before taking a seat beside her. "Now, why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

Kate frowned, not sure how to explain.

"Is it about your granddaughter?" he asked astutely.

"That's part of it." She looked away. "It's actually more about how this whole mess with my granddaughter has affected all of our lives." She gave him a look of embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

"I know this whole thing's been rough on you, but it'll blow over in a little while."

"Probably," she acknowledged sadly. "The only problem is that a woman's dead, and all Karen can think about is being the next tabloid "it" girl!"

"Maybe that's better than the alternative."

"Which is what?"

"Prison. Or her lying on a slab in the morgue."

"Don't I know it!" The enormity of what Paul had just said made Kate cover her face with her hands. "I just wish we could make her see that."

"Look, Kate," he told her firmly, "our culture is obsessed by celebrity, irresistible to someone as young as Karen." He went over to the bar at the far side of the room and fixed them both a drink. "This storm will pass, believe me. When the next big scandal comes along and the sharks go on to better stuff, she'll return to being the same kid you've always loved."

"That's what I keep telling Eve."

He gave her a crooked grin. "Then that makes two of us who are good judges of character."

She set her glass down. "Maybe you're right. Anyway, I've decided to take a hiatus until this storm dies down."

"What do you mean?" He stared at her.

Kate rushed on, "I know I agreed to do the publicity junket to promote the DVD collection for the Paisleys' music, but I'd don't think I can do it right now. I don't want to leave Eve to deal with this alone."

"Look, I appreciate that you're having problems—"

"That's a bit of an understatement!"

"The point is," he continued evenly, "you can't let the tabloids win."

"Who said anything about them winning? I simply want to be here to lend my support to my daughter and granddaughter."

"As much as I want to, I can't postpone the publicity junket."

"You can't or you won't?"

"I can't... at least not without infuriating a whole bunch of people," he told her firmly. "Everything's already arranged. You're set to appear on _Larry King_ next month, followed by _The View_ , _Ellen_ , everybody. Things will have calmed down by then, you'll see."

"Sure." She stared at him coldly. "Nothing like a little scandal to boost CD revenues."

Everything about Paul's body language became formal and distant as he got up and crossed the room. "Good to see you think so highly of me."

Kate realized it was pointless to argue with him any further. Without another word, she slowly got up and left the house.

### CHAPTER 26

He hadn't spoken to, or laid eyes on, his brother in over twenty years and was surprised at how fat he'd gotten. He took little comfort in the fact that his brother was ill-dressed for the beach as he made his way over to him. He had no interest in pleasantries and got straight to the point.

"What do you want?" Leo asked coldly.

"I want to know why you did it." It was a statement, devoid of all emotion.

"Did what?"

"I know you killed Maria," his brother told him rudely, "but what I want to know is why. Why now?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you."

"We agreed to let her go," his brother reminded him.

" _I_ agreed to nothing," Leo interjected heatedly. "It was you and Mother who cut her loose."

"After what happened, you could hardly blame us for not including you in the decision-making process."

"No, of course not," he muttered bitterly.

"I suppose you don't want me telling Mother."

Leo shrugged. "You can tell her whatever the hell you want. I don't give a damn, one way or the other."

"It's better she doesn't know," his brother continued in a business-like tone. "The news would probably kill her." When he didn't reply, his brother continued, "I hope you were smarter this time around and covered your tracks. The last thing we need are skeletons falling out of the family closet."

"We have so many of them. Which particular skeletons are you referring to?" Leo asked bitterly. "The one where you stole my wife away from me, or the one where you convinced her to get rid of my baby?"

"She came to _me_ , not the other way around."

" _You_ took advantage of her."

"Give me a break. You're the one who screwed her over for that retard!" his brother bit back.

"Don't call Maria that!" In a moment of blinding fury, he lunged at Irving, gouging his fingers into his brother's neck.

"You crazy son of a bitch!" His brother's eyes bulged as his air supply was cut off. "Let me go!"

"I've got news for you, you pompous asshole! Just because we didn't come from the same seed doesn't make you any less guilty than I am." He felt a gut-wrenching pain as his brother's knee connected with his groin. He released his hold, doubling over with pain.

"I meant what I said." Irving wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Make sure there are no loose ends." With that, he straightened his clothes and left without a backward glance.

_That first visit with Maria had led to many more, until Leo's visits became a weekly ritual. She was like a drug he couldn't get enough of. He needed to have his weekly fix of her in order to function. He bought the staff's silence so his mother wouldn't find out about his visits. He didn't want his wife to know, either. Neither one of them would have understood. He wasn't all that sure he understood himself_.

_There was such a sweetness to Maria's demeanor, such an innocence, that was accentuated by the halo of blonde hair that framed her lovely face. He found himself gazing into the eyes of the girl/woman she was, eyes which were supposed to be the mirror to her soul. However, her soul was empty, unsullied and devoid of any emotion except for the basest of acceptance. Strangely enough, when he was around Maria, he felt like he was reliving his formative years without being mired by the cynicism_.

_Looking back, he remembered with clarity how it began. They had been in her room and he was watching as she played with her dolls. She didn't play with them like other children did. She would hurtle them across the room, and when they hit the wall, she would chortle happily. He would go and pick up the dolls, bring them back to her, and then the game would start all over again_.

_This went on for about half an hour until she noticed that one of her doll's blouses had become ripped. Suddenly, there was an urgency for Maria to remove the blouse from the doll and she became increasingly frustrated until he finally took it off for her. Rather than taking the doll, Maria began tugging at the collar of her own shirt, trying to take it off as well_.

" _Off!" she cried, struggling with the collar_.

" _There's nothing wrong with it," he told her, trying to fix her collar_.

" _No! Maria wants off!" she insisted, managing to bruise her neck as she tore at her collar_.

" _All right, all right," he soothed, undoing the buttons of her shirt and taking it off for her_.

_Her hands immediately clawed at her bra, eager to have it taken off as well_.

_He swallowed uncomfortably at the sight of her fully-formed breasts, hidden behind the utilitarian bra she was wearing. When he tried to stop her from taking it off, she started hollering at the top of her lungs_.

" _Off!" Grabbing the front of her bra, she yanked at it, yelping as the elastic refused to give way, snapping at her skin_.

_He knew that if he allowed her to lose control, a nurse would come and sedate her. It had happened once before when he had been here and he hated it when they did that. The sedative would leave her confused as well as despondent and crying when it wore off_.

" _Okay, calm down," he told her firmly. "Turn around and I'll take it off_."

_Obediently she turned, waiting long enough for him to unsnap the bra before flinging it aside. Getting up, she picked up her doll and threw it at the wall. She chortled happily, content to play once again_.

_He sat and watched her, a myriad of emotions running through his head. The sight of her bare breasts aroused him uncontrollably. He felt ashamed, and yet, he couldn't help himself. There was something so wanton in her immodesty. She picked up the doll, the head having fallen off, and she brought it over to him so he could screw it back on. As he forced his hands to perform the simple motor skill of putting the doll's head back on, a shock went through his body as her bare breast rubbed against his arm in her effort to help him_.

_Unable to stop himself, he unzipped her pants as if in slow motion and pulled them down to her ankles. She watched him in silence. He swallowed hard, knowing there was no turning back. Tugging at the elastic of her underwear, he pulled that down as well. Still she watched him. With a trembling finger, he gently touched her soft pubic hair. This made her jump_.

" _Sshh!" he told her quietly. "I'm not going to hurt you." This seemed to calm her as he led her toward the bed_.

_And so it began. He had become his father's son_.

### CHAPTER 27

Kate Stanton arrived at the Santa Monica Pier and headed over to the Ferris wheel. Karen was already there, her eyes hidden behind big dark shades and her hair obscured by one of her father's old baseball caps. Karen kept scanning the crowd anxiously and looked relieved when she saw her grandmother.

"Grams! It's about time you got here."

Kate gave her granddaughter a bear hug. "How've you been holding up?"

"Surviving, despite being under house arrest." Karen linked arms with her grandmother.

Kate eyed Karen shrewdly. "That's better than county lockup, don't you think?"

"You didn't ask me to come here so you could bust my ass like Mom, did you?"

"You know me better than that. However, I did want to talk to you about a few things."

"Like what?"

"I'll tell you in a minute." She pointed to the giant wheel. "Want to take a go at the Ferris wheel?"

"You're on."

"Remember how it used to be your favorite ride?"

Karen smiled. "It still is."

Kate noted with satisfaction the huge grin on her granddaughter's face as they slowly soared toward the sky in one seamless motion. The sun glinted off the Pacific Ocean, momentarily blinding her. She tried to mask her irritation when she saw a photographer get on and start snapping pictures of them.

"So what did you want to talk to me about, Grams?"

"I wanted to talk to you about your mother." Kate tried keeping her eyes on her granddaughter rather than looking down.

Karen's good mood quickly evaporated. "Can't we talk about something else?"

"No, we can't."

"I mean, I just don't get where she's coming from," Karen complained. "Mom says _I'm_ unreasonable, but the other day she goes totally spastic when some guy takes our picture while we were stopped at a red light. I thought she was going to get out and hit the guy over the head or something."

"That's because your mother blames the paparazzi for her friend Cherry's death."

"Isn't that the girl who played Mom's sister in her TV show?"

Kate nodded. "Photographers took pictures of the girl as she overdosed and nobody did anything to save her. They just wanted their pictures."

"That's pretty cold."

Kate gave her granddaughter's hand a quick squeeze. "It's your parents' job to stop you from making bad choices. You've got to cut them some slack."

"I get what you're telling me, Grams," Karen retorted bitterly, "but all I'm trying to do is figure out what happened with that woman and your mailbox."

"What difference does it make at this point?"

"A lot since it pisses me off that no one seems to believe me."

"I believe you." Kate put her arm around her granddaughter's shoulder as they got off the Ferris wheel. "It'll all work out. Just give it some time."

Karen laughed bitterly. "Do you know what's really weird about all of this? Suddenly Mom and Dad are talking all the time. I mean, they're only talking about me, but at least it's a start, right?"

Kate hesitated, reluctant to add to her granddaughter's miseries. "There's something you need to know."

"What?"

"Your father and Brooke flew to Vegas this morning and got married."

* * *

Liz marched toward Delaney's office, ignoring the subdued greetings from many of her co-workers. At any other time, she would have stopped to chat with them, but right now, she didn't dare stop in case she lost her nerve. Clutching the now-wrinkled letter in her fist, she gave Delaney's door a perfunctory knock before opening it and going inside. Her boss was on the phone, but when he saw her, he quickly finished his conversation and hung up.

"Isn't it polite to wait until you're asked to come in?" He leaned back in his chair, waiting expectantly.

"Funny, I didn't think your letter was all that polite," she snapped, throwing the offending piece of paper on his desk. "Especially the part about how I had until Monday morning at nine to report for work otherwise I could start looking for another job."

Delaney looked at her sympathetically. "How are you feeling, Liz?"

She shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you're asking me that."

"The letter had nothing to do with my opinion of you as a person, and I was hoping you wouldn't take it personally."

She glared at him, trying to put things into perspective. "I've never called in sick, I never minded being called in on my days off, I was always here on time, and I always put in a fair day's work."

"And I, more than anyone, appreciate your excellent work ethic."

She pointed to the offending letter. "You have a funny way of showing it."

"My hands are tied on this, Liz. I've given you as much time off as I can."

"But I only asked for a few more weeks," she argued.

"Sorry, Liz." His tone was businesslike. "You know yourself that this is the busy tourist season. I have a business to run."

There was a brief knock on the door before Otis stuck his head inside. "The guys mentioned Liz was here." He looked at her anxiously. "Is everything all right?"

"It will be in a minute," Liz told him, her voice curt.

Delaney stood up. "I think we're about finished here."

Otis ignored Delaney, becoming aware of Liz's distress. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong."

Delaney turned his attention back to Liz. "I'll see you on Monday."

"I guess you don't leave me any choice," said Liz. In that split second, she made up her mind. "I quit."

"Quit!" Otis blurted out.

"That's ridiculous!" Delaney shouted at her.

"Consider this my official notice and last day of work," Liz told him quietly before picking up her purse and calmly walking out of the office.

Otis caught up with her by the elevator. He spun her around, his eyes blazing in fury. "What the hell was that all about?"

She gave him a defiant look. "I did what I had to do. Delaney didn't give me any other choice."

"Maybe you should go to a doctor, get a note for severe clinical depression or something." He stared at her in desperation. "You can't just quit like that. What're you going to do?"

"I told you I had some savings," she reminded him.

"And how long do you think that's going to last you?" he shot back. "A month, maybe two, and then what?"

"I'll worry about that when the time comes."

"No you won't," he argued. "You'll still be playing detective, trying to figure out the supposed conspiracy around your mom's life."

The mention of her mother was like a physical blow, filling Liz's eyes with tears. When the elevator door opened, she ignored it. "You'd do the same thing if you were in my shoes."

"No, I wouldn't," he denied vehemently. "And you want to know why? Because I'm too practical, that's why. I'd be trying to figure out where my next meal was coming from."

She couldn't resist the barb. "From my kitchen, that's where!" Almost as soon as her words came out, she wished she could take them back. She knew Otis cared for her and was only trying to help, but there was no going back now.

Otis gently took Liz's arm. "Look, let's go back and talk to Delaney again. Tell him you had a change of heart and that you'll be in on Monday." His eyes spoke volumes. "Please, Liz."

She shook her head. "I can't, Ote." She looked at her watch. "You'd better go back before Delaney declares war on you, too."

The bell heralded the arrival of another elevator. This time, Liz got on, blowing Otis a kiss as the doors closed. When the elevator stopped on the ground floor, Liz exited and made her way across the lobby, out onto Hollywood Boulevard. Her insides were quaking and she wanted to throw up now that the gravity of her actions had actually started to sink in. Otis was right about one thing: it wouldn't take long for her savings to run out. But what was done was done, and there was no turning back.

Getting into her old Mustang, she turned onto Highland Avenue. She didn't realize she was heading for Laurel Canyon until she saw the piano-shaped mailbox. _It was because of this mailbox that her mother had died_.

Pulling off to the side of the road a little further down from the house, Liz parked her car and got out for a closer look. She went up to the mailbox, gently lifting the lid. The police had told her that her mother had broken the top off the mailbox, but it seemed to be working now. It had probably been repaired since the accident. The sun was starting to set, casting shadows among the tall trees that partially obscured the house behind the gate. It was an attractive house, but not ostentatious compared to some of the others on the street. In fact, everything about the house seemed so normal, so ordinary. _What was it about this house that had made her mother come here?_

Before she had a chance to look around any further, Liz was startled by the blast from a siren and the flashing lights of the police cruiser that had silently pulled up behind her. Two police officers, partially hidden behind their doors, had their service revolvers pointed directly at her.

" _This is the LAPD. Put your hands in the air!_ "

### CHAPTER 28

"Studying is for the birds. I'm going to dump my books and head on over to the gym," Ashley told Karen as they headed for the student parking lot. "Why don't you come with me?"

"I wish I could." Karen's eyed her friend glumly. "But if I fail this math test, I'm pretty well screwed for the rest of the semester."

"Since when did you become a slave to math?" Ashley teased her.

"Since my mother's been on my case about everything lately. Besides, not all of us are gifted in math, you know."

Ashley giggled. "Freaky how I'm good in math, but none of my other subjects, isn't it?"

"Yeah, sure." Karen gave her a pained look. "Anyway, you go on without me. Give me a call when you get home."

"You're no fun." She looked annoyed. "Maybe I'll see if Heather Markham wants to come with me."

"You wouldn't dare."

"You know I'd never be caught dead with that skank. I just wanted to see the look on your face, that's all. See ya!"

Karen got to her car and threw her books on the passenger seat. Looking at the pile of books without enthusiasm, she suddenly realized that her math book was missing. That meant a trip back to her locker. Slamming her car door shut, she almost collided with a young woman who'd been standing quietly beside the hood of Karen's Beemer.

"Hi." When the woman didn't respond, Karen finally asked, "Did you want something?"

"I guess you could say I'm curious."

"About what?" Karen asked guardedly.

"About the type of person who would go around throwing rocks at a defenseless woman," she replied.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Karen's heartbeat quickened. There was something creepy about the way the woman just stood there, staring at Karen. "Who exactly are you anyway?"

"I should be asking you the same thing," she told Karen quietly. "You think you have the right to throw a rock at someone the minute they're in your face, is that it?"

Karen's eyes darted around the parking lot, hoping to see one of her friends, but the lot was virtually empty. She and Ashley had been late coming out of last class, and everyone had pretty well gone home already. Maybe this woman was a nut job. Karen felt a stab of panic, but forced herself to stay calm. "Look, I don't know who you are or what you want, but you'd better leave me alone."

"Why?" she taunted Karen. "Will you get your friends to throw rocks at me, too?"

Karen slowly inched her way toward her car door. "What do you want from me?"

For a moment, a terrible tortured look came over the young woman's face before she composed herself. "I want you to tell me what my mother did to make your friend throw rocks at her."

" _Your mother?_ " Karen stared at the young woman, her face becoming ashen. "That was your mother?"

Liz nodded.

Karen took a step toward her. "Look, what happened to your mother wasn't my fault."

"Then how did her head get bashed open by a rock?"

"That was a mistake," Karen told her, suddenly anxious to explain what had happened. "Your mother was going nuts. She damaged my grandmother's mailbox. We told her to stop, but she wouldn't listen."

"Why would she damage a mailbox?"

"She was kicking it," Karen admitted, "and she was going on about some tit's milk or something."

"Excuse me?"

"I know it sounds weird, but that's what she said."

" _So you and your friends hit her with a rock_?"

"I tried to get my friend to stop, but it was too late. She was already hurt." Karen looked away, too ashamed to face the accusation in the woman's eyes. "I attempted to stop her from taking off, but she did anyway. Then that car came out of nowhere and ran her over." Karen's eyes filled with tears. She was barely able to choke out the words, "I tried to save her, but I was too late. You've got to believe me."

"I don't have to believe anything you say." Liz regarded Karen coldly. "You and your friends thought you'd get your kicks by beating up on a defenseless woman and things got out of hand. Why don't you just admit it?"

"It wasn't like that at all!" Karen yelled back at her. "It was your mother who attacked one of my friends first."

"So that made it okay for the three of you to gang up on her?" Her tone was derisive.

Tears coursed down Karen's cheeks. "Think whatever you want. It's obvious you're not going to believe me anyway."

"Don't worry. I'm going to find out what really happened," Liz told her. "When I do, not Mommy, Daddy, or even their high-priced attorney is going to be able to stop you from getting exactly what you deserve, you little bitch!"

With that, Liz turned on her heels and walked away, leaving a devastated Karen in her wake.

* * *

"Are you sure this is the right address?" Kate asked dubiously.

The number printed on the apartment building canopy matched the number on the piece of paper in Eve's hand. "It certainly looks like it."

"Well, I for one don't mind telling you that I feel ridiculous in this get up," Kate informed her.

Eve sighed in frustration. "Need I remind you that the last thing we need right now is more publicity. Can you imagine the headlines tomorrow?"

"I guess you're right."

"Look, Mom, why don't you just stay in the car and let me deal with this," Eve suggested.

"Not a chance," Kate told her firmly. "I'm not letting you go in there alone. I'm your material witness in case she tries to attack you."

Eve gave her mother a pained look as they got out of the car and took the elevator to the second floor. Getting out, they went down the hall, stopping at the last door on their left.

"10B."

"This is it," Eve confirmed. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she knocked on the door and waited.

"Maybe there's no one at home," her mother remarked.

Eve knocked again. A minute later, the door opened and a young woman of average height with long dark hair stood in the doorway.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Are you Liz Farrell?"

The woman's eyes darted nervously from Kate to her daughter, before settling on Kate once again. "Who wants to know?"

"I'm Kate Stanton and this is my daughter, Eve," Kate told her. "We were wondering if we could come in and talk to you for a minute."

"I have nothing to say to you," Liz told them coldly.

"Then how about letting us do the talking," Kate suggested gently.

After a moment's hesitation, Liz motioned the two women inside. Kate surveyed the neat apartment with a professional eye, from the attractively arranged furniture to the nice wood floors and the newspaper lying open on the coffee table.

"Please sit down," Liz told them.

"Thank you," Eve said, going to sit on the sofa in the living room.

Kate followed suit, her eyes immediately drawn to the job ads circled in red. Liz hurriedly picked up the newspaper from the coffee table and threw it on the kitchen counter. An uncomfortable silence ensued.

"You both look different in person than you did on the news," Liz remarked.

"That's because we're wearing these ridiculous getups," Kate informed her, yanking off her wig.

"We didn't want the paparazzi following us," Eve explained, taking off her own disguise.

"I hope you don't expect my pity." Liz couldn't mask the resentment in her voice. "You're hounded by the media while my mother got a five second mention on the local news. It hardly seems fair, don't you think?"

"Now wait just a minute—" Eve began.

"What? Do you think I'm exaggerating?" Liz challenged her.

Kate placed a restraining hand on Eve's arm.

Eve shrugged it off. "No, you're absolutely right," she told Liz gruffly. "Unfortunately, we can't control what the media does."

"Nor can we tell you just how sorry we are about what happened to your mother." Kate's voice was gentle. "Or how personally responsible I feel for what happened."

"Were you the one who donated the money?" Liz asked.

Kate nodded, sitting up a little straighter. "Yes, I did."

Eve looked at her mother in surprise. "Why didn't you say anything to me?"

"Because you had enough to deal with at the time," she replied firmly, "and I wanted to do it."

"We're _all_ sorry about what happened to your mother," Eve told the young woman, "but that still doesn't give you the right to threaten my daughter."

Liz's head shot up. "I didn't threaten her. I only told her I was going to find out what really happened the day my mother died."

"What _really_ happened was that your mother attacked one of my granddaughter's friends," Kate told her.

"And the attack was unprovoked," Eve added.

"I don't believe that." Liz vehemently shook her head. "My mother was never aggressive unless she was provoked."

Eve looked up in surprise. "Do you mean to tell us she had a history of violence?"

Liz looked away, her eyes filling with tears. "My mother was autistic. Most of the time, she was as sweet and docile as a small child. But then other times, if something set her off, she could fly into an uncontrollable rage." She turned to both women, her chin jutting forward proudly. "I didn't care. I loved her, no matter what she was like."

Kate quickly looked at her daughter. There was no denying the compassion and pain in the young woman's eyes, and yet something didn't add up. Liz's mother had been living on the streets. "My granddaughter told us that your mother kept muttering something about tit's milk. Do you have any idea what she was talking about?"

"Your daughter asked me about that." Liz frowned. "It makes no sense to me."

"Apparently, those were her exact words," Eve informed her. "And, from all accounts, she was pretty worked up about it, too."

Liz shook her head in confusion. "I have no idea what she was talking about, but I am sure of one thing."

"What's that?" Kate asked.

"For every action, my mother had a reaction," Liz told them. "And for my mother to have had such a violent reaction, something must have set her off."

"Wait a minute!" Kate looked worried. "Maybe your mother was worked up about my mailbox because she was trying to put something inside it but it was locked."

"Yes, but the police never found anything on Liz's mother," Eve reminded her.

"Maybe that's because whatever they were looking for was already gone," Liz surmised.

"Are you suggesting that my daughter took something that belonged to your mother?" Eve asked sharply.

Liz shook her head. "Not your daughter."

"Who then?" asked Kate.

"For every action, my mother had a reaction—"

"You already told us that," Eve interjected impatiently.

"And her reaction was to attack—"

"Laurie!" Eve finished Liz's sentence.

"So, let's work on this theory for a minute," Kate told them. "If what Liz is saying is true... that for every action, her mother had a reaction, and her mother's reaction was to attack Laurie—"

"It means Laurie must have taken something that belonged to my mother," Liz concluded, "which is why she attacked Laurie and not the others."

* * *

Liz listlessly pushed the uneaten food around on her plate. She wasn't really hungry. Her meeting earlier today with Eve and Kate Stanton had left her more rattled than she cared to admit. For one thing, although she had fully expected to hate them on sight, she found that she couldn't. Sure, Eve had been defensive about her daughter, but that was hardly surprising, given the circumstances. Plus, there seemed to be something fundamentally decent about Kate Stanton. She didn't know what to make of her feelings for the Stantons any more than she could figure out why her mother had been at Kate Stanton's house in the first place. Hoping that a walk would help put things into perspective, she opened her front door and was surprised to see Otis standing there.

"Hi."

"What are you doing here?" she asked guardedly. Liz had tried calling him to tell him about the surprise visit from the Stantons, but he never returned her call.

"Sorry I didn't call back," he told her. "I've been kind of busy."

"That's okay," she replied coolly. "You don't have to explain."

"Yeah, right," he mocked her, "like I can't feel the temperature in the room suddenly take a nosedive."

"What do you want, Ote?" she asked, not feeling up to a verbal sparring with him. "I was about to go out for a walk."

"It can wait," he told her firmly. Stepping into her apartment, he closed the door behind him. "I have to tell you about my day."

She gave him a scornful look. "Not that you give a shit about mine."

"If I didn't give a shit about yours, I wouldn't have been out there today on my day off, busting my ass doing detective work," he retorted.

"Detective work?" she asked blankly. "What detective work?"

He looked shamefaced. "The kind that went down in flames."

Without another word, she planted Otis on her sofa and went and got him a plate of freshly-made oatmeal cookies. "Okay, spill your guts."

He picked up a cookie and brought it up to his nose, inhaling deeply. "Mmmm. Pure ambrosia." He finished off the cookie in two giant bites. "I felt kind of guilty about what you'd said to me the other day about friendship, so I decided to play gumshoe."

She looked at him sharply. "What?"

"Well, remember that guy whose car was stolen and used in the hit and run?"

Liz nodded. "A guy called Paco something or other."

"Ramierez," confirmed Otis, helping himself to another cookie. "Anyway, I found him in Compton. He drives a bus for the city."

"How did you manage that?" she asked in amazement.

"It wasn't easy," he admitted. "Do you know how many listings for Ramierez there are in Compton?" Without waiting for her answer, he continued, "Anyway, I went to his house, and asked to speak with him."

"Like he would want to talk to you," she cut in.

"His wife thought I was a reporter," he told her sheepishly.

"A reporter!"

"It wasn't like I lied to her or anything," he clarified quickly. "When I told her I was following up on the whereabouts of Paco's car, she jumped to the conclusion that I was a reporter."

"And you just never bothered setting her straight," Liz concluded.

"Do you want to hear what happened or not?" he asked.

"Continue."

"Anyway, she was the one who told me her husband drove a bus for the city and even gave me his route. I got on his bus after lunch, rode around for a while, and when his bus was almost empty, I asked him to meet me for a cup of coffee after his shift ended."

Liz's eyes were big as saucers. "And he agreed?"

Otis grinned at her. "His wife had already called ahead and warned him I was coming, so yeah, he agreed to meet with me."

"What did he say?" asked Liz impatiently, eager to hear the rest of it.

"I'm getting to that part," he told her with exaggerated patience. "Do you have anything to wash down the cookie?"

Liz jumped up and got him a can of soda. "Now will you continue?"

"Well, this is the part where I crash and burn." He took a healthy slug from the soda can. "I hate to admit it, but Paco seemed on the up and up. Over coffee, he gave me the condensed version of his life story about how he came from Mexico with his wife and three kids. His first job in L.A. was working under the table as a restaurant busboy while his wife worked as a maid for an industry couple over in Pacific Palisades. He later quit his bussing job to go work as their gardener. Then the Bauers, that's the couple, split up and both he and his wife were out of a job. They cut their losses and moved to Compton where the city had an immigrant apprenticeship program, which he got into once they became naturalized citizens. Eventually, Paco got a job driving a city bus. He seems like a nice enough guy who's happy with his life."

"Did you ask him how his car got stolen?" Liz asked.

"Yeah, I asked him," Otis confirmed. "He told me it was stolen from the parking lot at Ralph's while his wife was inside buying groceries. When she came out, it was gone. Actually, Paco's pretty bent out of shape since he found out his car was used in a hit and run."

"So, all that work basically led to a dead end," said Liz dejectedly. She gave Otis a grateful hug. "Thank you for trying."

"Fat good it did you," he remarked balefully.

"Well, I have to admit that between your detective work and my meeting with the Stantons, I've got more questions than answers right now."

"Did you say the Stantons?"

"I'll tell you while we're walking."

"Everyone at work misses you, by the way." Otis looked at Liz closely. "How much longer do you plan on not talking with everyone?"

"I talk to our friends," she told him defensively. "You make it sound as though I've shut myself off from everyone."

"I'm glad you feel that way." He reached into his back pocket and held out something to her. "It's from all of us."

Liz stared at the ticket in his hand. "It's for _Jericho's Last Stand_ at _Sins nightclub_!"

Otis was beaming. "Yup. And we're all taking you for your birthday. Luckily, Kim's boyfriend's a bartender there and he was able to hook us up with some tickets, otherwise we would've been shit out of luck. They're the hottest tickets in town."

Liz had completely forgotten about her birthday next week and was touched that her friends had remembered. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll come."

"How can I refuse an invite like that?" she asked softly.

" _All right!_ " he exclaimed, picking her up and twirling her around before planting a kiss on her lips.

"What was that for?" she asked breathlessly.

"I guess I was winging it."

Smiling up at him, she kissed him right back.

"What was _that_ for?" he asked, a dazed look on his face.

"I guess I was going with the flow!"

### CHAPTER 29

Karen was on edge. She was in the shallow end of the pool and about to get out when the patio door finally opened and Spic came out.

"Hey," she called out.

"Hey yourself," Spic said. "Nice view you got here."

"I'm used to it." Karen watched as Spic turned and glanced toward the house nervously. "You can relax. Mom's at a meeting downtown and our housekeeper doesn't give a shit about who comes and goes."

"Who said I was uptight?" Spic asked, finally sitting down by the edge of the pool.

"It's actually Laurie who my mother doesn't like," Karen confided. "She doesn't have problems with any of my other friends."

Her words seemed to make Spic a little more comfortable. Karen had purposefully picked a time when she knew her mother wouldn't be at home. Had Eve known what Karen was up to, she would've wanted to be there, but Karen needed to handle this on her own. Although Spic hadn't been around the day the woman was killed, she figured Spic would know the deal with Laurie. The two of them had always been tight.

"There's something you need to know about Laurie." Spic trailed her good hand through the water.

The mention of Laurie's name had obviously done the trick. "Oh yeah?" Karen pulled herself gracefully out of the pool, forcing herself to act as though she didn't have a care in the world. Grabbing her towel, she tied it around her middle before going to sit beside her friend. "What about her?"

Spic looked away, nervously fidgeting with the ring on her wet hand. "She did something."

Karen's heart missed a beat. "What did she do?"

"Something pretty much messed." Spic lit a joint, inhaled deeply, and offered it to Karen.

"That's hardly a big surprise." The last thing Karen wanted to do was mess up her head, yet knew that Spic would become suspicious if she held back. She took a quick tote, trying not to inhale. "So what'd she do?"

Spic took another deep drag, exhaling slowly. "She stole something."

Karen played along, trying to keep it light. "Is that all? It wouldn't be the first time."

"You don't bloody get it." Her friend shook her head in agitation, trying to fight the effects of the grass. "She stole the old lady's necklace!"

"What old lady?" Spic made to get up, but Karen grabbed her arm. "Come on, Spic. Which old lady?"

"The one who was killed," Spic whispered. What was left of the joint was close to burning her newly sewn finger, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Are you shitting me?" By this time, Karen's heart was hammering against her ribcage. She could hardly breathe. "She bloody stole something from the homeless woman?"

Her friend nodded. "A necklace made from some coins."

"That stupid bitch!" Karen's eyes blazed with fury. The time for being cool was over. "I even asked Laurie about it, but she lied to my face! That stupid lying _bitch_!"

"I guess the old broad was going to leave it in the mailbox, but then you guys interrupted her. Laurie found it in the pocket of her pants when she searched her."

Karen closed her eyes for a minute, trying to process what she'd just heard. So the woman's daughter had been right all along. "That's just great! Laurie had something of the woman's all the time."

"Not on her she didn't," Spic told her. "Laurie hid it just outside of the gate, under the trash cans while you were chasing the old broad. That's why the cops didn't find it."

"Meanwhile, my family thinks I'm lying to save my own skin." Suddenly, Karen jumped up, knowing what she had to do. Her mother would be pissed she was taking matters into her own hands, but she'd get over it once Karen had the necklace.

"Where are you going?" Spic asked, following her.

"Where do you think I'm going?" Karen asked sarcastically. "To get back the necklace."

"No!"

Karen stopped dead in her tracks. "What do you mean no?"

"I mean that if you just show up and demand the necklace from Laurie, she's going to freak out and not give it to you."

"I hadn't thought of that," Karen admitted. She looked at Spic in desperation. "What am I going to do? I've _got_ to get that necklace back."

Spic looked at Karen strangely. "What's the big deal about some stupid necklace?"

"That necklace may be the answer as to why someone wanted to kill that woman." She made up her mind. "Okay. Scrap Plan A. I think I'm just going to let the cops deal with Laurie."

"You can't!" Spic looked at Karen. "If Laurie thinks she's cornered, she may even get rid of it. Then you'll never see the necklace again."

"What am I going to do then?" Karen wailed. "I've got to get my hands on that necklace!"

"I know how to get it back," Spic told her. "Let's call it Plan B."

* * *

The morning had gone well enough. Kate had spent it with her crew of volunteers sorting through the countless boxes of donations for the auction. It was amazing how many costumes, gowns, and memorabilia had been amassed. It all had to be sorted, laundered, catalogued, and housed before the auction, and while today's efforts put them well under way, there was still a lot of work that had to be done. The problems all started when Kate had come into the office in the afternoon. One of the buyers for a prime piece of property in Malibu wanted to back out, there was a problem with the escrow papers on a Brentwood listing, the photocopier was on the blitz and Beth, who had the Midas touch in dealing with problems such as these, was out sick.

As Kate dealt with each problem, she found herself thinking about the young woman, Liz Farrell. She wasn't all that much older than Karen, and while Liz had certainly put up a tough front, especially when they'd first arrived at her apartment, that toughness had eventually fallen away, revealing a vulnerable young woman with expressive, pain-filled eyes.

The exact nature of Liz's relationship with her mother was also an enigma, as far as Kate was concerned. She had professed a deep love for her, which appeared to be genuine, and yet her mother had been living on the streets, despite her mental incapacity... or maybe because of it. Liz appeared to have the means to look after her mother, if her apartment was anything to go by, yet the want ads she'd seen on Liz's coffee table had bothered her. Had she lost her job recently, or had the circumstances surrounding her mother's death somehow resulted in Liz becoming jobless?

Kate wasn't one to over-analyze a situation, but maybe it had been guilt or just the realization that their office could use an extra body that had prompted her to offer Liz a job as their office assistant a few minutes ago. While Eve hadn't been crazy about the idea when Kate had first raised it, it hadn't taken much coaxing on her part to make Eve come around. Liz, on the other hand, had been caught off guard by Kate's offer and had requested a few days to think about it. Kate sighed. It was ironic how life had a way of working out sometimes.

* * *

Eve Stanton drove through the gates of the Swanson Estate. She had another showing scheduled in fifteen minutes and hoped it went much better than her last one had with Calvin Davidson. Eve had just pulled up in front of the house when a limousine braked quietly behind her. She got out of the car, smoothing her skirt over her thighs before walking over to greet the male occupant alighting from the limousine.

Irving Johnson was impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit that could have rivaled that of any corporate shark on Wall Street. He possessed an air of control and exuded confidence in every movement he made, befitting the owner of Reinhart Studios.

"Mr. Johnson," Eve held out her hand, "how very nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, Ms. Stanton." His handshake was as no-nonsense as his demeanor. "I hope my not going through the usual channels didn't cause you undue difficulties."

"Not at all," Eve replied pleasantly. "I hardly would've expected you to, given your studio's relationship with Paul Wagner and his production company."

"Yes," he acknowledged candidly, "Reinhart's relationship with Paul has proven to be quite profitable for both of us."

"Have you known Paul long?" she asked.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he began walking. "Paul and I had worked together on several projects when we were both young men, just starting out in the industry," he told her companionably.

Eve digested this piece of information in silence. "Shall we walk through the grounds first?" she suggested.

"By all means," he concurred, letting her lead the way through the well-manicured lawns to where the impressive infinity pool sparkled in the California sun.

"Makes quite a statement, wouldn't you say?" he asked, his razor-sharp eyes missing nothing.

"This estate leaves its owner wanting for nothing," Eve told him, keeping conversation to a minimum.

"I never dreamed this estate would be so expansive," he muttered to himself as his eyes darted this way and that. He pointed off to the left. "Is that an orchard?"

She nodded. "Oranges and lemons with the odd swan or two."

"A tree or two, I expected," he confided to her in delight, "but an entire orchard is quite remarkable really, just like all this wisteria clinging to everything." He fingered the delicate blooms with gentle fingers.

"That's exactly what I thought when I first saw the house!" Eve told him excitedly.

"Reminds me of the early days when the first pioneers of film came to California with nothing more than their dreams. All that was here in those days was sunshine and orange groves," he reminisced.

"I would think those days were before your time," Eve quipped.

"True enough, young lady," he acquiesced, looking directly at her. "Although I must admit I'm closer to that generation than to your own."

She found herself blushing at his blatant appraisal. "I think any generation can appreciate the beauty of this property, which—even for this city—is a rarity." She pointed to the other side of the lawn. "To the right of the pool and cabana are extensive formal gardens. We can view the gardens with the golf cart, unless you'd rather walk."

"As tempting as that sounds, I'd prefer to see the interior for now," he told her, wiping the sweat from his brow with a pristine handkerchief. "I have a particular weakness for Tuscan architecture."

"Then we should go inside," Eve suggested. "Paul's done extensive renovations to the house, yet he's managed to maintain much of its integrity and charm."

Eve opened the front door and waited expectantly for his reaction; she was not disappointed.

"Quite magnificent, actually," he enthused. "That painting compliments the foyer rather beautifully, doesn't it? It creates the illusion of the vaulted ceiling soaring up to the heavens."

"It certainly does," she agreed blandly.

"If I were to buy the property, I would want to include the painting in the purchase," he warned her.

"Of course," she told him, managing to smother a smile. Her mother had told her about the painting.

"How many bedrooms?" he asked.

"Eight plus the master suite," she recited by heart. "All the bedrooms have, of course, attaching bathrooms." Eve couldn't help but ask, "Do you have a large family, Mr. Johnson?"

His demeanor suddenly became distant, as if trying to assess whether her question had an underlying meaning to it. "No, I don't," he replied curtly.

Eve became aware of his discomfiture and immediately tried to make light of the situation. "Sorry. My natural sense of curiosity gets the best of me at times."

He smiled and the tension was broken. "Quite all right, my dear. It's just me and my wife. In fact, I wouldn't be purchasing the estate for our personal use. Reinhart Studios always has a need for extra accommodations for important guests." He looked around in appreciation. "This estate fits the bill on every level."

"It sounds to me like you've already made up your mind," she told him.

His smile was enigmatic. "Sometimes, it's better to act impulsively than never to have acted at all. Wouldn't you say so, my dear?"

### CHAPTER 30

Sins Ultra Lounge, the Beverly Highlander's two-year-old nightclub, boasted chic décor and a lighting extravaganza bar none. It also boasted the most beautiful crowd – and staff – in Beverly Hills. The media always hyped Sins as _the_ place to be seen, where the movers and shakers could connect and instant fame was attainable by association, so to speak. Donald Trump always stopped by when he was in town, Kanye West was a regular, and everyone from Tiger Woods to Bruce Willis had graced Sins' entrance at one time or another. It was a major head trip to think that her stepmother, Brooke, had the power to orchestrate those connections or deny access by virtue of a quick shake of her elegantly-coiffed head.

After all the hype Sins had received in the media, Karen had always imagined it to be more impressive than it was right now. Without the lighting or the beautiful people, it looked almost like the NoHo club she and Ashley had snuck into earlier in the year.

Karen nervously followed the security guy through the darkened club to an office at the back. She wasn't sure how Brooke was going to react when she saw her. Since her father had married her, the sum total of her relationship with Brooke had been a few quick greetings and an awkward conversation over dinner one night.

The security guard knocked on a closed door at the back of the club. After a minute or so, it was opened by Brooke herself, who stared at Karen in surprise.

"Hi, Karen." She looked over Karen's shoulder. "Where's your dad?"

"He's not here. I came alone," replied Karen, a bundle of nerves. Glancing inside Brooke's office, Karen saw stacks of papers and folders and another woman, who was making notes in a steno pad. It was obvious they had been working. "I can come back if you're busy."

"That's okay," Brooke replied. "Andrea and I were just finishing up."

Taking that as her cue to leave, the woman called Andrea quickly gathered her papers together and left.

"Would you like a juice or soda, or something to eat?" Brooke asked politely.

"No, thanks."

"What brings you here to see me?" Brooke asked, eyeing Karen.

Karen's carefully rehearsed speech was immediately forgotten. "I'm not going to bullshit you by saying how happy I am about you marrying my dad, because I'm not," Karen told her bluntly.

"Okay," Brooke said, swallowing hard. "I appreciate your honesty." An uncomfortable silence ensued before Brooke finally asked, "So why are you here?"

"I'm here because I need a favor."

"What kind of favor?" Brooke asked warily.

Karen took a deep breath, deciding to take the bull by the horns. "The kind that would mean you giving me three tickets to Jericho's Last Stand."

"Who are the tickets for?"

"For some people I know," she hedged.

Brooke gave her a pointed look, which made Karen squirm in her seat. "Sorry, Karen. I can't give you the tickets."

"Why not?" Karen asked in frustration.

Getting up, Brooke went to the door and opened it. "I don't like being played for a fool. You'd better go."

Karen stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm a part of your father's life, whether you like it or not," Brooke told her, "and I want us to get along. But not on a bribe."

"Who said anything about a bribe?"

"Well, isn't that what this is about?" Brooke argued heatedly. "I give you the tickets so you and your friends can go and you'll promise to get along with me?"

"Hell _no_!" Karen forced herself to remain calm. "The tickets are for a friend, I admit it, but it's not like you think."

"Oh?" Brooke closed her office door again before crossing her arms over her ample chest. "Then I guess you'd better fill me in."

"I think one of my friends screwed me by taking something from the accident scene where that woman was killed." Karen looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "My other friend found out what she did and is going to help me set things straight if I give her two tickets to Jericho's Last Stand. That's why I've got to have those tickets."

"It sounds to me like you need to make some new friends."

That immediately got Karen's back up. "I asked for tickets, not advice."

"Sorry, I still can't help you," Brooke remarked. "Your friend is under age."

"She has a fake ID!" Karen admitted, before realizing the brevity of what she just said. "No one would ever find out. Come on, Brooke. This is really important!"

Brooke looked at Karen doubtfully, but Karen met her gaze without flinching. Making up her mind, Brooke went over to the safe and took out three tickets before handing them to Karen. "Don't make me regret this."

"I promise I won't." Karen managed to give her a grudging smile. "Thanks." Now that she had what she came for, Karen was anxious to leave and made for the door.

"Karen?"

With her hand on the knob, Karen turned. "What?"

"You said your friend wanted two tickets," Brooke remarked. "Who's the third ticket for?"

"For me," Karen replied. "I've got to get something out of this deal, don't I?"

* * *

_I'm sorry, Mom. I've let you down_. Liz looked at the bag containing all of her mother's worldly possessions, which the police had delivered earlier. She hadn't been able to bring herself to open the bag yet. The police investigation into her mother's death had all but died after a series of dead ends. Liz had hoped that when the car used in her mother's hit and run had been located, it would turn up something. Even that small shred of hope had dwindled and died when forensics was unable to find a single hair follicle or print on the vehicle that would help them find the driver of the car.

At first, the police had been hopeful that the driver would be found, given the relatively high profile nature of the case. After all, Karen Devane's lineage was pure Hollywood, from her father, the Beverly Hills doctor with the roster of A-list patients, to the ex-child star mother and finally, to her grandmother, famous in her own right. Her impressive pedigree all but guaranteed the paparazzi crush, which had been relentless over the course of the past few months.

Now, with little to go on and the case growing cold, the police were changing their theory. Because of the high profile nature of the case, they concluded that the driver was probably in hiding. They were also convinced that whoever had killed her mother had been meticulously scrupulous, given the lack of forensic evidence found in the car. Unfortunately, without the driver of the car and no new leads, there wasn't much to sustain the investigation. All that remained of her mother were her ashes in the urn on Liz's sideboard, the sum total of her personal effects contained in the bag at her feet, and the few precious photographs Liz had taken of Maria while they had been together.

Defeat lay heavily on her shoulders. Liz couldn't shake the feeling that she had let her mother down, even in death. Otis had followed up the lead with Paco Ramierez, the owner of the vehicle, but that had also turned out to be another dead end. At least he'd made a contribution to the investigation, which is more than what she had contributed. And then came the phone call yesterday from Kate, offering Liz a job as their office assistant.

She suspected that Kate's motives for offering her the job had hinged on guilt. Liz knew she should turn down the offer, even throw it back in Kate Stanton's face, but the reality was her money wouldn't last forever, as her slowly diminishing savings account had confirmed. With no other palatable prospects in sight, Liz had accepted Kate's offer. This meant she wouldn't have much time for detective work... not that having had the time had produced any positive results.

Of course, Otis hadn't been too happy about it when she told him the news and tried to get Liz to change her mind. She figured he wanted her to return to the Dream Factory fold, but once she left a job, she didn't want to go back. Besides, she'd already committed herself to the job with Kate. Of course, her working for Kate may prove to be more awkward than any of them could have imagined. What were the words of that famous old song? _Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be_. Well, those words could have been custom-made for her situation right now. _Whatever will be, will be_. She'd deal with the punches as they came. That's what Liz had been doing all of her life.

### CHAPTER 31

Snowby's was packed as Karen made her way through the crush of loitering bodies, dodging harried waiters as they scurried about with laden trays. If Laurie was here, she'd be in a booth at the back. Laurie always liked to sit in the back of places, in case she needed to make a quick getaway. Sure enough, she could see the top of Laurie's spiky black hair in the last booth, closest to the emergency exit. She was sitting with Spic and some other girl Karen didn't recognize. She went and stood in front of their booth.

Spic looked up and immediately became uncomfortable. "Hey," she said by way of greeting.

"Hey yourself," Karen replied coolly.

"Who's she?" their companion asked dismissively.

"Karen's a friend," Spic told her, glancing at Laurie nervously.

Laurie looked up, her eyes painfully dilated. "'Sup?"

"I need to talk to you and Spic."

"We were just leaving," their friend said with major attitude.

"I didn't come here to talk to _you_ ," Karen snapped dismissively, "so _you_ can leave."

"Who do you think you are, bitch?" the girl asked, her shackles rising at Karen's dismissive tone.

"I've got business with these two that doesn't concern you," Karen told her. "So get lost."

" _A bitch is a bitch is a bitch_ ," chanted Laurie, half-stoned.

"What do you want, Karen?" asked Spic. "We were kind of in the middle of something."

"I need to talk to you two alone," she told them, giving the other girl a pointed look. "And it won't take long."

Spic turned to the other girl. "Take off, Cleo. We'll meet you by your car in a few minutes, okay?"

"Yeah," chimed Laurie. "Score us a rock, bitch." She chuckled crazily as Cleo reluctantly got up and left in a violent burst of energy.

Karen wasted no time in sliding into her vacant seat.

"So what's up?" Spic asked.

"I hate being played, Spic," Karen told her friend coldly.

"What do you mean?" she asked nervously.

"You know what I mean." Karen reached inside of her purse and pulled out one of the tickets that Brooke had given to her. "After you left my place the other day, I kept thinking that Laurie never gave a shit about Sins. You're the one who creams her panties over Jericho D, or at least you would if you ever wore any! All you had to do was ask me for a stupid ticket instead of making up some bullshit story about Laurie wanting it!"

"I don't know what you mean," Spic mumbled.

"Sure you do," Karen insisted. "I think you called it Plan B, remember?"

"What'she talkin' about?" Laurie demanded belligerently.

"Nothing!" Spic told her. "Don't worry about it, okay?" Spic's eyes focused on the ticket in Karen's hand. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes it is," Karen told her.

"Come on!" Spic tried reasoning with her friend. "You know you wouldn't have gone had I asked. You hate your stepmother's guts."

"You got that right," Karen told her automatically. "Except I did go. Now I have three tickets and you don't have any." She looked at Laurie, derision in her eyes. "Friends have each other's backs. Friends don't betray friends... right, Laurie?"

Laurie had faded out of their conversation again, trying to fish something out of her nose.

"Come on, Karen, just give me the ticket!"

"You don't deserve it," Karen stated coldly.

"Look, I'm sorry," Spic told her, "and I _am_ your friend!"

"I'll think about it," she said dismissively, "and it may take me a while." Enjoying her friend's apparent angst, she rummaged around in her purse for her wallet. Finding it, Karen took out five, one hundred dollar bills and laid them on the table in front of Laurie.

Laurie's rheumy eyes focused on the bills hungrily. "'Tsat for?"

"Give me the necklace you stole off the dead woman and you get the cash." Karen's voice was businesslike. "It's as simple as that."

"I don't got it on me," Laurie whined, scratching her arm absentmindedly.

"Then you don't _got_ no cash." Karen picked up the bills, one at a time, and began putting them back in her wallet.

"Hey!" Laurie grabbed Karen's arm, trying to stop her. "I didn't say I couldn't get it for ya."

"Where is it?" Karen asked, trying not to show her excitement.

"Close by," she told her. "We can go get it now." She stood up on chronically wobbly legs, grabbing the table for support.

Karen looked at Spic for confirmation, but Spic just shrugged her shoulders. "You'd better not be screwing with me," she warned Laurie before following her out of the restaurant and across the parking lot. "Where are we going?"

"You want your friggin' necklace, don'tcha?"

Karen tried to keep her impatience in check as she followed Laurie all the way to Hollywood High. The field was deserted, as was the parking lot; school had ended hours ago.

"What are we doing here?" asked Karen.

"It's over there," Laurie told her, pointing to the bleachers at the far end of the field.

"Where?"

Instead of answering her, Laurie dropped to her knees under the far end of the bleachers. Taking out a Swiss army knife from her back pocket, she selected a blade and began digging at the mound of earth by the base of one of the bleachers. Not getting very far, she impatiently dug her fingers into the earth and moments later, exposed a pink plastic bag. Triumphantly, she pulled it out of the earth and handed it to Karen.

With trembling fingers, Karen opened the bag and looked inside. It was a necklace! Shaking the contents of the bag into the palm of her hand, she examined it. The necklace was made of coins and looked old. She glanced at Laurie. "Is this it?"

Laurie nodded, scratching at one of the scabs on her face. "So how's about forkin' over the dough?"

Wordlessly, Karen took the money out of her wallet and handed it to her.

Laurie snatched it away from her, shoving the bills in her pocket. "You're acting like you're pissed or somethin'."

Karen looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. If Laurie was too stoned to figure it out, then she wasn't going to waste her breath telling her. She turned and walked away, the necklace clutched in her hand. When she got to the car, she tried dialing her mother's cell phone number with fingers that weren't quite steady. She got her voicemail.

"Shit!"

Karen threw her phone in her purse with disgust. She had to show this necklace to the cops, but didn't want to go at it alone. She quickly put her Beemer into reverse and headed for her grandmother's house.

* * *

"More champagne?" Paul asked, emptying the remainder of the bottle into her glass.

Eve grimaced slightly, feeling the effects of the bubbly on her empty stomach. "No more, otherwise I'll never be able to drive home."

"We're supposed to be celebrating the sale of my house," he reminded her. "Besides, I can have Darryl drive you wherever you need to go."

"I appreciate that, Paul, but I think I'm fine." She frowned as she looked at her cell phone. "Somehow I feel guilty not phoning Mom and telling her the good news. She should be here celebrating with us."

"I'm sorry for putting you into that predicament." Paul put his glass down and went and stood by the window. "It's just that your mother's not very happy with me these days."

"Are you two still at odds with each other?"

He nodded. "Maybe I was wrong to push her about the publicity junket, but I honestly thought it would do her good to focus on something else other than the hit-and-run."

"You know Mom," said Eve quietly. "She's fiercely loyal to those she loves." She saw Paul's shoulders slump and chided herself on her insensitive choice of words. It was obvious that Paul was in love with her mother; obvious to everyone except Kate. She quickly changed the subject. "I had no idea Irving Johnson owned Reinhart. When I think of Reinhart Studios, I always think of Charlie Mecca."

Paul came and sat back down. "Charlie's the face of Reinhart, but Irving is the one who made the studio what it is today."

"I thought he was quite charming," she remarked casually. "He had this... I don't know quite how to describe it, an old world charm about him."

"Oh, he can be the epitome of charm," Paul admitted quickly, "but he hasn't gotten to where he is today by charm alone. He's a ruthless son of a bitch who runs his studio with an iron fist." His voice became grim. "Never underestimate him, Eve."

"Now you're making him sound sinister," she remarked in amusement.

"And _you_ make him out to be Father Christmas," Paul pointed out. "Remember, I've been dealing with Reinhart, and Irving, for a long time now and I know what I'm talking about."

Although Paul's production company, MagiStar, owned the rights to a vast library of classic television shows and song book rights, it also developed and produced feature films and television programs. Reinhart Studios distributed many of MagiStar's productions, while the television division had deals in place with both Twentieth Century Fox and King World Distribution.

"So does this mean you don't want to sell your house to him?" she asked innocently.

"Hell, no! His money is as good as anyone else's. All I mean is that you need to have your attorneys go over the bill of sale with a fine-tooth comb because Irving will undoubtedly have lots of demands over and above the sale price." He gave her a mirthless grin. "It's been pretty much his cut-throat style since the scandal."

"What scandal?"

"It happened about twenty-three or twenty-four years ago. Apparently, Irving's brother had been happily married to the current Mrs. Irving Johnson when old Irving decided he had to have his sister-in-law for himself despite the fact that she was pregnant with his brother's baby." He closed his eyes for a minute, trying to remember the details. "There were rumors of a quickie Mexican divorce as well as an abortion, the brother was arrested in a drunken brawl and his sister-in-law became the lady of Irving's manor."

"How terrible," Eve murmured sympathetically. "If it was such a big scandal, how come I never heard of it?"

"Not many people did," he admitted, "thanks to some major money greasing the right hands."

"Well, at least he's a man who goes after what he wants."

"And God help anyone who stands in his way."

* * *

Kate Stanton scanned the bank of kitchen cabinets to the left side of the stove. Not much was left in the way of food. Taking a small notebook from one of the drawers, she began making a grocery list. As a rule, Kate hated grocery shopping and put it off until the last possible moment.

Just as she had written "oregano" on her list, she heard a screech of tires in front of her house. Kate opened the front door to find her granddaughter rushing up her front steps.

"Grams, I got it!" Karen cried.

"What exactly did you get?" Kate asked indulgently, enveloping her granddaughter in a warm hug.

Karen was too wound up for any physical show of affection. After a quick peck on her grandmother's cheek, she pulled out the plastic bag from her purse. "I got the necklace back my friend had stolen from the crazy woman!"

"So Liz was right," Kate muttered. "How did you convince Laurie to give it to you?"

Karen looked at her grandmother sheepishly. "I bribed her." Seeing her look of disapproval, Karen pulled at her grandmother's arm. "Come on, Grams! We have to go to the police station so I can prove to those cops I wasn't lying."

"Absolutely," Kate told her. "But first, let's go inside so I can take a look at this necklace of yours."

"It's not mine," Karen reminded her as they sat down at the kitchen table. "It was that woman's." She took the necklace out of the plastic bag and handed it to her grandmother.

When Kate saw the gold coin necklace, she had the most horrific sense of déjà vu that was akin to a violent blow, rendering her short of breath and gasping for air. She carefully took the necklace with fingers that shook. For a second, she closed her eyes, afraid to look more closely.

"Grams, are you okay?" asked Karen worriedly. "What's wrong with you? You were okay a minute ago."

"I'm fine, honey," she told her granddaughter. "I just need a glass of water. Why don't you get us both something to drink?" Only when Karen got up to do as she'd been told did Kate allow herself to look more closely at the necklace in her hand.

The necklace consisted of coarse gold filigree and six small coins, depicting different Roman emperors. The seventh coin, the one in the middle, was larger than the others. It had to be a coincidence that Liz's mother would have one just like it... it simply couldn't be the same one! With fingers that shook so hard she almost dropped the necklace, Kate undid the tiny spring at the back of the center coin, releasing the locking mechanism. Magically, the center coin opened into a locket. For a second, Kate couldn't bear to look. Eventually, she willed her eyes to open and focus on the two faces she instinctively knew would be there.

The pictures had been taken a long time ago, and yet they were preserved intact. The young woman, resplendent in her blonde beauty, had an arresting smile, in distinct contrast to the cherubic features of the baby on the other side of the locket. A gasp of pain tore from her, making Karen forget about their drinks as she rushed to her side.

"Grams, are you sure you're okay?" Karen asked anxiously. "Do you want me to call Mom?"

"Don't be silly," said Kate, managing to speak with some semblance of normality. "I think the heat's just getting to me, that's all." She patted her granddaughter's hand. "Don't forget, honey, I'm not as young as you."

"As long as you're okay." Karen looked at her grandmother's wan features dubiously. Deciding to change the subject, she asked, "Why do you suppose that woman wanted to leave this necklace in your mailbox, Grams? And I still don't get what the necklace had to do with tit's milk."

Kate swallowed hard. "I don't know either."

"The necklace is kind of pretty, if you're into that kind of stuff, and it looks like it's made from gold," Karen commented. "Do you think it's valuable?"

"Maybe," Kate answered carefully.

"Do you think you're feeling well enough to go to the police station with me, Grams?"

"I was just thinking about that, honey," Kate told her, choosing her words carefully. "Maybe we shouldn't go to the police just yet."

"Why not?"

"Because I'd like to try and find out why the woman wanted to give this to me before we give it to the police."

"How are you going to do that?"

"Well," said Kate slowly, "I thought maybe I could show it to her daughter, Liz, to see if she recognizes it. After all, the more information we have for the police, the more it would help them, right?"

"I suppose so," Karen admitted reluctantly.

"And I'll tell you what," said Kate, putting her arms around her granddaughter's shoulders. "For the next few days, we'll keep this between the two of us, hmmm?"

Before Karen could reply, Kate's phone rang. She slowly got up and went to answer it. A minute later, she hung up, her face pale.

"What's wrong, Grams?"

"That was the Foundation," Kate told her quietly. "Esther's in the hospital with pneumonia."

"How serious is it?" Karen asked.

"For someone Esther's age, it's very serious," her grandmother replied somberly. "Esther's entire floor has been quarantined because of the pneumonia and three other residents on the floor have it as well."

"What about her two friends?"

"They're okay," Kate informed her, "but the nurse told me that they're not taking Esther's illness very well."

"So what's going to happen now?" asked Karen.

"I'm going to the hospital," Kate told her firmly, "and you're going home."

### CHAPTER 32

Liz looked at her bedside clock; it was two in the morning. She had been tossing and turning for the past few hours, and showed no signs of falling asleep any time soon. She stared up at the ceiling, shrouded in blackness. Something was definitely bothering her.

Actually, it was more of a niggling in the back of her mind and it had to do with the name Bauer. That was the name of Paco Ramierez's former employer, before he began working for the City of Compton as a bus driver. Liz was certain she had come across that name somewhere before, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember where. Sighing in frustration, she threw back the covers and got out of bed. Padding into the kitchen, she made herself a cup of hot chocolate, which she took into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table to cool. Feeling restless and frustrated at the same time, her eyes fell on the folder containing all of the articles on her mother's death that she'd cut out and kept. Picking up the folder, she settled into a comfortable position on the sofa and began reading, hoping to jog her memory. Twenty minutes later, she still had no answers and her hot chocolate had gone cold.

"What now, Mom?" she asked her mother's urn sitting on the sideboard. Her eyes automatically slid up to the framed poster, hanging in its place of honor above the urn. Liz remembered her notes tossed in the sideboard drawer and suddenly, something clicked in Liz's head. She quickly got up and rifled through the drawer until she found what she was looking for. Most of them were related to the movie, _One Spark Too Many_ , on which the poster was based. And then there it was, staring her in the face, in her own handwriting, no less. The female lead in the movie, Sigourney Johnson, had retired after three movies to marry the director of one of her movies. _His last name had been Bauer_!

Liz took a steadying breath, forcing herself to consider the various possibilities. After all, it could simply be a coincidence that her mother had carried around a photo still of the movie poster for _One Spark Too Many_ , and the actress from the movie, Sigourney Johnson, had married a Bauer, and the car used to run her mother down belonged to Paco Ramierez, once employed by a couple by the last name of Bauer... Or it could be that there were simply too many coincidences, and she and Otis had actually stumbled onto a clue in her mother's death?

Glancing at the time, she saw it was going on four in the morning. Too early to be calling Otis, but given the circumstances, she couldn't wait. With trembling fingers, Liz dialed his number and waited impatiently until he finally picked up on the eighth ring. When he heard her voice, he was instantly alert.

"What's wrong?" he asked sharply. "Did something happen?"

"I'm fine," she quickly reassured him.

"Then why are you calling me in the middle of the night?"

"To ask you something." She ignored his groan. "Remember the Bauers, the couple you said Paco Ramierez and his wife worked for?"

"Yeah," he replied, drifting off to sleep again. "Couldn't you wait until morning to ask me about them?"

"No," she replied firmly. "Did Paco ever tell you what the husband did?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because it's important, that's why." Liz tried to stay calm. "I realize you're sleepy, but please try to focus, Ote."

He smothered a yawn. "I think he said the guy was a producer or director or something." When she didn't say anything, he became more alert. "Are you still there, Liz?"

"I don't think your detective work crashed and burned at all," she told him excitedly. "I think you stumbled onto something that may be important!"

* * *

Detective Warner tiredly flipped through the file in front of him. "We want to find your mother's killer as much as you do, but frankly, it just doesn't add up."

Although the door to the interrogation room they were in was closed, the ever-present cacophony of noises from outside permeated the room. Both Detectives Warner and Cassidy were present, as was Otis, who nursed a paper cup of industrial-strength black coffee.

"I'm not suggesting that we've got any answers," Liz argued heatedly. "I'm just telling you that it's too much of a coincidence and I'd like you to look into it."

"Okay," the younger detective said, "let me see if I've got this straight." He briefly scanned his notes. "Your mother always carried around this photograph, which was from a movie poster. The actress in the movie went and married some guy named Bauer. The guy whose car was used in your mother's hit and run also worked at one time for a couple named Bauer and you think there's a connection, right?"

"Right," Liz told them confidently.

"I think it's a wild goose chase," Warner told them, rubbing his blood-shot eyes. "And right now, we just don't have the man power to go following up something you happen to think is not a coincidence. We've had three homicides in the past twenty-four hours in this jurisdiction alone. We can't spare any bodies right now."

"Then we'll just have to do it ourselves," Otis announced.

"You'll do no such thing," Warner barked. "The last thing this city needs is civilians who think that they can go around playing Jim Rockford—"

"Who?" Liz asked in confusion.

Detective Cassidy, in his early thirties, grinned at her. "Rockford used to be a P.I. on TV in the seventies. Warner thinks everybody watches reruns."

"I may be an old dinosaur compared to you three," his partner retorted, "but my gut instincts are rarely wrong."

"True," Cassidy conceded.

"Won't you at least look into it?" Liz asked.

"We're not making any promises," Warner stated.

"But we'll check it out," Cassidy told her.

The two detectives glared at each other. Liz stood up, shaking both of their hands, but squeezing Cassidy's hand a moment longer than necessary. "Thank you," she murmured.

With that, she took her leave with Otis in tow.

### CHAPTER 33

Kate glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time. She had been waiting almost the entire afternoon for Liz to get home. About ready to give up, Kate's patience was finally rewarded when an older model Ford Thunderbird pulled into the parking lot and Liz hopped out. She heard Liz's male companion ask if she wanted him to pick her up later for some dinner, but Liz declined. With a quick wave, he was off and Liz was heading for the entrance to her apartment.

"Liz!" Kate called out, hurrying from her car.

"Hi, Mrs. Stanton." Liz stared at her in surprise. "Let me guess. You've changed your mind about me working for your company, right?"

"No, it's nothing like that at all," she told the younger woman. Her fingers tightened nervously around the plastic bag in her pocket. When Kate saw Liz hesitate imperceptibly, she was quick to add, "I just needed to talk to you about something and... it's important."

"Sure." Liz gave her a tired smile before leading the way up to her apartment.

When they were inside, Liz set about serving some lemonade and cookies while Kate used her bathroom. The bathroom, like the rest of Liz's place, was neat and orderly. It was only after she'd settled back against the cushions of Liz's sofa that she allowed herself a small sigh of relief. "I thought my bladder was going to explode."

"Were you waiting long?"

"Most of the afternoon," Kate admitted.

"You said you had something important to tell me," Liz prompted her.

"Well, not exactly," Kate corrected her. "It was more like I had something important to _show_ you." She took the plastic bag out of her pocket before gently lifting the necklace out of the bag.

Liz turned white as a ghost. "It's my mother's necklace!"

"You were right, you know," Kate told her. "Your mother was probably trying to put this necklace in my mailbox."

"Where did you find it?"

"My granddaughter's friend, Laurie, had it," said Kate. "Laurie took it from your mother's pocket."

Liz shook her head in disbelief. "I just don't understand it. I thought my mother lost that necklace years ago. I should've known better. She guarded that thing with her life."

Kate chose her next words carefully. "Do you happen to know where your mother got the necklace?"

Liz shook her head. "My mother had it with her when she was released from the sanitarium."

"The sanitarium?"

"Serendipity in San Francisco." Liz looked at Kate sadly. "It's a long story."

Kate smiled at Liz kindly. She looked so young and vulnerable that Kate's heart went out to her. "I have the time if you'd like to share it with me."

Haltingly at first, and more quickly as her confidence grew, Liz confided to Kate her miserable childhood in foster care, the bizarre circumstances that had led to her mother being released into her custodial care at the age of eighteen, and finally, her brief relationship with her mother. By the end of her tragic tale, Kate had moved to Liz's side and taken her in her arms, where Liz released much of the pent-up frustration and sadness that she'd kept inside since her mother's death. When she was finally spent and had pulled away, Kate asked, "You said your mother was in a mental institution before Serendipity?"

"Yes," Liz confirmed. "It was in Woodland Hills. Woodland Hills Lodge."

_Woodland Hills Lodge_. Kate felt the room sway and was relieved she was sitting down. She tried to school her features. "But you have no idea how she ended up at Serendipity."

"None," the younger woman replied. "All I could find out was that her bills were being footed by a German company, but—"

"A _German_ company?"

Liz nodded.

"You said your mother had this necklace and a photograph with her. Do you still have the photograph?"

"No," Liz told her. "It disappeared about the same time the necklace did." Kate looked disappointed, and Liz was quick to offer, "But I can tell you what was in the photograph."

"What?"

"That," Liz said, pointing to the framed poster on the wall above the sideboard. "Except that Mom had an actual photograph, not a movie poster, and I have no idea where she got that either."

Kate got up and went to take a closer look at the poster. It was for a movie from the thirties.

"Why do you suppose my mother would want to give you her necklace?" Liz inquired.

"I don't know," said Kate. Without appearing to seem too anxious, she looked at her watch and got up to leave. "I'm really sorry, Liz. I didn't mean to stay so long."

Liz smiled at her shyly. "I'm actually really glad you came."

"So am I," Kate told her sincerely. "I'll see you in the office on Monday morning."

Liz nodded before asking, "What's going to happen to the necklace?"

Kate chose her words carefully. "We'll have to give it to the police, I suppose."

"They'll probably start asking questions about the necklace."

_No more than I'm starting to ask myself_ , Kate thought as she tiredly made her way to her car. None of this made sense. _How had Liz's mother ended up with her dead daughter's necklace?_

* * *

Kate pulled into the parking lot of Woodland Hills Lodge a little after six o'clock. In the almost forty years since she'd last been here, several new buildings had been added to the original one. The once heavily-wooded grounds were now beautifully manicured and spotlessly maintained. Taking a deep breath, she got out of her car and checked the directory in the well-appointed lobby. Dr. MacGuyver's office was located in this building, in the Levitt Wing. After walking through a maze of corridors that all looked the same, she found her way to Suite 107. Opening the door, she went to the reception desk.

"Hello," she told the receptionist. "I'm Kate Stanton. I have an appointment with Dr. MacGuyver at six fifteen."

"Dr. MacGuyver is expecting you, Mrs. Stanton," she told Kate. "You may go right in."

Kate had been pleasantly surprised to find that one of her daughter's doctors was now the head administrator at Woodland Hills. He had been a regular fixture in Sonja's life, and Kate had admired his dedication to her daughter's care. However, the man who now greeted her was no longer young and bore testament to the passage of time. The slim build had been replaced with a slight paunch and the full head of hair was now bald, although he sported a neatly-trimmed beard.

"Hello, Dr. MacGuyver."

"Mrs. Stanton, so nice to see you after all of these years," he greeted her warmly. "Although, I must admit the name didn't ring a bell until you mentioned your daughter's name." He sobered instantly. "Such a tragedy, indeed."

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice," Kate told him, making herself comfortable in the chair facing his desk.

"How can I help you?"

Kate opened her purse and took out the necklace, which she had switched from the plastic bag to a small box. She handed it to him for closer inspection. "When my daughter was admitted to Woodland Hills, she had an old teddy bear with her, her favorite, and this necklace, which had belonged to my sister." When he handed the necklace back to her, she opened the clasp on the middle coin, revealing the locket inside with Sonja's picture. "A little over two months ago, a homeless woman was struck and killed by a car. You may have heard about it on the news. Anyway, the woman had this necklace on her person right before she was killed."

"Are you sure?" he asked, perplexed.

"Absolutely," she confirmed before continuing, "I've recently learned from the woman's daughter that her mother had also been a patient here." Kate's hand shook, so she placed it in her lap before forging ahead. "I need to find out how this woman came to have my daughter's necklace, especially since I had been told that everything belonging to my daughter had been destroyed by the explosion."

"This must have been very upsetting for you," he said not unkindly.

"More than you know." Kate gave him a tired shrug. "If you remember, I ended up marrying Marcus, the wonderful man who used to come with me to visit Sonja. Several years after we married, we were blessed with another daughter. I never told her about Sonja since it would have meant bringing up a part of my past that was very painful."

"What happened to your daughter _was_ a tragedy," Dr. MacGuyver told her gravely, "but I'm afraid I'm not sure how I can help you now."

"I need for you to check whether this woman, Maria Weaver, was at Woodland Hills around the time my daughter was here. They would have been roughly the same age," she told him quickly. "Apparently, Maria Weaver was raped when she was fifteen and then sent to a private sanitarium up in San Francisco."

The doctor scribbled some notes on his pad while she spoke. "If this Maria Weaver was a patient at Woodland Hills Lodge, we should have record of it." He cleared his throat before continuing, "However, we only started inputting data into our computer system in 1991, so the records of patients prior to that date would be archived at our head office in Sacramento. I'll have to order up those files."

"How long will that take?" asked Kate worriedly.

"About a week or so," he told her. "Once they're found, I can have them sent down by courier." He gave her an encouraging smile. "Don't worry, Mrs. Stanton. I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of this."

"Thank you." Kate stood up, shaking his hand. "I'd like to get this matter straightened out before I give the necklace to the police."

"The police?" he asked quickly.

"Of course," she told him briskly. "This necklace is part of a murder investigation."

* * *

Visiting hours were almost over when Irving Johnson opened the door of his mother's room. She was hunched over in her chair, fast asleep. Her chin was resting on her chest and her breathing was labored.

"Hello, Mother," he told her quietly.

Startled, Sigi's eyes flew open. "What are you doing here?"

Before he could reply, her body was racked by a fit of coughing so severe, the book in her lap fell to the floor. Irving reached down and picked it up, placing it on the small table beside her chair. He waited until her coughing subsided before speaking again.

"Your cough has gotten worse. I'll see if the doctor can give you something for it."

"Don't bother because I already tried. He said there's nothing more he can give me," she replied tiredly.

Irving gestured toward the washroom door. "Where's Dickie?" He hated that name. It was so undignified, especially for an old man.

"He went for a walk." She adjusted the tube that fed the oxygen through her nose. "Did you talk to your brother? Is he going to come?"

He ignored her question for the moment. "Maria's dead, Mother." He wasn't sure whether she had heard him so he quickly added, "Leo killed her."

"No!" Her voice was barely audible. "He had no right to kill her."

"There's more," he told her grimly. "I got a call from MacGuyver over at Woodland Hills."

"What did he want?" she asked sharply.

"He got a visit from Kate Stanton today." He watched her face closely. "It seems that when Leo killed Maria, she had a necklace on her that she was probably going to give to Kate Stanton." He towered above her. "The same necklace we told you to get rid of a long time ago."

She got up and tried to take his arm but he shrugged it off. "I couldn't destroy it."

"Well, thanks to your obstinacy we've got one helluva problem on our hands."

"Do you think Kate suspects something?"

"She's getting MacGuyver to check the Lodge's records to see if Maria Weaver was a patient at the same time as her daughter." He sat on his mother's bed. "At least he had the presence of mind to stall her for a week."

"You tell that doctor to deal with the situation," she snapped suddenly. "Give him more money if you have to."

He stared at his mother in frustration. "Somehow, I don't think that all of the money in the world is going to make this problem go away, Mother."

"What are you going to do?" Sigi asked, seeing the determined set of her son's jaw.

"I'm going to try and fix the problem myself." He turned to leave.

"There's something you need to know, Irving." She launched into another fit of coughing before collapsing in her chair once again.

"What, Mother?"

"Maria was your daughter."

He swallowed hard. "What are you talking about?"

"Karl got a vasectomy after his first affair. I made sure of it." She eyed her son contemptuously. "So there's no way he could have been Maria's father."

His eyes were flat and lifeless as he stared at the stranger who was his mother. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because Maria's dead," she told him quietly, "and I wanted to hurt you as much as you just hurt me."

Irving opened the door and left, oblivious to the tears coursing down his mother's cheeks.

### CHAPTER 34

Someone was pounding on his front door and his heart automatically clutched in fear. His housekeeper had the day off, and there was no one to answer it. His first instinct was to hide, yet he remained rooted to the spot. As the minutes wore on, the pounding became more insistent.

"I know you're home," his brother yelled from the other side of the door. "Now open up!"

Stifling an oath, Leo went and answered the door. "I don't remember inviting you to my home."

"Is that what you call this dump?" Irving walked in uninvited, looking around the messy living room in disdain before giving his brother's disheveled appearance the same once over. "What's wrong with you? Is the old guilt setting in?"

"Why don't you get the hell out of my house," he snarled.

Irving decided to get straight to the point. "We've got a problem."

Leo closed his front door and went over to the bar to fix himself a drink. "I'm not interested in your problem."

"It seems that Mother never disposed of Maria's necklace."

"So?" He feigned nonchalance as he sat down on the sofa, nursing his drink broodingly.

Irving walked over to the bar and helped himself to the bottle of scotch. He gave his brother a measured look before continuing, "Kate Stanton found out about the necklace and is breathing down MacGuyver's neck, looking for answers." He took a healthy slug of the scotch, feeling it burn all the way down to the pit of his stomach. "Apparently, Maria was trying to put the necklace in Kate Stanton's mailbox when you ran her down."

"How was I supposed to know she had the necklace?" he cried, jumping up from the sofa. "It was Mother who should've gotten rid of it when we told her to, so don't go blaming that on me."

"Jesus, Leo!" Irving finally gave vent to his fury. "Why did you have to go and kill her? You should've just left things the way they were!"

The weight of his guilt overtook him and he hung his head. "I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"It was too risky."

"What are you talking about?" Irving's voice was sharp.

"She showed up at my door with mother's old photo a few weeks before I took care of her," he told Irving, his voice a little more than a whisper. "What if MacGuyver and the other doctors were wrong? What if she was smarter than everybody gave her credit for?"

"That's ridiculous," his brother sputtered. "Besides, she couldn't have known where you lived unless—" He broke off in mid-sentence as realization dawned on him, "Unless she'd been here before." His brother's miserable silence confirmed his worst fear. "You sorry son-of-a-bitch! You brought her _here_?"

"You and Mother abandoned her," he pointed out bitterly.

"We had no choice," his brother replied heatedly. "We never expected your daughter to find out about her. Our backs were to the wall."

Leo's eyes blazed. "Well, I loved her."

"You sick freak, you should've kept your hands off of her and then we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Interesting how you never took your own advice where my wife was concerned."

"Keep Livy out of this."

"Tell me one thing, Irving."

"What's that?"

"Why get rid of my baby?"

For the longest time, his brother didn't answer. When he finally did, it was as if the words were torn from him. "That baby would've carried some of the same malignant DNA as your father. I couldn't risk it."

Leo stared at him, dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?"

"What if it would've turned out to be another freak?"

His laugh was bitter. "You mean like me?" His brother didn't respond, but that didn't stop Leo. "And you think your hands are clean just because he wasn't your biological father?" He found himself losing control as he poked a finger at his older brother's chest. "Well, I have news for you. Your hands are just as bloody as mine."

Irving rubbed his forehead wearily. "I've thought about this from every angle, and there's only one way to handle this situation before it gets out of hand. You're going to have to get rid of her."

Leo looked up sharply. "Who?"

"Kate Stanton."

"No." Leo shook his head. "I can't."

"We have no choice in the matter," Irving insisted coldly. "The woman knows she's onto something and she's threatening to take the necklace to the cops. How long do you think it'll take for them to piece everything together?" He shook his head. "It's just too risky."

"Hire someone to do it."

"Are you crazy?" his brother cried. "You got us into this mess, and it's up to you to get us out of it."

"The girl is a bigger threat," Leo announced.

"Which girl?"

"Maria's daughter."

There was a cold glint in Irving's eyes. "Don't you mean _your_ daughter?"

Leo said nothing.

Irving set down his glass and went to the front door. Putting his hand on the doorknob, he paused. "By the way, I told Mother you killed Maria." He turned and looked at his brother. "Do you know what her response was?" When Leo didn't reply, he forged ahead ruthlessly. "She told me she wished you had died instead."

_It seemed as if the whole thing had blown up in his face in a matter of days. He hadn't wanted there to be any physical evidence of him having had sex with the girl, so condoms were out of the question. That left the old fashioned method of withdrawal. It took almost a Herculean effort for him not to come inside of her. Unfortunately, his timing was off twice. The first time he had been lucky and vowed to be more careful. The second time, his luck ran out. Two months later, he found out Maria was pregnant, which ironically coincided with his wife's announcement that they, too, were expecting_.

_His mother had gone ballistic when she learned that Maria was pregnant and ordered an immediate investigation. Every employee was interrogated, from the cleaning staff to the male nurses who looked after her and her doctors. The interviews yielded one common denominator—Leo. When confronted, he didn't try to deny it, even when Sigi became hysterical, something his mother normally never did_.

" _How could you have done something so utterly disgusting to that innocent child!" she cried, opening another pack of cigarettes and withdrawing one. It was her third pack of the day and it was only noon_.

_He said nothing in his defense. What was there to say?_

" _You're lucky I managed to convince them not to call the police," she continued heatedly_.

" _They wouldn't have called the police and you know it," he retorted. "They would have had too much to explain_."

" _You could at least have the decency to feel ashamed." She took a deep drag, before blowing out the smoke in a steady stream_.

" _A fine bloody mess this is," his brother spat at him_.

" _I think you and Father deserve the credit for that, don't you?" he challenged him. "Mother and I merely perpetuated the problem_."

" _Keep your father out of this," his mother told him flatly. "I don't want his name mentioned in my presence_."

" _Let's think about this rationally," his brother suggested. "We'll have to find a doctor who'll perform the abortion_."

" _It's not that simple," his mother told him. "Maria's got a rare blood disorder. The bleeding from an abortion could kill her_."

" _Jesus!_ "

" _I'll take care of this," Leo promised_.

" _I'd say you've already done enough." The look his brother gave him was venomous_.

" _That's enough, you two." She began pacing the room. "I've found a place for her in San Francisco. It's very discreet and they guarantee complete privacy. She'll go there after she has the baby_."

" _Do you think that's wise?" Irving seemed skeptical. "What if someone talks?_ "

" _It'll be taken care of_."

" _I still don't like it_."

" _Have you got a better idea?" Sigi challenged her oldest son_.

_Irving shook his head. "I suppose not_."

_Leo tried again, "Let me take care of everything_."

" _You'll deal with nothing." His mother came and stood directly in front of him, her eyes cold and distant. "After today, I don't ever want to see you again nor do I want you going anywhere near that child, do you understand?_ "

_There was nothing left to say. He stood up and left_.

_Two months later, his wife moved in with his brother and his brother managed to talk her into aborting his baby. The loss of his wife had been a bitter pill to swallow, but life without Maria was devastating. Her absence from his life was like a gnawing ache in the pit of Leo's stomach. He never once asked whether Maria had the baby or what had happened to it; Leo didn't care. All he cared about was Maria. He drove up to San Francisco with the crazy notion that he would defy his mother's orders but, in the end, Leo changed his mind_.

_For the next nineteen years, he lived in a perpetual quagmire of self-loathing and the need to be with her. Just when he resolved himself to the fact that he would never see Maria again, Leo learned of her release. He had been given a second chance! This time, not even his mother would keep him from being with Maria_.

### CHAPTER 35

"What do you think of this color?" Ashley asked, throwing a tube of Cotton Candy Pinkette at Karen. "Do you think it'll go with my nose?"

Karen gave her a wry look. "Don't you mean your dress?"

"Nope," Ashley told her, looking at her face in profile.

"Yeah, I guess it'll go okay with your nose." Karen began rooting through Ashley's closet. Pulling out a tiger print bustier dress, she held it in front of her. "Do you mind if I wear this?"

"Wear whatever you want," her friend replied easily. "I'm about due for a new wardrobe anyway."

"Thanks."

Although Ashley drove her nuts at times, there were definitely perks to being her friend. Not that her parents skimped on her, but Karen's mother would never consider flying to Paris for the spring and fall collections like Ashley's mother did. Ashley got a new wardrobe twice a year, and luckily, her friend was the generous type who thought nothing about giving away a lot of her stuff. Karen pulled the dress over her head. Somehow, the dress made her boobs look bigger, which she thought made her look older, definitely a plus.

"I am absolutely stoked about tonight," Ashley told her. "I just hope we don't bump into your wicked stepmother."

"She's the one who gave me the tickets," Karen pointed out, "and she knows we have fake ID."

"Great!" Ashley couldn't help asking, "When are you going to tell me what the surprise is?"

"Later. Right now, I'm more worried about my mom calling here tonight." Karen nervously tightened the accompanying gold belt around her small waist. "The last thing I need is for her to check up on me. I wouldn't put it past her, especially after the fight we had earlier."

"Relax," Ashley told her. "Even if she does call, Tiana knows exactly what to say. She's worked for us since I was a kid and is totally loyal to me."

"Good."

"So what did you guys fight about this time?"

"The same old shit." Karen turned to her. "How do I look?"

"Absolutely hot." Her friend rooted through her jewelry box before handing Karen a pair of dangly earrings. "Here. Wear these. They go great with the dress."

"Thanks." She took the earrings from Ashley before putting them in her ears and checking out the effect. They _did_ look amazing with the dress. "Do you think I can pass for legal age?"

"You got my vote."

Opening her purse, Karen checked to make sure she had her fake I.D. "All set?"

Ashley nodded and both girls went downstairs just as the limo pulled up to the front door.

Ashley grinned at her friend. "Is this the surprise?"

"Nope."

When Spic got out of the limo, Ashley looked at Karen in disgust. "Who invited _her_?"

"Surprise!"

"She and the limo are a package deal?"

"Yup."

Ashley realized she had been trumped and gave in gracefully. "So, what are we waiting for?" Ashley exclaimed. "Let's go!"

* * *

Liz's dress was an ivory cocktail number from the fifties, bought in a vintage clothing store on Fairfax. She had piled her long hair on top of her head. On her feet, she wore high-heeled sandals which elongated her shapely legs, making her seem taller. For the first time in a long time, she was actually happy to be celebrating her birthday. Hearing the knock on her door, she gave her reflection one last nervous glance before going to answer it.

"Wow!" Otis stared at her, slack-jawed. "Who _are_ you?"

"Shut up." She giggled, feeling a little embarrassed at the way he was eyeballing her. Otis looked pretty good himself. He was wearing dark pants and a jacket with a black shirt. Come to think of it, he looked pretty damned sexy.

"Ready to go?" he asked, holding out his hand.

"Let's do it," she replied lightly.

Otis was unusually quiet in the elevator on the way down, and when the doors opened, Liz immediately understood why. She stopped in her tracks and looked at him in surprise. "Is that ours?" Through the glass doors of her building, she could see the waiting limo at the curb.

"Only until midnight," he quipped. "Then our fair coach turns into a pumpkin."

"I think I'm going to cry."

"No way you're going to cry and smudge all of that stuff on your face," he told her, pulling her firmly through the lobby.

As they exited Liz's building, the driver got out and formally opened the back door for them. Waiting inside were Kim, Harry, Mack, and some of her other friends from Dream Factory. They were holding a cake, and as soon as they saw her, they began singing, "Happy Birthday."

Liz couldn't help herself. This time, she did cry.

* * *

"How come we're not moving?" Spic asked, lighting up.

"Would you put that thing out," Karen told her, glancing nervously at their driver through the privacy glass that separated them.

"Well, excuse me for needing a little something to help me cope with tonight's trauma," Spic shot back.

"What trauma?" Ashley stared at them in confusion.

"Spic's in lust with Jericho," Karen explained to Ashley, "and after tonight, he's heading to Vegas and abandoning her."

"You are such a bitch," Spic told her, looking down in the dumps.

"There are three or four limos ahead of us," Ashley remarked.

"So much for originality," Karen told them. "Everybody had the same idea."

"Oh my God!" Spic cried out suddenly. "Did you guys see who just got out of that one?"

"Who?" Karen asked impatiently.

"Lady Gaga!"

"Are you sure?" Ashley asked, craning her neck to get a better look.

"Positive! And look over there." Spic pointed at someone being interviewed under the Beverly Highlander canopy. "Tell me that's not Madonna!"

"Look at all of the photographers," Karen moaned.

"What did you expect?" Ashley gave her friend a look of annoyance. "Here we are at the hottest ticket in town and you didn't think there'd be any photographers?"

"I'm worried about getting my picture taken, smart ass!" Karen fumbled for the car door. "What if I'm on TV and my mom sees me? I'm supposed to be grounded, remember?"

"Are you _insane_?" Ashley grabbed her arm, just as the limo moved forward slowly. "Anybody else would kill to be where we are right now and _you_ want to sneak in the back door?"

Spic told Karen, "I'm with Ashley on this one."

"I want everyone watching when I get out of this car," Ashley continued imperiously, "and I want them turning green with envy."

Spic took a drag on her joint. "WASP Princess is right again. After tonight, you'll be getting calls from Lindsay, Paris, and the Olsen twins wanting to be your newest B.F.F."

"Not the Olsen twins," Ashley told her. "They're kind of unto themselves, if you know what I mean."

Spic tried to focus. "Sure. Whatever."

"Look," Ashley told Karen firmly, "you might as well enjoy your five seconds of fame while it lasts."

Karen looked at them doubtfully. "You guys really think so?"

"We _know_ so," Spic told her confidently as their limo pulled up to the hotel entrance.

Ashley fluffed her hair and stuck out her chest. "Let's get this show on the road!"

* * *

He was the reigning king about to abdicate his throne for the greener pastures of Vegas, but until that moment actually came, Jericho D continued to spin his magic while his devoted minions writhed to the beats on Sins' tiny dance floor. Those who had been lucky enough to get their hands on a coveted ticket had come to pay homage to their king. Nothing mattered except the music and having a good time as Jericho put Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" on the turntable amid boisterous clapping and cheering. It was a Jericho staple, just like Missy Elliott. Although he played predominantly hip-hop, rock, funk, soul, and reggae, Jericho tried to put a bit of a spin on things to keep everything from getting stale, which is why he was one of the few turntable maestros who could pack a club on his name alone.

The loud music was giving Eric a headache as he sat alone at one of the tiny tables close to the dance floor, nursing his drink. He hadn't seen Brooke since she'd left early this afternoon. She was busy giving interviews, shaking hands, and generally making sure that everything ran smoothly. He tiredly rubbed his eyes before taking another swallow of his drink. It burned all the way down, causing his chest to tighten uncomfortably. He wasn't even sure he liked the bourbon, but needed to do something to occupy his time until he could talk to Brooke. A couple of good-looking women had tried coming on to him earlier, but he wasn't in the mood for flirtatious come-ons.

MTV was filming everything, and although photographers weren't allowed in, the minute the door opened to let someone in or out, it seemed like a thousand flashbulbs would go off all at once. Earlier, Eric had been asked to move to another table so that his prime location could show some partying Generation Xer's having a great time when the cameras zoomed in on them. Eric had promised the guy a fat lip if he didn't back off, which seemed to do the trick, because he was left alone after that. He kept his eyes focused on the entrance where he'd be able to see his wife the minute she walked in.

Lately, he'd been plagued by doubts about getting married again and having a baby. He'd tried twice before Brooke and he'd made a mess of both marriages. Brooke was a sweet girl who deserved better than him. No matter how many times he'd thought about it, it was time to get his shit together, get a quick divorce, and put his life back in order. The baby would have his name and he would support both of them, no question there. Maybe once all of the dust had settled, he'd even give celibacy a shot.

* * *

Karen was busy washing her hands and didn't notice Liz come out of one of the restroom stalls until she reached for a paper towel to dry her hands. By that time, Liz had already noticed her and the two of them awkwardly stood staring at each other.

"I almost didn't recognize you," Karen ventured guardedly. "You look different."

"It's the hair," Liz offered in embarrassment. "I don't normally wear it up."

"It looks good like that."

"Thanks." Another silence.

"Do you go clubbing a lot?" Karen asked.

"Me?" asked Liz. "Oh God, no." She gave Karen a guarded look. "What about you?"

"Yeah, I like to go," Karen told her.

"Fake I.D.?" Liz ventured.

"Yeah." Karen quickly changed the subject. "So are you here with friends?"

"Friends from my old job brought me here for my birthday," Liz explained.

"I hear you're going to be working for my grandmother soon."

"Yeah."

"Good luck with that. Anyway, I'd better get back to my friends," Karen told her, anxious to get out of there.

Liz glanced around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "Your grandmother showed me the necklace."

Karen immediately sat down on one of the upholstered benches near the make-up tables, her awkwardness forgotten. "And?"

"It was my mother's."

"So how come your mother was going to give it to my grandmother?"

Liz sat down beside Karen. "I don't know."

Before Karen could say anything more, the restroom door was thrown open and a breathless Ashley stuck her head inside. "Come _on_! You're missing all the fun!"

Karen stood up and gave Liz a hesitant smile. "See you around."

"Sure." Liz stood up and went over to the wall of mirrors, pretending to check her hair.

"Oh... and, Liz?" Karen had opened the washroom door and was about to leave.

"Yes?"

"Happy birthday."

Karen left before Liz had a chance to respond.

* * *

As Eric stared morosely at the dance floor, he saw Brooke making her way through the dancers. Right behind her, he thought he saw someone he recognized, but then the bobbing head of a dancer blocked his view. The tightness he'd felt in his chest all afternoon was becoming uncomfortable. He got up to tell Brooke he was going home. He ducked around the bodies gyrating in his path, wincing in pain as a dancer's high heel trod on his toes. Eric felt his chest constrict, and instinctively grabbed on to the owner of the heel to keep himself from falling.

"Hey, back off, jerk!" the girl yelled as she turned on him. Surprise caught her off guard. "Dad!"

Eric never heard her, or the gunshot, as he slumped unconscious to the dance floor.

* * *

Brooke thought she heard a loud "pop", like the kind made by a firecracker. She stopped mid-stride when someone's blood-curdling scream reverberated over the music, and whirled around in time to see what looked like a man's body fall to the floor.

"Someone get the lights!" she yelled over the music as she rushed to where she had seen the body fall.

Before Brooke was able to reach it, there was another "pop" and suddenly, pandemonium broke out over the dance floor as everyone scrambled in every direction. Brooke was violently knocked to the ground. She heard several more screams just before the music stopped and the harsh lights came on. From her vantage point on the floor, she now saw two people down.

"They're still breathing!" a girl yelled out. Brooke was galvanized into action, rushing toward the two casualties on the floor.

Someone had separated them so that both were lying on their backs, facing Brooke. Falling to her knees, she stared at the unconscious figures of Eric and his daughter before her eyes were riveted to the growing pool of blood seeping out from underneath Karen's body.

### CHAPTER 36

Eve shifted the huge overnight bag from her right shoulder to her left as she hurried down the hospital corridor. Today had been the first day, since the shootings three days ago, she had actually felt confident enough to leave the hospital for a few hours. She needed a quick shower, a change of clothing, and to pay some overdue bills. The past few days had been a nightmare she didn't wish upon anyone, and Eve was grateful that she had had her mother and Paul to lean on.

Pushing open the door of Karen's hospital room, Eve stopped and stared in surprise. Eric was sitting in a wheelchair beside Karen's bed. Father and daughter were laughing, bent over one of the many fashion magazines that littered her daughter's bed.

"Don't you two look cozy," she commented before peering at her ex-husband closely. "Should you be out of bed?"

"It was only a mild heart attack," he told her brightly. "The doctors said I should be as good as new in a couple of weeks."

It seemed almost inconceivable to Eve that Eric would suffer a heart attack at the same time, and in the same place, where Karen had been shot. Eve threw her overnight bag on the cot beside her daughter's bed before going over to kiss Karen's pale cheek. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Okay, I guess," Karen told her, "except for my stupid shoulder. Will I really have to have physiotherapy, Mom?"

"If that's what the doctors say, then yes."

"That's because the bullet lodged in the muscle, close to the bone," Eric told her patiently. He gave Eve a measured look. "A few more inches over and it could've been so much worse."

Eve nodded, momentarily overcome by a magnitude of emotion as she realized for the hundredth time how close they had come to losing their daughter. Karen had sustained a substantive blood loss; the surgeons had worked on her for over three hours to remove the bullet and repair some of the damage to her shoulder as well as the surrounding tissue and musculature. She would need plastic surgery later, but right now, her doctors were more concerned with Karen regaining the full range of motion in her shoulder.

"Tell Mom the rest of your news, Dad!" Karen urged, basking in the knowledge that she had both her parents' undivided attention.

"The doctors said I can probably go home in a few days," Eric told Eve.

"That's great," she replied, genuinely happy that he was going to be okay.

"Except that I'm supposed to take it easy for the next few weeks—"

"So Dad's decided to move in with us for a while," Karen finished happily. "He's also arranged it with the doctors so I can get the physio at home instead of having it here in the hospital."

Eve looked at Eric in surprise, but he avoided her gaze, wheeling his chair over to the window instead. Not wanting to upset Karen, Eve took hold of Eric's wheelchair.

"Where are you guys going?" asked Karen, watching them closely.

"I'm just taking your dad for a spin in his wheelchair," she told Karen.

"Shit, I just knew it!" Karen's eyes filled with tears. "You two can't go five minutes without arguing!"

"We're not arguing, are we, Eve?"

"No, we're not," she replied through gritted teeth. "And we'll be right back." With that, she wheeled Eric out of the room over to an empty sitting area just down the hall from Karen's room. The television was on and a local news station was interviewing Clint Staebler, the owner of the Beverly Highlander, who announced that the police were still looking for the shooter. Taking a deep breath, she faced her ex-husband. "You can't make a decision like that without discussing it with me first." Eve tried to keep her voice calm.

"I'm a doctor and I'm Karen's father." He tried giving her an engaging smile, but it fell short of being genuine. "I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize my daughter's health."

"Well, I may not be a doctor, but I _am_ her mother," Eve reminded him. "And I'd like to be part of the decision-making process where she's concerned."

"I thought you'd be happy to have her home."

Eve looked at Eric closely. His perpetual tan had disappeared virtually overnight, and he looked pale and drawn. Eve took a deep breath. "Okay, Eric. Level with me. What's really going on?"

"What's wrong with a father wanting to spend more time with his daughter?" he hedged. "You're making it sound like a crime."

"There's no crime in that," she conceded, "but what about Brooke?"

"What about her?"

"How do you think your new wife is going to like your moving back in with your ex-wife?"

"You let me worry about that," he said brusquely.

Eve was not put off by his dismissive tone. "I wish I could," she told him, "but I can't. Not when you plan on disrupting our daughter's life, letting her get her hopes up over a reconciliation that simply isn't going to happen." She began pacing the small room. "And who do you think is going to be left picking up the pieces when you and Brooke make up and you go back to her?"

"That's not going to happen."

"Don't you think the two of you should be hashing things out?"

He gave her a tired smile. "I think I've made a real mess of things this time. And now with the baby..." He shook his head, looking overwhelmed.

Eve sat down in front of him and took hold of his hands. "Look, Eric. Whatever's going on with Brooke, you two have to work it out." She saw the stubborn set of his jaw, but ignored it. "You should've seen her the night you had your heart attack. She was crazy with worry... we all were." Eve swallowed hard, momentarily overcome as she thought of that night. "Anyway, all I want to say is that Brooke seems to genuinely care for you. That has to mean something."

Eric shook his head stubbornly. "She had no right giving Karen those tickets."

"Karen told me what happened. Anyway, that's something Brooke's going to have to live with for the rest of her life."

"It's not just about Karen," Eric told her. "It's complicated—"

Just then, Eve's phone vibrated. Pulling it out, she scrolled through her messages. There was an urgent text from her mother to call her. She gave Eric an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, but I've got to make a call. It'll only take a minute."

Eve dialed her mother's number. A second later, Kate picked up. "What's up?" Eve asked.

"I just got a call from the Foundation," Kate told her quietly. "Esther Solomon died early this morning."

### CHAPTER 37

" _You killed me."_ Her luminous smile was beguiling in its beauty.

"You should never have come back!" he cried, trying to make her believe him. "I couldn't let you live!"

"You betrayed me."

"No! I loved you!"

Images of Maria's face haunted Leo, even in his sleep; seemingly beautiful images of a youthful Maria, carefree and innocent. Slowly the images morphed into something evil and violent, mocking him until he was forced to run away from them... except there was no place to run or to hide. She doggedly followed him everywhere.

Eventually, Leo awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, unable to steady the erratic hammering of his heart. With shaking fingers, he reached for the glass of water beside his bed, drinking thirstily until the water was all gone. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe deeply, but Maria's face flitted before him. Turning on the light, he picked up the _Salvation for Sinners_ pamphlet he'd found in Paco Ramierez's car the day he'd stolen it. He glanced at the words, _we are all God's children_ , before he threw the pamphlet across the room in agitation. He needed to calm down. Shrugging into his robe, he headed down the hallway. At the top of the flight of stairs, he stared below in horror.

"Go away!"

Opening and closing his eyes several times, he willed the images of the writhing snakes to disappear, but they suddenly morphed into cobras, rearing upwards, ready to strike. His legs gave way under him and he sat down weakly.

"I don't deserve this!"

"Yes, you do," one of the cobras hissed before morphing into Maria's shriveled face.

He blinked several times, his head slowly filling with the familiar voice.

" _I'll save you, son_ ," his father said from somewhere behind him.

"No!" He stood slowly, holding the banister carefully. "I don't need your help, Father."

" _You're allowing her to possess you_."

"I want her to," he answered feebly, making his way carefully down the stairs. "Maria's my salvation."

" _She will take over your soul_."

"I gave it to her a long time ago." He smiled sadly into the darkness. "So you see, Father, you haven't won after all."

Becoming dazed, he slipped and fell headfirst into the darkness, hitting his head against the hardwood with a dull thud. As he lost consciousness, he saw Maria's sweet face, holding her arms out to him.

Maybe there would be salvation for this sinner, after all.

_A confrontation with his mother confirmed that a reporter was going to do a story on Maria, which left Sigi with no choice but to order the sanitarium to release her. He quickly hired a private investigator to keep tabs on Maria, but it seemed as though she'd vanished into thin air. The P.I. finally tracked her down to a dump in Tarzana. He knew he had to have Maria in his life again, but wasn't sure how he was going to go about doing it_.

_The girl was always with her. He learned her name was Liz Farrell and that she'd grown up in various foster homes around the L.A. area. When Leo looked at her, he saw the hateful image of his father, and knew he could never have anything to do with her_.

_Mother and daughter seemed to have a regular routine which he memorized. He knew they went for a walk, rain or shine, after lunch each day. Sometimes they ate in the park, but more often than not, they would just walk. Maria would trip along happily while Liz watched her mother indulgently. Watching them made his gut ache. He wanted to be with Maria again, but the opportunity wasn't there yet. And then without warning, they disappeared one day_.

_Almost two weeks went by before his investigator tracked them down to a boarding house near LAX. For the next few days, he lived in his car, refusing to go home for fear that Maria would disappear from his life while he slept. He learned that their daughter worked nights and came home in the early morning. One evening, Maria suddenly appeared alone on the steps of her boarding house and Leo instinctively knew his opportunity had arrived. It was simply a matter of coaxing her into his car with a candy bar. Unfortunately, he had been unprepared for the media blitz afterwards that had covered her disappearance. He had been forced to drop her off on Hollywood Boulevard later that night. Four more times he had picked her up, and four more times he'd dropped her off, knowing that the police would be looking for her. The little time he spent with her only made him yearn for something more permanent, and he realized the opportunity had finally arrived when he saw the girl leave Maria sleeping on a park bench one day_.

_He took her home, but then realized it was too risky, so he took her to the lodge. For several days, he watched the news intently, but there was no announcement of her abduction, no manhunt. It looked as if the girl had given up on Maria and she was finally going to be his to keep_.

_The months that followed with Maria were idyllic and the happiest he'd ever known. He spent almost every day just watching her, her wonderment and innocence captivating him. She would spend hours outside, watching the bugs on the plants or a caterpillar crawl along a leaf. She would jump if a neighbor's dog barked, but loved to play with one of the stray cats, if it happened to come by. She allowed him to occupy space in her simplistic world. He would dress her every day and made sure she brushed her teeth. He loved brushing her silky blonde hair, finding the ritual both titillating and soothing at the same time. If she didn't want to wear clothes, he wouldn't force her to wear them. Everything about her was free and natural_.

_The vertical scar from her navel to her pubic bone bore testament to the manner in which their daughter had been born, but that did little to detract from her frailty in his eyes. She was a paradox of wanton innocence, enticing him to reach over to spontaneously stroke the silky hair between her legs or to suckle on one of her nipples, chortling happily when he did. If his days with her were bliss, then their nights together could only be described as ecstasy. Her body was always willing and sensual, unfettered by the restraints of modesty or embarrassment. He was insatiable, and if he accidentally hurt her, he was quick to soothe her tears. Like a child, her tears and smiles were constant, bringing to his life contentment and joy_.

_Unfortunately, his contentment was short-lived. She'd found his lighter while he was sleeping one day and set fire to the sofa. Waking up to a room full of smoke, he was quick to put out the fire, but had to open the door to let the room clear of smoke. Maria had wandered off while he was dragging out the charred sofa. By the time he noticed her absence, she was long gone. Sick with grief and anger, he had spent months trying to find her without success. He had kept tabs on the girl, but Maria never showed up there either. It was as if she'd vanished into thin air_.

_The day Maria left him, he had ceased to live, and the day she showed up at his front door was the beginning of the end for both of them_.

### CHAPTER 38

Kate was coming out of the hospital gift shop when she heard her name being called.

"Mrs. Stanton!"

Turning toward the sound of the voice, Kate watched as a very pregnant woman came toward her. Although Kate had only met her once, she immediately recognized Carolyn's friend, Rina Lyons.

"Hello, Rina," Kate greeted her coolly.

"I'm glad I bumped into you," the younger woman told her. "I wanted to tell you how sorry I was about your granddaughter."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." An awkward silence ensued.

"I just came from seeing Eric. He told me that Karen's expected to make a full recovery."

Kate nodded curtly, her eyes traveling to Rina's belly. "When are you due?"

"In three weeks." Rina automatically rubbed the side of her stomach.

Kate glanced at her watch pointedly. "I really must be going. My granddaughter's chomping at the bit for some new magazines to look at."

Rina impulsively put her hand on Kate's arm. "Actually, there's something I'd like to talk to you about if you've got a minute."

"I don't think it's a good—"

"Please," Rina implored, giving Kate an embarrassed smile. "I promise it won't take long."

Kate just wanted to go home and lie down. Esther's funeral yesterday had taken a lot out of her, but after seeing the silent entreaty in the other woman's eyes, she relented. "All right then. The cafeteria's just down the hall. Why don't we get a cup of coffee?"

When they brought their coffees over to a vacant table and sat down, Rina seemed reluctant to begin. "I'm sure you heard that Caro and I had a falling out over the baby I'm carrying for Eric and Brooke."

Kate looked up from her steaming coffee, deciding to be candid. "This is between you, Caro, Brooke, and Eric. What the rest of us think is of no consequence."

Rina nodded. "I just wanted you to know there was no ulterior motive for my not saying anything to Caro about the baby."

Kate stiffened slightly. "Again, that's between you and Caro."

Rina looked miserable. "The truth is, I was too ashamed to tell her."

Kate was taken aback. "I don't understand."

"Eric needed a surrogate and I needed the money." Rina wrapped her fingers around the coffee cup, as if drawing strength from its warmth. "I lost my skincare business last year. You know how it is... a couple of bad decisions take their toll, and with research and development costing a fortune, not to mention the infomercials... well, I just couldn't hang on anymore. Anyway, to make a long story short, I bumped into Eric and Brooke one day at a restaurant in Brentwood. We talked for a while, and when Eric suggested the surrogacy, it seemed like the perfect solution to both our problems."

"But I don't understand why you couldn't tell Caro. I'm sure she'd understand about your business going under."

"I didn't want to tell her because I knew she'd want to help, and I couldn't bear the thought of it." Rina pushed aside her cup in agitation. "Caro's been bailing me out since we were kids. That's just the way she is."

Although Rina didn't get into any specifics, Kate knew she was referring to the scandal that had ripped her world apart when both Rina and Caro were in their first year at Concord Academy. Several leading New York businessmen were indicted for insider trading, among them Rina's father. Clinical studies on the trial drug, PX9433, had been completed with promising results and the drug had been touted as the new wonder drug in the fight against Parkinson's disease. On the eve of a major announcement about the drug in the _New York Times_ , Rina's father, Jeff Lyons, bought huge shares in PX9433 by borrowing heavily against his shares in his company. Rumors and innuendo found their way to the Securities and Exchange Commission, who was quick to investigate. Rina's father and three other company directors were eventually indicted. Shortly after the indictments, one of the clinical trial patients died from PX9433, sending stock prices plummeting and rendering Rina's family virtually penniless overnight.

The ensuing trial received heavy media coverage. The tabloids were quick to follow when Rina's mother, Celeste, sued Rina's father for divorce. Rina was only able to stay in school after Caro convinced her grandfather to pay for the remainder of Rina's tuition. Rina's father had been found dead shortly after that, the victim of an apparent suicide.

"You still should have told her," Kate insisted. "In fact, you owed it to Caro to tell her."

Rina rubbed her forehead tiredly. "You're probably right, but it's too late now."

"Not really." Kate smiled at her. "All you have to do is pick up a phone and talk."

"You make it sound so simple."

"Most things in life are," Kate told her sagely. "We just tend to complicate the issues."

"Maybe you're right. I promise I'll at least think about it."

"Good." Kate glanced at her watch. "Now I really do have to get going."

"Just one more thing," Rina told her. "I wanted to do something special for Eric and Brooke. You know, kind of as a baby gift."

"I'm not sure how I can help you with that," Kate said, frowning.

"Caro once told me that the bassinet both she and Karen slept in as babies had been in the family for a long time."

"That's right."

"I was thinking of re-doing it to give to Eric and Brooke for the new baby," Rina told her.

"I'm sure they'd like that."

"The only problem is, I can't ask Caro where it is, given the circumstances and all—"

"You're in luck because that bassinet ended up in my attic years ago." Kate stood up. "You can stop by my house and pick it up when you're ready."

Rina looked relieved. "I can't thank you enough."

"Yes, you can," Kate said, giving her a pointed look, "by calling Caro."

* * *

It was going on late afternoon when the elevator doors in the hospital parking garage opened and Kate Stanton got out. Leo had been waiting a long time, parked five cars down and one row over, the perfect position for observing her as she stopped to root through her purse for her car keys. She looked harmless enough, but then so had Maria. Why did that necklace have to appear? The necklace had changed everything.

### CHAPTER 39

"Do you want the last piece of pizza?" Otis asked.

Liz shook her head. "No thanks. Two slices are my limit."

"Well, if you insist." Taking the last piece of meat lovers, he folded it in half, like a sandwich, and took an enormous bite. Chewing with gusto, he watched Liz closely. "Okay, what gives? You've been miserable since I got here."

"Sorry, Ote." She began throwing their used napkins and paper plates into the empty pizza box. "I guess I've just got a lot on my mind."

"Like what?" Taking a last slurp of his soda, he got up and helped Liz take everything into her kitchen.

"Kate's had nothing but bad luck since she hired me," she told him. "First her granddaughter gets shot, and now her friend has died. Maybe I'm a jinx."

Otis pretended to consider the matter. "That stuff's just lousy timing."

"Maybe those things would never have happened if she hadn't hired me," Liz argued.

"Or maybe she wouldn't have hired you in the first place if her granddaughter hadn't been responsible for your mom dying," Otis rationalized.

"Karen was just trying to help my mom."

" _Excuse me?_ " Otis stopped what he was doing and stared at Liz in disbelief.

"I said she was just trying to help my mother."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this." Otis took Liz's hand and dragged her back to her sofa, pushing her down on the cushions. "For months now, all I've been hearing is how your mother's death was that bitch's fault, and now you're defending her. Why?"

"Don't call her that." Liz shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet his gaze. "And I'm not defending her. It is what it is, that's all."

"If you say so." He was strangely silent as he got up and went back to the kitchen.

"It's true," Liz persisted, following him. "Karen was the one who got the necklace back after her friend had stolen it."

"How do you know it wasn't Karen who took it in the first place?" he asked reasonably.

"Because my mother attacked her friend, not Karen." She looked at Otis strangely. "Why do you care so much what I think of her?"

"Because she's nothing but a spoiled rich bitch, that's why," Otis told her, trying to take hold of her shoulders. "You saw her at the club with her snotty friends, acting like the sun rose and set up her ass. I just don't want to see you getting hurt." He looked like he was going to say something else, but then changed his mind.

She pulled away from him coldly. "Thanks for your concern, but I'm a big girl and can take care of myself."

"Not too well, if memory serves me right," he snapped back.

Liz looked at him sadly. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous."

"Don't be ridiculous."

She suddenly felt very tired. "I think I'm going to have an early night tonight."

"Sure." Otis grabbed his jacket off of the back of the chair and went to the front door. "You don't have to spell it out for me."

"Otis, wait—"

But he didn't. Liz stared at the closed door, wanting to run after him. Feeling disgusted with herself, she went into the kitchen and finished straightening up. She'd just gotten all of the garbage together for the chute when she heard a knock on the door. Thinking Otis had come back, Liz ran to the door, an apology already forming on her lips. Throwing it open, she was surprised to find the two detectives from Hollywood Division.

"Hi," Liz managed to say.

"May we come in?" Detective Warner asked.

Over her initial shock at seeing them, Liz stood aside to let them in. "Of course."

The younger one, Detective Cassidy, looked around appreciatively. "Nice place you got here, Ms. Farrell."

"Thank you," she replied. "May I offer you something to drink?" she asked politely.

"No thanks," Warner replied for both of them. He looked uncomfortable.

"Has something happened?"

"You could say that," Detective Cassidy informed her. "In light of what you recently told us, we had forensics go over Paco Ramierez's car again."

"And?" Liz sat on the edge of her chair.

"They found this." Detective Warner reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic evidence bag containing a small strip of paper, which he handed to her.

"What is it?" Liz asked, taking it from him.

"It was stuck to the side of the driver's seat cushion," Cassidy explained. "We think it may have come from a photo of some kind. We were hoping you might know what it is."

"We were able to lift a partial from the top of the photo, which belonged to your mother, and another partial from the back."

Liz carefully examined the strip of paper through the plastic. It appeared that the strip had been folded many times because it was permanently creased along the fold. The photo, or what there was left of it, was faded, yet the glimpse of hair and the bright red were unmistakable.

"I think I can tell you exactly what this is," Liz told them excitedly.

"You can?" asked Cassidy.

"What is it?"

"I think it's from an old photograph my mother carried around with her for the longest time," Liz explained. "I thought she'd lost it."

"Who's the person in the picture?" Warner asked, scribbling something in his notebook.

"Her." Liz pointed to the framed poster on her wall.

"Why would your mother carry that around with her?" Cassidy inquired, getting up to take a closer look at the poster.

"I don't know," she admitted. "All I know is she guarded that photo and—" Liz stopped herself just short of saying necklace. "And now we'll never know why." While the other detective made notes on the poster, she asked his partner, "You said that another partial print was lifted from the photograph. Who did the second print belong to?"

Detective Warner waited a fraction of a second before replying, "Leo Bauer, Paco Ramierez's former employer."

"Are you going to arrest him?" Liz asked wide-eyed.

"He's being sought for questioning as we speak," Cassidy told her grimly.

The two detectives left after a few more minutes, promising to keep her informed. After she saw them out, Liz paced around her apartment, adrenaline coursing through her body. Finally, there was a solid lead! She had to tell Otis. Picking up the phone, her fingers poised over the dial pad, she hesitated as she remembered their argument. A second later, she found herself dialing another number instead.

* * *

Kate Stanton hung up the phone, her hand slightly shaking. She had never heard Liz so animated. And why not? Finally, the police had a solid lead regarding her mother's hit and run, enough to haul in Leo Bauer for questioning. She sank into the nearest sofa, her heart pounding. This was the first time Kate had heard the name "Bauer" in connection with Liz's mother. She had kept her voice neutral, not wanting Liz to know that the name had opened a chamber of horrors in her mind so strong that it literally left her incapable of movement. The hair had been standing up on the back of Kate's neck since she'd heard Liz say his name. Leo Bauer, her father's youngest son, _her half-brother!_

None of it made any sense, yet the coincidences were stacking up alarmingly. First the necklace, then the fact that her daughter and Liz's mother had both been patients at Woodland Hills Lodge, and now this! But why would Leo Bauer want to kill Maria Weaver? What possible motive could he have for killing a mentally ill, defenseless homeless woman? _You are your father's son, you bastard_ , she thought to herself. There was no doubt in Kate's mind that Leo Bauer had killed Liz's mother. Call it instinct, a second sense, whatever. The son was just as evil as his father had been so long ago. And no amount of money—Kate's mind suddenly clicked like a piece of puzzle sliding into its proper place. Woodland Hills Lodge had a _Weaver Wing!_ She had walked through it on her way to Dr. MacGuyver's office without the significance of the name having registered until just now.

Was it merely coincidence that Woodland Hills Lodge had a wing named after a former patient? Almost immediately, she discounted the notion. Kate figured it took a hell of a big donation to have a wing named after your family and Liz's mother hadn't had any. _Or did she?_

Kate hurried over to her computer and turned it on. Luckily, her granddaughter had taught her how to use it years ago when the Paisley's went online. Although she had a webmaster that dealt with the maintenance of the site, Kate monitored and spent quite a bit of time online, answering emails from fans all over the world. She found the site for Woodland Hills Lodge easily enough and clicked on the "About Us" link. She scrolled through it impatiently. Most of it had to do with the running of the facility, the doctors, the medical care, insurance, and plans for future growth. There, at the bottom of the webpage, was a separate link for "Benefactors". Kate clicked on it eagerly. The webpage that came up detailed the various "gifts" the Lodge had received from generous benefactors throughout the years, and then listed them alphabetically together with the amount of their "gift". Kate figured that the more substantial gifts, like that from the Levitt Family to the tune of eight point five million, warranted a wing. Almost at the bottom of the page, Kate found the "Weaver Family". Strangely enough, the amount of their "generous gift" was not disclosed, whereas most of the others had been.

Next, she went on to the _wikipedia.org_ site and typed in "Weaver family". She got over twenty-one different hits and looked at each one carefully. About halfway through, Kate found what she thought she was looking for. The Weaver Group was an American commodities and merchandising firm involved primarily in energy commodities. It also owned and managed a fleet of ocean vessels, developed and operated telecommunications infrastructures as well as developed and managed real estate in eighteen different countries. The company was founded by Halston Weaver, and his great-grandson, Charlton Weaver, had been president and CEO up until his retirement in the early eighties. He had been married to Daniela Krantz, and the marriage had produced only one child, Sigourney Weaver, a former _actress_.

With trembling fingers, Kate typed "sigourney weaver" as a search, but got no hits. Getting out of the _Wikipedia_ website, she again typed in the words on the _Yahoo_ search engine. Clicking on the link "Forties Hollywood", Kate finally found what she was looking for. According to the brief blurb on Sigourney Weaver, she married for the first time at twenty-one to an investment banker named Desmond Johnson and had a son with him, but the marriage never made it past its second anniversary. Sigourney apparently took up acting after her divorce and adopted her mother's maiden name as her stage name. She appeared in only three movies before retiring to marry Karl Bauer, the director of one of her movies, _One Spark Too Many_. Sigourney also had a son with Bauer, but became a widow after her husband suffered an untimely death. Rumor had it that she had married for the third time in the late eighties, but this was never confirmed. There was no mention of a daughter.

_Maybe Maria had been Sigourney and Karl's dirty little secret_ , Kate thought sadly. Maybe Sigourney's very wealthy family didn't want the world to know that the prodigal daughter had given birth to a mentally-defective child so they hid her away at Woodland Hills Lodge and bought everyone's silence with generous donations to the facility, ending in a wing being named after them. When Maria got raped, the endowments to Woodland Hills dried up. Maria was eventually transferred to an exclusive sanitarium in San Francisco. _But why didn't they just abort Maria's baby? And why did Leo kill his sister now?_

There were more questions than answers, Kate realized tiredly. She had to talk to Liz again. Dialing her number, the phone rang twice before Liz picked up. Before Liz could say anything, Kate blurted out, "I think I know who your mother was."

"Oh my God," said Liz. "Please tell me."

"I need to show you, and then you can decide whether I'm right or not," she told the young woman excitedly.

"I'll be there in half an hour," Liz promised, hanging up the phone.

At loose ends, Kate busied herself by opening the gate outside and putting on a pot of coffee. Something told her it was going to be a long night by the time they sorted out this mess.

* * *

Liz hurriedly grabbed her purse and car keys, and headed for her front door. Opening it, she came face to face with Otis as he was about to knock.

"Ote!" She stared at him in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize," he told her gruffly. "I was out of line and I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," she told him, happy that he'd come back.

He looked at the keys in her hand. "Going somewhere?"

Liz hesitated, remembering their earlier argument.

"Forget about it." He turned to leave. "You don't have to answer that."

"I'm going to see Kate Stanton," Liz blurted out. "She's discovered something about my mother."

"Yeah?" His look of interest was genuine. "What?"

"I don't know." She locked her front door before turning to him. "How about coming with me and finding out?"

Otis gazed at her searchingly. "You know you can tell me to back off anytime, right?"

She grinned. "I know. But I want you to come."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

### CHAPTER 40

Leo was parked a little way down from Kate's house. He still had about another hour to go before nightfall. Just as he was trying to make himself more comfortable, he saw her gate open. Cursing silently to himself, he prepared to take off the minute he saw Kate's car leave, only it never left. Getting out of his car, Leo nervously checked either side of the road before sprinting across it, hoping to get a closer look at her house. Suddenly, a car drove through Kate's gate. He plastered himself against the nearest wall, hoping the driver of the car hadn't noticed him.

* * *

_Talk about lousy timing_ , Kate thought as she saw Rina Lyons drive through her open gate. Rina waved to her and Kate waved back, trying to summon up some enthusiasm. It was obviously too late for her to run in the house and pretend she wasn't home. She slowly came down the steps, watching silently as Rina pulled herself out of her car.

"I hope this isn't a bad time." Rina's stomach was heaving from the physical exertion.

"As a matter of fact, I'm waiting for someone," Kate told her truthfully.

Rina wasn't about to be put off. "I promise I won't keep you. As soon as I have the bassinet, I'll be on my way."

Glancing impatiently over Rina's shoulder toward the road, Kate gave her what she hoped was a welcoming smile. "Let's go inside and I'll get it for you."

* * *

Leo removed his gun from the waistband of his pants and crept up to the gate, peeking inside. There was Kate, standing on the steps in front of her door. Her body was turned toward the driver of the car so she didn't have a direct view of the gate. He snuck inside the gate, finally getting his first good look at the other woman. Leo's eyes traveled the length of her body before coming to rest on her protruding stomach. He slowly made his way closer to the house, keeping well within the shadows formed by the huge trees flanking either side of the house. As he neared the corner of the house, Leo stepped out of the shadows.

"No one's going anywhere," he announced calmly.

As Kate turned toward him, Leo raised the butt of his gun and brought it down hard on the back of her head. The other woman screamed, and—in that split second—it became clear to Leo what he had to do. His salvation was imminent.

### CHAPTER 41

The phone call from one of the nurses at the Foundation had come as something of a surprise. Esther's friend, Sigi, had been asking for Kate. Unable to reach her mother, the nurse had contacted Eve. On her way over to the Foundation, Eve phoned Karen to let her know where she was as well as tried her mother's numbers several more times, but Kate still wasn't answering. Squelching the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, she pulled into the parking lot and went inside the building.

"Thank you for coming so quickly!" the head nurse greeted her as she reported to the nurse's station.

"What exactly is the problem?" Eve asked.

"Sigi's taken to her bed since Esther died. This evening, she became very agitated, asking for your mother. When we couldn't get a hold of Kate, we decided to call you instead. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Eve assured her.

The nurse looked worried. "Dickie's been out of his mind with worry and hasn't left her side all day."

"I'm just not quite sure how I can help," Eve admitted to her.

"Go talk to her," the nurse told her as she led her down the hall to Sigi's room. "That's all you can do."

The room was cast in shadows, the drapes having been drawn against the night sky. Sigi was lying in bed, the ever-present tube in her nose. They couldn't tell whether she was saying something to her husband or if she was just muttering to herself. Dickie sat in a chair by her bed, clutching her hand.

"Sigi, you have a visitor," she told the old woman. "Kate's daughter, Eve, has come to visit you. You remember Eve, don't you?"

The muttering stopped as Sigi turned toward Eve. "Where's Kate?" she asked abruptly.

Eve hesitated. "She's not answering her phone right now."

Her answer was met by silence from the bed. The nurse motioned to Eve that she was leaving the room.

"Perhaps I can help." Eve ventured closer to the bed. "What did you want to talk to Mom about?"

"I told him to deal with the situation," the old woman fretted, "but I didn't want him hurting her."

"You told who to do what?" Eve asked, her confusion evident.

"My son."

"Her son came to see her a few days ago."

Eve jumped at the sound of Dickie's voice. Until now, he had been silent. She took hold of Sigi's other hand and tried again. "What situation did you tell your son to deal with?"

"The one with Kate."

Eve's heart skipped a beat.

Two lone tears ran down Sigi's cheeks into her pillow. "When Kate didn't come, I knew he'd done something to her."

"Sigi, why would your son want to hurt my mother?" Eve asked again.

"Because she knows about the necklace," Sigi said in a child-like voice. "They told me to destroy the necklace years ago, but I couldn't do it..."

"What necklace?" Eve tried to keep her voice calm and neutral. She wasn't sure whether Sigi was lucid or not. She looked at Dickie, but he appeared to be as confused as she was.

"I couldn't destroy it." A coughing jag came on, racking her frail body. "That necklace... was a reminder... of what Karl had done to Kate and Sonja."

"Who's Karl?" Eve asked, more confused now than she had been before. "And who's Sonja?"

"I loved her," Sigi continued, both hands now clutching Eve's. "You've got to believe me!"

"Of course I believe you," Eve told her soothingly.

"That's why I gave Maria my picture." Her face took on a dreamy quality as a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Eve didn't know what to make of any of it. _Who the hell were Sonja and Karl, and what did Maria have to do with any of this?_ She tried a different track. "Sigi, where is Sonja?"

"She's with the angels now." Her voice was little more than a whisper as another bout of coughing racked her body.

Eve left the room and quickly dialed her mother's number again. There was no answer. Becoming alarmed, she dialed Eric's number. When he answered, she wasted no time in getting straight to the point. "Eric, is my mother there at the hospital? Have you seen her today?"

"I'm not at the hospital. I was released this morning," Eric told her grimly. "But I can definitely tell you where she isn't."

"What are you talking about?" Her voice became sharp.

"Brooke and I are at your mother's house now." Eric's voice sounded strange. "Karen wanted me to stop by and pick up the new bathrobe your mother had bought for her."

"And?"

"Her gate's open and we're pretty sure that Rina's car is in the driveway, but there's no sign of either one of them."

"Did you try inside the house?"

"The front door's closed but unlocked," he reported, "and there's no one inside."

"My mother would never leave her front door unlocked or her gate open." Eve felt panic rising up in her chest. "You know that as well as I do."

"I know. The police are here now, and so is a young woman called Liz," Eric continued. "Apparently, your mother had called her and was waiting for Liz to get here. That probably accounts for the open gate."

"What would my mother want with Liz?"

"How should I know?" Eric snapped.

"I have a feeling something's happened to Mom." By now, full-scale panic had set in. "Tell Liz to stay put. I'm on my way."

* * *

Leo watched her struggle within her bonds like prey tangled in a spider's silken web. He saw the terror in her eyes; he had anticipated it. Her eyes followed his every move as he painstakingly checked her bindings above her breasts and below. He gave the rope passed over her shoulders a gentle tug, careful not to let his fingers touch her skin, before meticulously following the rope over her shoulders to the knots at her back. He had tied each of her ankles to its corresponding thigh, and had tied her wrist on each side to the wrist/thigh combination, leaving only the opening between her legs. Leo stared at that opening with such regret. It had taken all of his willpower not to draw the rope over her genitals. However, a rope would have interfered with the events about to unfold and he simply could not let that happen.

Satisfied that each knot had been executed with precision and that each limb had been properly restrained, Leo stepped back to admire his handiwork. The red rope had been a good choice since it was an excellent foil for the milky white skin, the dusky pink nipples, and the thatch of blonde almost entirely obscured by her enormous belly. Rina's body glistened from her struggles and her swollen nipples beckoned to him. Despite his earlier resolve, Leo tongued them reverently. He traced the bumpy outline of the dusky aureoles, before grazing their peaks with the merest flicker of his tongue. His breath quickened and he found himself becoming aroused by the glorious flesh in front of him until he could stand it no longer. His lips finally latched onto each dusky tip, suckling deeply to fill his mouth with their very essence. Despite this morsel of pleasure he allowed himself, Leo was careful not to lose control.

Slowly, his tongue slid a lazy, wet path between her breasts, and up along the strong, smooth column of her throat. When he was eye level with her face, he stopped. The eyes which stared back at him grew angry and defiant, something he hadn't expected, but gave him a great deal of satisfaction. Her eyes told him she was a fighter who would not give up easily.

With the forefinger of his right hand, Leo gently traced the shape of Rina's lips imprisoned underneath the tape covering her mouth. He felt them tremble. Sighing regretfully, he knew there was no way to do this without coming into contact with her flesh. The fingers of his left hand closed over the small crochet needle sitting on the desk, and in one swift movement, Leo plunged it between Rina's legs, deep within her vaginal core. His withdrawal was immediate and Rina's reaction was just as instantaneous as the life within her reacted with a jarring contortion. Almost immediately, water tinged with blood gushed out of her opening and down her thighs, collecting in the basin under her feet. Dipping his finger into the bloodied water, Leo branded himself.

_I am my father's son_.

Straightening up, he came face-to-face with her once again. He saw her mouth form a scream, but no sound came out, muffled by the tape.

"Shhhh," he told her gently. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Rina's eyes were defiant no longer. They were muted by terror as her tears spilled in silent rivulets down her cheeks. She ceased to struggle, as if suddenly realizing that her efforts were in vain. Leo tried to mask his disappointment at her unexpected capitulation, and got down to work. He had to be ready by the time the first contraction started. He took another measured length of red rope where the cut ends had been melded together to form a loop. He drew the rope through each of the bindings holding her left ankle to her left thigh, and then through the right ankle to her right thigh before looping each end of the rope over either side of her head. The effect spread Rina's thighs wide, while each end of the rope was snugly looped around her neck. Leo watched closely for a reaction, but there was none except for the thin film of sweat forming on her brow.

"I want you to be strong." He wiped the sweat off her brow. "This rope is going to serve as an unpleasant reminder for you to keep your posture." Leo leaned in closely so she could hear him. "Unfortunately, if your will weakens, you're going to die."

Before his words had time to register, Rina's body stiffened and her face became contorted by pain. When the pain subsided, her thighs spontaneously relaxed, which automatically tightened the two ends of rope looped around her slender neck. Her face turned a mottled shade of red as her air supply was cut off. Choking, Rina quickly remembered her former posture, allowing for the breath of life to feed her air-starved brain once again. Leo was pleased. She was a quick study.

He glanced at his watch and mentally took note of the time. Taking off his watch, he laid it carefully on the antique table in front of him.

By the end of her fourth contraction, Rina's sweat flowed freely, yet she remained in control of her labor. She breathed deeply, rhythmically, in anticipation of the pain that multiplied with each contraction. Leo was aware that the tape covering her mouth was impeding her ability to breathe properly.

Between her ninth and tenth contractions, her swollen belly shifted and she gave in to the demands of her full bladder.

By her twentieth contraction, Rina was oblivious to everything else in the room. When not racked by intensifying contractions, every ounce of her strength was used to keep her body in check. Leo suspected it wouldn't be much longer. He felt the beginnings of another arousal at the thought of his imminent salvation. This time, he allowed himself to succumb.

* * *

Consciousness came gradually, and with it a blinding headache that hammered away at the back of Kate's skull. Her mouth was dry and cottony, and her shoulders throbbed. When she tried shifting to a more comfortable position, she immediately realized that her hands were tied tightly behind her back, making movement impossible. She felt the sweat trickle down her forehead into her eyes. It was humid as hell and a strangely pungent odor was making her gag.

"Ah, I see you've joined us at last," a man's voice said somewhere to her left.

Turning toward the sound of his voice, Kate willed her eyes to focus in the dim light, taking in the wooden shelving and cabinets, housing row upon row of wine bottles, many liberally coated in a layer of dust. She was obviously in a wine cellar somewhere. As she turned her head to the left, she recoiled in horror at the sight before her. Naked, with her legs spread wide and convulsed in a violent contraction, a bound and trussed Rina hung from one of the cellar rafters. As if seeing a movie in slow motion, Kate watched as the contraction finally subsided and Rina's body relaxed, only to jerk back into position the minute the ropes around her neck began suffocating her. From the low-lying bulge of Rina's stomach, Kate figured she had probably been in labor for quite some time.

The man went over to Rina to check between her bloodied thighs. Seemingly satisfied, he turned and looked at Kate.

"The baby's head should be crowning soon. It won't be long now," he declared.

"She needs a doctor," Kate told him weakly.

"Women have been giving birth for centuries without medical intervention," he told her coldly. "She'll deliver soon enough."

"What do you want with us?" Kate asked.

"I thought it was high time for a family reunion."

She gasped as his words sunk in. " _Leo?_ "

He seemed pleased that she knew who he was. "I'm glad to see you haven't forgotten your family."

"My father was never family," she told him bitterly, "and neither are you."

He seemed to consider her words carefully. "Irving would quite agree with you," he told her conversationally. "He did everything he could to distance himself from our little family once he found out Father's dirty little secret." He gave her a smile that never reached his eyes. "We had the investigator's report to thank for that."

Suddenly, Rina's body was claimed by another violent contraction, causing her to thrash about within her bindings. Her ragged breaths filled the room as she fought for air through the pain. Kate sought out Rina's eyes, hoping to convey reassurance and strength. The other woman didn't seem to notice.

"At least take the tape off her mouth so she can breathe, for God's sake!"

"I can't sully her any more than I already have." He went over to Rina and listened, her ragged breathing reassuring him that all was as it should be. "The tape must stay."

"You can't just let Rina and the baby die!" Kate cried, yanking at her bindings in frustration.

"Don't worry, Sister Kate," he placated her in dulcet tones. "I have no intention of letting the baby die." Without warning, he raised his hand and viciously slapped Kate across the face. "That baby is going to be our salvation!"

* * *

"This is all my fault," Liz wailed, sitting in one of the patio chairs at the back of Kate's house. "If only we'd gotten here a few minutes earlier, we might have been able to stop what happened!"

"You don't know that," Eve consoled her automatically.

"But why Kate?"

"I don't know." Eve shrugged helplessly. She looked around her mother's well-kept yard full of flowers. The tranquility of the backyard was in direct contrast to the chaos out front. She and Liz had come back here to avoid getting in the way of the crime scene unit, detectives, and other police personnel who were busy collecting data and evidence, along with interviewing Eric, Brooke, and Otis.

"Would you like me to get you something to drink?" Liz asked, noting the lines of worry around Eve's eyes.

"No, thanks." Eve gave her a weak smile. "Tell me again why my mother wanted you to come here."

Liz thought back to the brief conversation she'd had earlier with Kate. "She told me she thought she'd figured out who my mother was. She wanted me to come here so she could show me something."

"Any idea what it was?"

Liz frowned. "Maybe it had something to do with the necklace."

"Necklace?" Eve's mind immediately focused on that single word. This was the second time in one night someone had made reference to a necklace. "What necklace are you talking about?"

"The one Laurie had stolen from my mother." She saw the look of confusion on Eve's face. "Didn't you know about the necklace?"

Eve shook her head. It seemed that her mother had not thought it important enough to inform her of this major development. Then she remembered how busy and unapproachable she'd been lately and swallowed her annoyance.

"Karen got it back from Laurie, and your mother came to my apartment the other day and wanted to know if I'd seen it before," Liz explained.

"And had you?"

Liz nodded. "My mother always carried it with her wherever she went. And then one day, she didn't have it anymore. I thought she'd lost it." She glanced at Eve, who was visibly shaken. "What's wrong, Eve?"

"Earlier tonight, I'd got a call from the Foundation. My godmother's friend, Sigi, was rambling on about how she'd told her son not to hurt my mother."

"What was she talking about?"

"At that point, I wasn't even sure if she was lucid." Eve shrugged her shoulders. "Anyway, when I asked why her son would want to hurt my mother, she mentioned something about Kate knowing about the necklace."

"That's too much of a coincidence, don't you think?"

Eve nodded. "She also mentioned something about a Maria."

Liz looked at her wide-eyed. "As in _my_ mother?"

"I'm not sure." Eve had her suspicions, but didn't want to say anything more to the young woman until she'd spoken with her mother. Picking up her handbag, she searched for her cell phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"The Foundation," Eve answered. "I want to know who Sigi's son is." She dialed the number for the Foundation. It rang about eight times before the voicemail clicked in. "Damn!" Eve disconnected the call in frustration.

### CHAPTER 42

Kate must have hit the back of her head from the force of Leo's blow and had fallen unconscious. When she came to, she tasted blood in the back of her throat and watched longingly as Leo unscrewed a bottle of water and drank thirstily.

"Give me some," Kate demanded.

He ignored her.

"Please!" she asked through gritted teeth.

He brought the bottle over to her.

"Untie me so I can drink."

"I don't want to touch you," he told her. Standing above her, he tipped the remaining contents of the bottle over her face.

She choked as the water went down her nose and into her throat. "You're not going to get away with this," she sputtered.

Leo pulled his chair over and sat down. He tilted his head, staring at her intently.

"What are you looking at?" she asked.

"I always wondered what you really looked like," he stated, "and whether she took after you or my father."

"Who?" Kate asked.

"Mother fell in love with her golden curls and big blue eyes, you know," he told her, laughing without mirth. "She used to call Maria _her angel_."

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Kate's headache worsened as she tried to make sense of what he was saying.

"My brother and I thought the whole thing was pretty ironic."

"What was?"

"The fact that Father was a Nazi and Mother was half Jewish."

Kate said nothing; there was no point in antagonizing him.

"Mother would've been better off if she had gone on thinking that Father had been nothing more than a drunken womanizer." He stood up, nearly toppling over his chair. "But no. He was a Nazi killer and a rapist, and thanks to your bastard child, it soon infected our whole family."

"What are you talking about?" Kate's world started spinning as the tears unwittingly sprung to her eyes.

"Who," he corrected her automatically. "I was talking about Sonja."

"How did you know what Sonja looked like?" she whispered.

"Irving and I both wanted her dead at first." His eyes were soulless as they stared at her. "But no, Mother wanted that little girl, retarded or not," he continued to rant, "and what Sigi wanted, Sigi got."

" _Sigi!"_ Kate was stunned. "The Sigi at the Foundation _is your mother?_ "

"She thought money could buy everything." He stopped pacing and grinned at her like a lunatic. "And it did."

"What do you mean?"

"She bought MacGuyver off, and he was only too willing to find a corpse for that explosion while Mother dearest got to keep your precious daughter."

" _Dr. MacGuyver!_ " Kate's brain reeled with shock. "Are you saying that... Sonja didn't die... that day?"

"Die?" His eyes grew cold with hate as he made for the doorway. "Sonja was reborn... as my Maria."

* * *

"Old Irving certainly knows how to live in style," Eve commented as Paul's car entered through the ornate gates before stopping in front of an impressive-looking mansion.

Paul glanced at Eve in the passenger seat. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Keep in mind that Irving doesn't respond well to threats or coercion, so we're going to have to take things lightly, okay?" He regarded Eve through veiled lids. "Maybe it would be better if you stayed in the car while I talked to him."

"No." Eve's voice was firm. "I'm going in with you."

He sighed as he saw the rigid set of her shoulders. "Let's go then." He led the way to the front door and rang the doorbell. A moment later, the door was answered by a young maid.

"May I help you?" she asked politely. Her English was good, a surprise in L.A., where much of the staffing came from the Mexican and South American immigrant population.

"I'm Paul Wagner, a business associate of Mr. Johnson's. I was told by the studio that Mr. Johnson is working from home today." Paul cleared his throat, laying on the charm. "I'd like to speak with him, if I may."

"Please come in," she told him. "I'll go tell Mr. Johnson that you're here."

They were left standing in the vast hallway while the maid went to announce the guests. She was back a few minutes later.

"Mr. Johnson will see you in his study," she told them. "Please follow me."

They followed the maid through the cavernous home—elegantly appointed, no doubt by some famous interior designer—to the study. It was an impressive room paneled in rich mahogany, lined from floor to ceiling with an equally impressive array of richly-bound books, many of them first editions. Eve was willing to bet the books had probably never been read.

"Paul, Ms. Stanton!" Irving Johnson stood up to shake their hands. "What a pleasant surprise."

He was casually dressed in shirt and slacks, his sleeves rolled up. The desk was littered with papers and files, and his laptop and desktop were both on. The clutter on his desk and the two computers emphasized the obvious: Irving Johnson was a busy man.

"May I offer you some refreshments?" he asked politely, slipping into his role of the perfect host. "Some coffee, perhaps."

"We're good, thanks," Paul replied for the both of them. "Eve and I can see you're busy, so we won't take up too much of your time."

Irving smiled expansively. "My wife was feeling under the weather today. I wanted to be near in case she needed me."

Paul got straight to the point. "Irving, have you heard from your brother lately?"

"Leo?" He looked at Paul in surprise. "I haven't spoken to my half-brother in years. Why are you asking me about him?"

Eve spoke up, "Several months ago, a homeless woman was killed by a hit and run driver. You may have heard about it on the news."

Irving leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin intently. "Yes, I seem to recall hearing something about it."

"The car used in her hit and run belonged to a man called Paco Ramierez," Eve continued, carefully watching Irving's face. "Mr. Ramierez was a former employee of your brother's."

"So you think there's some connection between my half-brother's ex-employee and this woman's death?" Irving asked in disbelief. "I'm not sure what this has to do with Leo or either one of you, quite frankly."

Paul chose his next words carefully. "Forensics found a piece of torn photograph stuck to the side of the driver's seat cushion that had both the dead woman's fingerprints on it as well as your stepbrother's."

"And now my mother's missing, and Sigi seems to think that Leo may have had something to do with it," Eve added.

Leo's carefully schooled features were unreadable as he stared at Eve. "How is it that you happened to speak with my mother?"

Eve met his gaze head-on. "Sigi had been asking for my mother, and when the Foundation couldn't locate her, they called me instead."

"I see." Those two words carried a great deal of meaning. It was as if Irving Johnson now recognized the brevity of the situation. "As you may or may not know, my half-brother and I have never been close," he told them. "Unfortunately, we pretty much severed all ties to each other when we had a falling out a number of years ago."

"Over your wife," Paul noted.

Irving's features became guarded, less cordial. "Yes."

"Perhaps he's spoken to your wife recently?" Eve asked helpfully.

"I doubt that very much."

"Maybe we could ask her?" she pressed.

"As I said before, Livy's under the weather," he told them firmly, "so I'm afraid she's not up to speaking with anyone."

"We can come back later," Paul offered, equally firm.

Irving stood up, his face an unreadable mask. "I'm afraid I've got to get back to work now. One of the maids will show you out."

"That's all right, Irving, I'll speak to them."

At the sound of the woman's voice, they all turned toward the study door. If Irving Johnson's wife was feeling under the weather, she certainly didn't show it. She was probably in her late fifties, but carried it very well. Soot-black hair was secured at the nape of her neck and her thin form was sheathed in a silk dressing gown.

Irving got up and went to his wife, the concern apparent in his eyes. "Livy, what are you doing out of bed? I thought we agreed that you were going to rest today."

"Stop fussing, Irving," she told him impatiently.

"Mrs. Johnson, has your ex-husband contacted you recently?" Eve asked, skipping all efforts at decorum.

"Yes, he did." She hesitated for a moment, not meeting her husband's gaze. "He called yesterday."

Irving was taken aback. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you would've been upset," she told him, her hands clenched together in agitation. "I hadn't heard from Leo in years, and then suddenly, out of the blue, he calls."

"What did he want?" Paul asked, unconsciously perched on the edge of his chair.

"At first, I wasn't sure," she admitted. "I thought he'd been drinking because nothing he said made any sense to me."

"What exactly did he say?" Eve prompted her.

Olivia Johnson began pacing the room. "He rambled on about us being together again. Then he talked about our baby—" She forced back a sob with the back of her hand and refused to let Irving comfort her. "And then he said something about meeting up with me at the palace with the swans." She looked at them in confusion. "I had no idea what he was talking about. Like I said, I thought he was drunk."

"Are you sure that's what he said?" Irving asked skeptically.

She nodded, clearly perplexed. "Is Leo in some kind of trouble?"

No one said anything.

"Oh my God, what has Leo done?"

"We believe your ex-husband may have been involved in the hit and run death of a homeless woman a few months back," Eve told her.

The older woman slid onto a settee, a stricken look on her face.

"There was an article in _Variety_ yesterday," Irving announced suddenly, "about my purchasing the Swanson Estate for Reinhart."

"And the grounds of the estate have swans," Paul remarked somberly.

"That's it! That's the place where Leo wanted me to meet him... at the Swanson Estate," she confirmed.

"When?" Eve asked, urgency adding a sharpness to her voice.

Olivia Johnson's voice was barely above a whisper when she replied, "Later today."

### CHAPTER 43

"The property's monitored by closed circuit television, both the grounds as well as the entrance," Paul told the small group gathered around a blueprint of the Swanson Estate.

"We'll have to assume he took out the security guard and that he's monitoring the feed," Warner told them grimly.

Cassidy was equally glum. "And with 32,000 square feet of space to play with, where would he hide them?"

They were silent as they stared broodingly at the blueprint. They were in the mobile command unit down the street from the Swanson Estate. Eve was verging on the brink of exhaustion, yet fought for control.

"I say we lead a frontal attack through the main gate," suggested the commander of the special task force. "We can be in the house in a matter of minutes."

"You still wouldn't know where to look and my mother could be dead by the time your men were able to reach her," Eve reasoned.

"I agree with Eve." Paul stared at the blueprints of the house. "It would be too risky."

"You've got to do something." Eric looked at the two detectives worriedly. "Our baby's life is at stake, not to mention the fate of the mother's."

"We're doing everything we can, Dr. Devane," Warner reassured him automatically.

"Let's assume he's monitoring the security cameras," the team commander speculated. "He would have to have his hostages close enough to keep an eye on them as well as the security cameras." He looked at Paul. "That narrows the playing field down, doesn't it?"

Paul scanned the blueprint, pointing to the north end of the house. "The security monitoring station is here," he told them. "The closest possibilities would be the north kitchen, the wine cellar, the screening room, or the bowling alley." He looked at Eve. "The kitchen's too open, but any one of the other three would be within easy access to the monitoring station."

"How many levels are we talking about?" Warner inquired.

"Two," replied Eve. "The security room is on the main level, as is the bowling alley, but the wine cellar and screening room are on the lower level of the house." When the others looked at her in surprise, she was quick to add, "I was the listing agent on the property."

Cassidy, who'd been studying the map, looked up thoughtfully. "There are no cameras inside, right?"

Paul shook his head.

"Well, what if we drop two teams onto the roof and have them go in through the upper floor? One group can do a systematic sweep while the other group does a search of the bowling alley, the wine cellar, and the screening room," Cassidy continued.

"It's a possibility." The team commander rubbed the stubble on his chin. "But my men would need time to bypass the alarm," the commander reminded them.

"How much time?" Warner questioned.

"No more than a few minutes."

"Are you talking about a diversion of some kind?" Paul asked.

Warner nodded. "And I think I've got just the right diversion," Warner announced. He turned to his partner. "Get Olivia Johnson on the phone."

"Commander, you'd better come and take a look at this," one of the technicians suddenly exclaimed. "I think we've got a problem."

All of them crowded around the television monitor before letting out a collective groan. News crews and photographers were setting up along the perimeter of the street, just down from their trailer.

"Damn!" the team commander swore under his breath. He turned to Warner. "We've no time to lose!"

* * *

"Your mother had no right to take Sonja!" Kate spat at him when he came back into the room. This was the fifth time he'd disappeared and come back. She suspected that he was on the lookout for the police. "She was my daughter and I loved her!"

"You dumb bitch!" He slapped her face with a vicious backhand. "You just don't get it, do you? Had you kept her, she would have continued to pose a threat to the precious Weaver coffers and my brother's pathetic political career."

"I didn't give a damn about your family's money," Kate told him, tasting blood in the back of her throat. "All I wanted was for Karl Bauer to own up to what he had done."

"And what an incestuous lot we are! Father had you, and then he and Irving fucked you. You had Maria, and then I fucked her." He laughed hysterically. "Nothing like keeping it all in the family—"

"No!" Kate stared at Leo in horror as the significance of what he just said sunk into her weary brain. "Then that means that Liz— _You sick, perverted animal—Maria—that was my Sonja!"_ Kate had reached the end of her limit as devastation engulfed her.

Rina suddenly grunted several times in rapid succession through the tape covering her mouth. Leo went over and checked between her legs. He began undoing his belt buckle.

Kate barely noticed.

"The head has crowned," he told her in a monotone. "I need to get ready." He pulled off his shirt, followed by his pants. When he went to remove his underwear, Kate tried turning her head, but that proved futile when he came and stood directly in front of her, grabbing a fistful of her hair so that her face was directly in his crotch. There was a purple rope tied around his scrotum and penis that restricted their circulation, making them bulge against their binding.

His attention was suddenly claimed by the strange primeval noises coming from Rina. Her breathing was ragged as she fought for air in between each contraction. Her heaving body contorted as it struggled to deliver the life inside of her.

"Look, she's about to give birth," Kate implored halfheartedly. "Untie me so I can help her!"

"No!" he barked. "I don't want you touching that baby."

The baby's head was almost entirely through her vaginal opening as Leo slipped an armband on. The cap soon followed. "I'm ready now."

Kate shook her head in horror. The armband had a swastika and the cap was part of a uniform worn by Nazi soldiers. "You're crazy," she whispered in fear.

He went to the basin under Rina's feet where her fluids were collecting. Dipping his fingers into the bloody liquid, he stood in front of Kate and imprisoned her head while drawing the outline of a swastika on her forehead. "Our father was a Nazi. We're part Nazi. You can no more deny that than I can—"

"Don't you dare include me in your twisted perversions!"

He ignored her outburst. "This child will soon be our salvation." The look he gave her wasn't human when he briefly touched his swollen genitals.

The room filled with a series of deep-throated grunts as Rina began bearing down. Leo put on a pair of latex gloves and picked up the hunting knife lying on the table.

"What are you going to do with that?" Kate demanded.

Leo ignored her question as he went and squatted behind Rina, his hand cupping the back of the baby's bloodied head. Two more primeval grunts were torn from Rina's throat before the tiny human was thrust from between Rina's legs in a bloody gush of fluid, directly into Leo's hands.

"It's a boy." It was a statement devoid of any emotion.

Kate held her breath, fearing he would drop the baby. It was slick with mucus and blood, and he struggled to get a hold of it. Taking the knife at his side, he cut the umbilical cord after tying off the baby's end with a shoelace he'd pulled from his sneaker. Opening the baby's airways with some Q-tips, he carried it over to the small table. He wiped it with a length of paper towel before wrapping the baby in an old dish towel he'd found in a corner of the cellar.

Whether Rina had been aware of the fact that she had just delivered a boy was difficult to tell. Her head was slumped forward, her eyes closed, in a semi-conscious state as exhaustion overtook her.

"Rina, hold on," Kate cried, hoping to get her attention. She turned to her captor. "She's had the baby, now let her go."

"It's not your choice to make," Leo told her as he counted the baby's fingers and toes.

"You talk about salvation," Kate spat out at him, "yet you're willing to let the source of your salvation die!"

This seemed to get his attention. "You have it wrong, Sister Kate." He pointed a finger at Rina's semi-conscious form. "She's not the source of our salvation." Before Kate realized what he was about to do, he took the knife and plunged it into Rina's stomach. "She was merely the instrument to achieve it!"

" _No!_ "

Unfortunately, it was too late. Rina's body jerked twice before going limp. Her eyes stared back at Kate unseeingly. In the space of a few short minutes, Rina was dead.

"You animal!"

"Why? Because I killed her?" he asked. "I'm no more crazy than you were when you did it."

Kate went still. "What are you talking about?"

"I was there that night you came to our house to see Father." Leo's eyes gazed at her unseeingly. "The bastard was drunk, as usual. Neither one of you saw me on the other side of the library door." His eyes suddenly focused and stared at Kate with laser-like precision. "I saw you pin him down until he choked on his own vomit."

As his words sunk in, Kate began to shake. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

He leaned forward until he was less than an inch from her face. "Don't worry, Kate. Your secret's safe with me." Reaching for the baby, he gently pulled out the baby's left arm.

"If you hurt that baby, I'll kill you!" Kate yelled, to no avail.

Using the sharp blade of his hunting knife, he gently punctured the baby's delicate skin, making it bleed. He smiled in satisfaction. Removing his gloves, he dipped his finger into the blood before walking over to Kate. "Exorcizo te, creatura aquae, in nominee Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in nominee Jesu Christi, Filii ejus Domini nostri." Very carefully, he drew the symbol of a cross over the dried swastika on her forehead. He stood back to admire the effect. "Be patient, Sister Kate. Salvation is within our reach."

The time for screaming had long passed. Kate knew for certain it was only a matter of time before she met the same fate as Rina. Strangely enough, she no longer cared. She had lost the will to live.

### CHAPTER 44

" _What do you mean the police can't find her?_ " Eve asked in desperation.

Paul shrugged. "Warner says she told her maid she was going out, but didn't say where."

"This is insane!" Eve's shoulders slumped forward as she cradled her head in her hands. "My mother's life is riding on Olivia Johnson and she's all but disappeared." She looked at Paul. "I don't suppose she's answering her cell phone."

"I doubt it." Paul rubbed wearily at the day-old stubble covering his chin. "I have a feeling old Irving has probably hidden her away somewhere far from her brother's reach."

Eve, Paul, Liz, and Otis were sitting in Paul's car, grateful to be out of the small confines of the command center trailer. The stress had taken its toll on Eric, and Brooke had driven him home despite his protests.

"We're wasting precious time waiting around while they try to track her down," Eve remarked bitterly. "Especially if she's in hiding."

"And all Leo has to do is turn on a television and see all the cameras and reporters outside the gate," Liz added.

"Maybe the cops have another plan," Otis suggested, "or maybe we need to come up with one."

"Like what?" Liz and Eve asked in unison.

"Creating a _different_ diversion," he answered.

"Any ideas?" Paul asked.

"What about going through the service entrance at the back?"

Paul gave him a suspicious look. "How do you know about the service entrance?"

"Where else do you put out the trash?" he asked reasonably. "When I first came to this town, I used to go through people's trash to make some extra dough. Did you know your neighbor two doors down is a rock star with amazing garbage? I could probably make a fortune on eBay hawking his used condoms alone."

Paul was quick to interrupt. "I think we get the picture."

Otis' idea had set the wheels in motion in Eve's mind. "I think Otis may be on to something."

"About the service entrance?" Liz inquired.

Eve nodded. "Right beside the service entrance is that huge walnut tree," Eve told Paul. "Do you know the one I'm talking about?"

"I think so."

"If we were to scale the wall in front of it, it should give us enough cover, don't you think?" she asked, warming to her idea.

"And what would we do once we scaled the wall?" he asked skeptically.

"The gardener's work shed is right beside it," she told them excitedly.

"So?"

"Inside the shed is the golf cart your gardeners use along with the remote control for the cart."

"You mean use the cart to create a diversion." Paul finally caught on. "That might just work."

"I was also thinking about the alarm," Eve continued. "The task force wouldn't have to deal with neutralizing the alarm if we were to shut it off from the inside."

Paul's brow shot upward. "And how do you propose we do that?"

"By getting in through the doggie door in the north kitchen," she replied.

He shook his head immediately. "No way. That opening is much too small for anyone to fit through."

She turned to Liz. "Liz could probably fit through it."

Paul shook his head slowly. "I want your mother back as much as you do, but that's simply too risky."

Her earlier fatigue forgotten, Eve became animated as she warmed to her plan. "It's not that risky. You give Liz the security code. She slips in and deactivates the alarm before opening the kitchen door and we're in." She smiled at them triumphantly. "It's that simple."

"It's never _that_ simple," Paul argued. "We don't know what we're up against. For all we know, this nutcase could have each entrance in the house booby-trapped." His blue eyes locked into her stormy ones. "We'd be taking too big a risk. Besides, you haven't even asked Liz if she'd do it."

Three pairs of eyes turned to Liz.

"I'm willing to give it a shot."

Eve searched the young woman's features. "Are you sure, Liz? Paul's right. It's a huge risk."

She nodded.

Eve turned to Paul triumphantly. "Can you think of a better plan?"

His silence gave her the answer she needed.

* * *

Leo had been gone for a long time, or so Kate thought. The baby's incessant crying earlier had kept her alert, but he'd been quiet for quite some time now. She wasn't sure how long she'd been drifting in and out of consciousness, especially since the throbbing inside her head had become much worse.

"Baby, cry or do something," she cooed. "Let me know you're okay."

There was only silence from the small bundle.

_What if Leo had hurt the boy?_ Kate couldn't tell from her vantage point whether the baby was even breathing, but she knew she couldn't let him die. If only every bone in Kate's body didn't ache. It would've been so much easier to just close her eyes and float away. Her head flopped to one side, her eyes coming in contact with Rina's limp body. The blood had stopped flowing from the wound in her stomach and small rivulets had coagulated into her pubic hair and down the front of her thighs. Her remains were like a macabre three-dimensional painting wrought by the madman that had imprisoned her. Somehow, Rina's mutilated body gave Kate the strength to attack the bindings at her wrists with renewed vigor.

Her wrists were chafed and sore from the tightness of the rope, but after years of playing the piano, her hands and fingers were still fairly nimble. Kate twisted and turned them, slowly loosening the bindings. She gave a small cry of triumph as she slipped her thumb and index finger free. A minute later, her left hand was out, followed quickly by her right hand.

She managed to get herself up onto her knees, but they immediately threatened to buckle under her. She grabbed on to the post for support, unprepared for the nausea that assailed her. It eventually subsided, allowing her to stand up slowly. She listened for the sound of Leo's footsteps but didn't hear anything. Overcome by the shakes, Kate painstakingly made her way over to the baby. _It looked as though the baby was dead!_ Putting her ear to the baby's mouth, she heard his shallow breathing and knew she had to get him to a hospital quickly.

Scooping him up with shaking hands, Kate fervently prayed he wouldn't pick that moment to start crying, but he barely whimpered. Propped up against one of the shelves, she spied what looked like an old paddle, except that the paddle part was made from metal. Holding the baby in one arm, she tucked the paddle under her armpit, using it as a crutch. Awkwardly making her way over to the door, Kate stuck her head out, scanning both ends of the hallway. It was empty. She closed her eyes, praying for the strength to get them through this.

* * *

Paul was the first one over the fence, followed by Eve. Liz came a minute later. Directly in front of them was the ancient walnut tree.

"So far so good," Eve muttered.

"What now?" Liz asked.

"The garden shed is about a hundred yards away, give or take," he told them. "We'll have to make a run for it, one at a time, to the side of the shed closest to the fence. The security cameras don't get that angle." He looked at the two women grimly. "I'll go first, followed by you, Liz, and then Eve. Is everyone ready?"

They nodded.

Paul sprinted across the lawn and quickly made it to the shed. Somewhat out of breath, he motioned for Liz, who scurried gracefully across the lawn, followed a minute later by Eve, who tried the door. Thankfully, it was unlocked and the three of them slipped inside. In a matter of minutes, they located the remote for the golf cart.

Eve picked up the remote, looking at it dubiously.

"Do you know how to work that thing?" he asked.

"It's all in the wrist," she joked, feigning a confidence she was far from feeling.

The grooves around his mouth had deepened and he wiped at the sweat that had collected on his brow. "The way I see it, we've got about 500 yards from here to the north kitchen. Once Eve gets the golf cart going toward the south end, we make a dash for the kitchen door."

Liz nodded. "Got it."

Eve impulsively hugged Liz. "Thank you." Without waiting for her reply, Eve nodded to Paul. He pressed the door opener for the shed so Eve could maneuver the cart out. After a few failed attempts, she managed to figure out how the tiny gears worked and the cart was soon heading toward the south end of the property.

"Let's go!" He and Liz sprinted across the lawn. When they reached the kitchen door, Paul looked at the doggie door doubtfully. "It's going to be a tight squeeze."

"Just how tight, we'll have to see," Liz remarked as she got on her knees in front of the small hatch door.

"Wait!" Paul snuck his way over to the large kitchen window and peeked inside. There was no sign of life. "Okay, now!"

Liz lifted the hatch to the doggie door and slid in, feet first. When she was hip level, she became stuck.

Paul frowned, quickly assessing the problem. "Rotate your hips and slide in diagonally."

Liz nodded, managing to slip inside. Once inside the kitchen, she glanced around nervously. There was no sign of life. Seeing the keypad exactly where Paul said it would be, she punched in the code with shaking fingers. The screen display went from "alarmed" to "alarm de-activated". Breathing a sigh of relief, she quickly opened the kitchen door to let Paul in and pressed the button to open the main gate. Hopefully, Otis would have already alerted the task force.

Paul gave her a nod of approval. "Nice job."

"Now what?" she asked.

"Now you find Eve and the two of you get the hell out of here," he told her.

"I'm not leaving," Liz told him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Grabbing hold of her elbow in exasperation, he pulled her through the kitchen. "Come on, then. We've got little time to waste."

* * *

As Leo was about to leave the room, one of the screens monitoring the south quadrant caught his attention. Going in for a closer look, he shoved the dead security guard off the chair and sat down. Trying to ignore the throbbing in his brain, he stared closely at the screen, but he didn't see anything. His mind was probably playing tricks on him. About to turn, Leo saw it again. It was a golf cart, careening around the lawn, without a driver. He clutched his head in his hands.

"I know what you're up to, Father, but it won't work!"

_You are my son_.

Tears coursed down his cheeks. "Not for much longer!" he yelled at the screen. "There will soon be salvation for this sinner."

He stood up, his body swaying as he stared at the careening golf cart. His father was trying to exert his power over him, but this time he wouldn't allow it. The time for his salvation had arrived.

* * *

Paul tried to shield Liz's eyes from the gruesome sight of the dead security guard when they went inside the monitoring room, but he wasn't fast enough. Her scream was muffled by his chest.

"Is he dead?" she whispered.

Going over to the guard, he put a finger on the guard's neck, in search of a pulse. As he had suspected, there was none. The huge knife sticking out of his back had made sure of it. He shook his head.

Liz pointed to one of the monitors. The golf cart was careening wildly as it wove its way across the south lawn. A few seconds later, another monitor claimed their attention. It showed the main gate, now open. The task force was heading toward the front door.

"Let's go," he told Liz grimly. "There's nothing more we can do for him."

* * *

The staircase at the end of the hallway drew her like a magnet, and although Kate was tempted, she looked for an alternate escape route. Instead, she turned toward the wide doorway to her right, pushing open the pocket doors to reveal the screening room, complete with an old-fashioned popcorn maker in the corner. Frantically, she sought for places to hide, but there weren't any. She tried the projection room door, but it was locked. That meant the only way out was up the stairs.

Looking down at the baby, Kate noticed he looked a little blue around the lips and his breathing had become labored. His face was unnaturally cool to the touch, which worried her. She wrapped the old dish towel more tightly around his tiny body, determined to get him to safety. Making her way to the staircase, Kate glanced at the winding stairs. Leo was nowhere in sight. Grasping the banister, she pulled herself up, one stair at a time, keeping the baby as well as the paddle close to her body. She held her breath, hoping the stairs wouldn't creak, giving her away. At the top of the landing, she saw the painting and recognition immediately dawned on Kate. She was inside the Swanson Estate.

* * *

He saw Kate reflected in the beveled glass of the French door. She had the baby with her. _His_ baby. She had no right to take that baby away from him.

_There will be no salvation for you, son_.

"Shut up, Father!" he whispered, shaking his head to rid himself of his father's voice. "My soul will be pure."

_Never!_

"Once I've been anointed with the newborn's blood, I shall have won, Father."

The thought of his imminent salvation propelled him forward. With lightning speed, he tore through the living room, the kitchen knife clutched in his hand. His one arm came around Kate's neck, while the other pointed the tip of the blade against the other side of her exposed throat.

"You stupid bitch!" he hissed. "You can't get away from me!"

* * *

The force of his body almost caused Kate to drop the baby, but at least the baby had whimpered. It meant he was still alive.

"Please, Leo," she begged. "The baby's sick. He's got to get to a hospital."

"Don't worry, Sister Kate," he reassured her. "The baby will soon be with God."

He was crazy; Kate was convinced of it. The soulless eyes that stared at her were insane. And to make matters worse, the baby was quiet again. Her foot felt around for the paddle that had been knocked from underneath her. Out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw that it had skidded across the hardwood floor. Blackness threatened to overtake her vision and the pressure of the knife tip against her throat increased. Kate closed her eyes, hoping she would lose consciousness before he plunged the knife into her throat.

* * *

Paul grabbed Leo from behind, trying to loosen his grip on the knife against Kate's throat. The knife clattered to the floor and Kate slid down after it, still hanging on to the baby.

"Grab the knife!" Paul yelled to Liz, as he and Leo struggled. Although Paul was taller than his adversary, Leo had the speed and agility of a younger man.

Liz was trying to pull Kate and the baby out of harm's way. "I don't see it!" Frantically searching the floor, she saw that the knife had slid underneath an armoire. It was just out of reach. Spying Kate's paddle, she grabbed it and used it to get at the knife.

"Liz, watch out!"

Paul's warning came too late. Liz felt her body being lifted and twisted like a rag doll until she was lying on her back with Leo on top of her. Very briefly, their eyes met and fused. Recognition in his; shock in hers.

"You were never mine!" he screamed.

"No!" As his hand reared back to strike her, Liz plunged the knife deep into his chest.

By the time the task force made their way inside with a frantic Eve on their heels, it was all over. Leo Bauer's salvation had been immediate.

### CHAPTER 45

Irving Johnson's car was spotted by a motorist on the San Diego Freeway. The motorist contacted a local news station, who in turn contacted the authorities. Soon, there were several choppers in the air, faithfully videotaping Irving's attempted exodus from the United States. The story of his brother's death and Irving's flight from L.A. were documented by news stations around the world, and CNN's coverage of the story was ongoing. By the time Irving Johnson was finally arrested trying to enter Tijuana, every working television in most department stores and retail stores across America were tuned in to the developing story. This was the hottest thing to hit L.A. since O.J.'s famous ride in the white Bronco back in the nineties.

While L.A. prepared for the trial of the century, Irving continued to profess his innocence, although the prosecutor's office wasn't buying into it. It wasn't long before someone from the prosecutor's office leaked to the media that their star witness was going to be none other than Irving's soon to be ex-wife, who coincidentally happened to have been previously married to his dead brother. Olivia Johnson's very powerful and very high-priced defense attorney had arranged for her to testify for the state in exchange for immunity, while her divorce attorney, James Pontano, Esquire of the Law Offices of Pontano, Rosenberg, Felder & Copps P.C. had assured her she'd come out of her divorce a very rich woman. Revenge was certainly bittersweet.

* * *

Sigourney Krantz Johnson was spared from learning the fate of her two sons. When Detectives Warner and Cassidy arrived at the Foundation to arrest her, they found her already dead. Her oxygen had been shut off and the tube that carried the oxygen to her nose had been placed carefully on top of it. Dickie's body was lying alongside hers, clutching her hand. The empty pill bottle beside her bed bore testament to his suicide. The note under the pill bottle put the whole tragic event into perspective. It was written in her husband's shaky scrawl and got straight to the point. "Peace at last." Neither detective could argue with that.

* * *

Karen was still trying to get her head around everything that had happened recently. Her mother was okay, her dad and Brooke now had a baby boy, her grandmother was on the mend, and it looked like she and this Paul guy had a permanent case of the hots for each other. Even more amazing was the fact that the crazy woman whose death she'd witnessed had actually been her aunt, which made Liz her cousin. Now _that_ took some getting used to!

She pulled up in front of Liz's apartment building. Liz was already waiting for her in the lobby.

"Hey," she managed by way of greeting.

"Hey yourself," Liz responded nervously. "How's your shoulder?"

"A couple more rounds of physio and I should be as good as new," Karen replied. She looked at Liz with approval. "Your hair looks good."

"Thanks," she replied. "I get tired of wearing it down all the time."

"Have you ever thought of wearing it in a French braid?"

Liz shook her head. "I don't know how to do a French braid."

"I do," Karen announced. "Turn around."

"We can't do it here, in the lobby!" Liz looked mortified.

"Okay," Karen compromised, "then we'll do it in the parking lot." Without further ado, she grabbed Liz by the hand and led her out to the parking lot. Pushing Liz onto the curb, Karen unraveled her hair.

"I feel ridiculous," Liz muttered, glancing around furtively to make sure none of the other tenants saw them.

In what seemed like a matter of minutes, Karen was done. "You look amazing!" She rooted around in her purse for a mirror.

Between both of their mirrors, Liz was able to see the effect. "It actually _does_ look good. Can you teach me to do that?"

"Sure." She tried to act casual. "Do you think your boyfriend's ever going to like me?"

"Otis isn't my boyfriend," Liz quickly denied.

"What's _wrong_ with you?" Karen asked, staring at her as if she was an idiot. "It's obvious he's nuts about you."

"You think?" Liz slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

"Oh my God, are you two blind or what?" Karen muttered under her breath.

"By the way, he thought you were a spoiled rich bitch."

"What gave him _that_ idea?"

Liz grimaced. "Anyway, I think he's warming up to you, though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

For the rest of the ride, Karen had this crazy grin plastered on her face.

* * *

Thanks to her ordeal, Kate had suffered a serious concussion and severe dehydration. She had also shattered her hip bone when she'd fallen to the floor and needed surgery to insert pins to hold her hip in place. Eve suspected that although her mother looked as though she was finally on the mend physically, the psychological scars would probably never heal.

They were closer than ever, if such a thing was possible. Her mother had finally opened up to her about the circumstances of her birth, the violent death of her own mother, her father and Irving's rape, as well as the birth and death of Sonja.

"Did Dad know about Sonja?" Eve asked, gazing down at the new headstone marking the life and death of the sister she had never known. Kate had the old headstone replaced when Liz had suggested that her mother's ashes be buried in Sonja's burial plot.

Kate nodded. "Your father was one in a million, honey. He never judged me or thought any less of me."

"And why should he?" Eve cried, giving her mother a quick hug. "Being raped by your own father was hardly your fault."

"Maybe so," Kate acquiesced, "but some men wouldn't have looked at it that way."

"Isn't it about time you cut yourself some slack?"

"Maybe," her mother conceded brusquely, "but when I think that after all this time, Sonja was still alive and probably reaching out to me—" Her voice broke. "And we'll never know why she wanted the milk." She looked at her daughter, horrified. "You don't suppose she had another baby, do you?"

Eve was quick to reassure her. "Come on, Mom. It could've been for a stray kitten, for all we know."

Kate nodded absentmindedly before slowly walking away from the gravesite.

Eve left her alone, choosing to sit on the small stone bench close by. Kate came back a few minutes later and began pulling the odd stray weed from around the headstone.

Eve finally voiced the question that had been bothering her for quite some time. "Mom, do you suppose Esther knew what Sigi had done?"

Kate slowly straightened up, careful not to put too much pressure on her damaged hip. "How could Esther have known? To my knowledge, Sigi certainly never talked about her former life, and I never told anyone about Sonja except for your father and my old agent."

Eve was saved from responding by the sound of her daughter's voice.

"Grams!" Karen cried, rushing up with Liz to give her grandmother a hug. "What are you guys doing here?"

"What does it look like we're doing?" her grandmother asked gruffly. "The weeds don't pull themselves, you know." She hugged both girls, happier now that they had come.

"We can do that," Liz offered. "I like working in the garden."

Karen became transfixed by the headstone. It had two pictures on it; one being a duplicate of the angelic cherub from Kate's necklace, and the other was a picture Liz had taken of her mother not long after Maria had been released into her care. In between the two pictures was the poem Liz had written:

Maria's mind meandered freely,

searching for that special place;

neither happy nor unhappy.

The awkward stares and merciless taunts,

were deflected by a cocoon of oblivion.

There was sweet solace in oblivion,

where her mind and spirit were free.

Therein lay the feeble pulse

that was the enigma of Maria's existence,

until her mind meandered freely

once again to that special place,

Neither happy nor unhappy...

In that split second, Karen became overwhelmed by a profound sense of remorse... and of loss. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she sank to her knees, her head bowed.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered through her tears.

Liz knelt down beside her. "We all are."

There was a bittersweet smile on Kate's face as she watched her two grandchildren. "At least one very good thing has come out of all this."

Eve followed her mother's gaze. She couldn't have agreed more.

* * *

It was an intimate gathering, just a hundred or so of their closest family and friends. Eve sat in the front pew, beaming proudly as Kate came down the aisle, glowing as a bride should on her wedding day. She was preceded by Karen, her maid of honor, and her bridesmaid, Liz. Paul was beaming from ear to ear. Otis, serving as his best man, looked more nervous than he did.

When the minister asked if Kate took Paul to be her lawfully wedded husband, the hush was tangible until a baby let out a lusty wail, drowning out Kate's response. The entire congregation chuckled indulgently. The ceremony was able to resume once Eric had retrieved a bottle of formula from the diaper bag so Brooke could feed their hungry son.

Kate spent their honeymoon moving into the Swanson Estate, Paul's wedding gift to her. As Kate walked through her new home, she felt complete. With her new husband and the nightmare of the past few months behind her, her life had almost come full circle. However, Paul was about to find out, she still had one more surprise up her sleeve. She just hoped her new husband was up for the challenge...
Dear Readers,

I hope you enjoyed reading TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE. The inspiration for this book came in a roundabout way. One day, there was a documentary on the History channel that caught my attention. It was based on the Lebensborn war children; children sired by Nazi soldiers and officers while their mothers were genetically-viable blonde-haired, blue-eyed women, mostly of Scandinavian descent. It was Hitler's intention that these Lebensborn children would be the Nazi master race of the future but that plan abruptly fell apart when the Second World War ended. These children and their mothers were suddenly cast adrift with nowhere to go. Germany considered them an embarrassment and didn't want them and the families these women had come from no longer wanted them either. Many of the children were thrown into mental institutions while their mothers were treated as traitors and ostracized for the rest of their lives. A few of these war children managed to overcome their adversities and grew up to become famous like the musician, Eric Clapton, as well as Ani-Frid Lyngstad, one of the singers from the Swedish pop group, ABBA. I thought this lesser-known aspect of the Second World War would make for an interesting and powerful back story to my book. Incidentally, Ani-Frid Lyngstad, who's now a real-life princess, became the inspiration for the character of Kate Stanton.

When I began writing TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE, it never occurred to me that Katya Holberg a.k.a. Kate Stanton would end up becoming the title character in a series of mystery books. It was only after receiving emails from readers asking if I was ever planning on writing more books based on Kate Stanton that I thought of developing her character into a series and that's how the Kate Stanton Hollywood Mystery Series was eventually born.

How to best describe the series? One reviewer recently called it "the perfect mystery reader Cosmo – one part whodunit with a double shot of Hollywood glam". I think that's a great description but I'll let you judge for yourselves. What follows are excerpts from the other books in the Kate Stanton Hollywood Mystery Series. If you like the excerpts, you can find a list of all my books on my website at <http://martatandori.com/books/> together with "buy links" for the various retailers selling them. And if you like what you've read, don't be shy about it! Send me a message, post your reviews on book retailer sites, community forums, your blogs as well as book networking sites like Goodreads and LibraryThing and be sure to tell your friends about the Kate Stanton Hollywood Mystery series. After all, word of mouth is still one of the most powerful means of advertising out there!

Last but certainly not least – don't forget to sign up for my quarterly newsletter, _Tandori Tidbits_ , to find out what's new, what's up, what's gonna happen and most important of all...whodunit!

Wishing you all a heartfelt wonderful read,

Marta Tandori
THE TIES THAT BIND

A Kate Stanton Hollywood Mystery

Marta Tandori

Now for a preview of _THE TIES THAT BIND_ ,

Book #2 in the _Kate Stanton Hollywood Mystery_ series...

### CHAPTER 1

_1998_

_Colorado City, AZ_

The arid desert sun seared through Chaz Longo's clothing, scorching the flesh on the back of his neck, the only part of his body exposed to the sun. His undergarments clung to him, the collar and cuffs of his rigidly-buttoned shirt chafing the damp skin of his neck and wrists. Despite his discomfort, he drove each nail into the roof with a precision that came from years of Saturday afternoons spent working alongside the other men of the church, constructing halls and other public institutions; work the Prophet liked to call "building the Kingdom". Chaz stopped long enough to swipe at the sweat dripping down his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt before glancing over at his cousin, who was working a few feet away.

Casey stopped hammering and came over to where Chaz knelt, pulling in irritation at the collar of his buttoned shirt. "It must be over a hundred degrees today."

"At least as much." Chaz squinted up at the clear blue sky before his gaze swept over the majestic Vermillion Cliffs, which seemed to tower above the mostly plywood houses in various stages of completion. "As soon as we're done, we'll go look for some shade."

Casey acknowledged his comment with a nod, his eyes straying beyond the rooftops to the steer pens and the water just beyond his line of vision. "What I wouldn't give to take off my clothes and go jump in the Crick right now." The "Crick" was what the residents of Colorado City called the creek that meandered through the center of their town.

"Watch what you're saying, Casey," Chaz warned his cousin. He glanced around them nervously to see if any of the others had overheard.

"Well, it's true," Casey insisted. "It's a wonder none of us have keeled over from the heat yet." At sixteen, he was a year younger than Chaz, but much more impetuous than his level-headed cousin.

"You know we can't be talking about stuff like that," Chaz insisted.

"I don't see why not," Casey persisted, "especially on a day as hot as today."

Chaz grinned, despite his discomfort. "At least we're not at my house, helping with the slaughter."

"The smell of scalded feathers is enough to make me sick." Casey wrinkled his nose in disgust. "How many are the women doing today?"

"Fifteen geese, twice as many ducks, and too many roosters to count," Chaz told him. "It usually takes the mothers two days to kill 'em, pluck 'em, gut 'em and freeze 'em."

"I don't see why I can't just shoot 'em," his cousin groused. "It would make the whole process go so much faster."

"I agree, especially with the way you shoot," Chaz conceded, "but you know as well as I do that you can't have buckshot spoiling the meat."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before." Casey's head gestured toward the road. "Speaking of mothers, here comes one of yours."

Chaz looked over the side of the roof as his mother pulled up in the family van and got out. The long prairie dress she wore was stained with poultry blood and wisps of her hair clung to her sweating face, having come loose from the usually neat plait on top of her head. Her once pretty face looked tired and swollen, signs his mother had not yet recovered from his newest sister's birth less than a month before.

Chaz scrambled down from the roof, with Casey on his heels. "Is something wrong, Mama?"

"Your father would like you to drive into St. George to get some more freezer bags and about four cases of mason jars," she explained as she handed him some money. "But you have to hurry back if we're going to finish everything by nightfall."

Chaz swallowed hard. "Can Casey come with me?"

"I suppose that would be all right." Chaz's mother gave Casey a tired smile. "I'll let the sister-wives know where you are."

"Thank you, ma'am."

They dropped off Chaz's mother at home. Turning onto the road heading out of town, Chaz and Casey were soon surrounded by sagebrush, red rock, and little else. Colorado City was situated in the chalky red desert, within spitting distance of the Grand Canyon and Zion National Park, along the boundless Arizona Strip. Their town and Hildale, about a mile away, straddled the Arizona-Utah border and were pretty much isolated from the rest of the world, which is how the towns wanted it. Strangers weren't welcome, and the few that managed to venture into either town never stayed very long, undoubtedly daunted by the "No Trespassing" signs posted everywhere.

To say the boys were elated at this unexpected outing couldn't have been further from the truth. Hardly any of the church members ever ventured outside of town. Women and children weren't allowed out on their own, and only the men left on a regular basis, with most of them working as truck drivers and construction workers in nearby Hurricane and St. George.

Although both boys had been to St. George with their families countless times over the years to stock up on diapers and other supplies, this was the first time they were going there on their own.

"At least Walmart has air conditioning," Chaz offered, as he stepped down hard on the gas pedal. Not getting a response, he turned and gaped at Casey as his cousin quickly pulled off his pants and began tugging impatiently at the buttons of his shirt.

" _What are you doing?_ "

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Casey was now shrugging out of his shirt, exposing the hated undergarment everyone over the age of eight was forced to wear. It covered his body from neck to wrist to ankle.

"You're crazy," Chaz muttered, glancing nervously into the rearview mirror.

"Who's going to know?" Casey triumphantly pulled his arms out of the constricting undergarment. Within seconds, he had shed the entire thing and threw it on the backseat. "I have no intention of going into St. George with sweat drippin' down my back."

"You're asking for trouble," Chaz muttered, looking away from his cousin's naked flesh in mortification.

"Why," Casey asked belligerently, "just because I'm defying the Prophet?" He had put on his pants and shirt again, deliberately rolling up his sleeves and leaving the two top buttons open on his shirt.

"Tommy Metcalfe got kicked out for wearing a short-sleeved shirt," Chaz reminded him. "His family barely got to say good-bye before the God Squad dropped him off outside of Hurricane."

"Just like an unwanted mutt," Casey remarked bitterly. He pulled an impatient hand through his sweaty hair before spitting out the window. "Quit pretending like it actually made a difference what he did."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Chaz asked.

"It means that it don't matter whether we walk around with our sleeves rolled up or we listen to music or talk to a girl. The bottom line is there's too many of us males and the Prophet will find any excuse to get rid of us."

"Quit talking crap!"

"I'm talking the honest-to-God plain truth." Casey's chin stubbornly shot out like it always did when he was mad about something. "Hasn't the Prophet taught us that a man's gotta have at least three wives and as many children to get to the Celestial Kingdom?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So do the math," Casey insisted. "If all of the older men like our fathers have three wives, and a lot of them have more than three, then there aren't enough women to go around for us younger ones. It only makes sense that the Prophet's gotta get rid of some of us. What did Carl Givers, Deke Blaisdell, Rory McQueen, or any of the others do that was so bad?" He didn't bother waiting for his cousin's response. "Absolutely nothing, if you ask me! There's no other reason that makes sense for them getting kicked out these last few months."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore." Casey's words upset him more than he liked to admit.

"Deny it all you want, but it don't change nothin'."

Chaz wished he could say something convincing to put both of their minds at rest, but in reality, he knew Casey was right. For the past few months, all of the young males in Colorado City were walking around on eggshells, worried they would be the next ones banished from their homes and families... all because they had broken one of the Prophet's countless—and oftentimes unreasonable—rules.

It wasn't until they pulled into the parking lot at Walmart that Chaz cut the engine and finally spoke up. "I'm kind of scared to go in," he admitted.

"There's nothing to be scared of." Despite his show of bravado, Casey's voice sounded a little shaky.

Chaz nodded, swallowing hard. "Let's go, then."

They were conscious of the curious stares and the occasional snickers as they marched into Walmart, like two young soldiers about to meet their fate on the battlefield. Having grown up within the rigid confines of Colorado City, Chaz and Casey were taught from birth that the outside world was wicked, and a town like St. George was Satan's territory, a hostile and terrible place populated by evildoers. Dressed in the starched shirts and unfashionable trousers the church dictated they wear, they both felt out of place amongst all the jeans and T-shirts. The girls, on the other hand, wore practically nothing at all. Chaz was fixated by their glowing, coppery skin, despite the Prophet's words echoing in his head, "All it takes to impregnate a girl is to look at her."

The blast of air conditioning hit them hard the minute they entered, and Chaz involuntarily shivered as the cool air dried his overheated body. They were immediately overwhelmed by the immensity of the store and all of the people rushing around, trying to get their Saturday shopping done.

Chaz cleared his throat nervously. "I think the jars are back there." He pointed to the section of the store marked "House Wares". Although both he and Casey had only gone to school until the eighth grade, Chaz's reading skills were much better than his cousin's.

Casey's eyes were fixed in a different direction. "Let's go that way first." He pointed in the general direction of electronics.

He was about to protest, but Chaz held his tongue and nodded, letting his cousin take the lead. Both of them stopped in front of a huge television screen where they stared in fascination at a cartoon showing three turtles carrying backpacks, obviously on their way to school.

"They're acting like people," Chaz remarked in wonderment.

"It ain't natural." Casey's voice was flat. "Let's go."

"Casey, look!" Chaz pointed to the next aisle that housed some neon-colored iPods inside a glass case. "Over there."

Turning into the aisle, they stopped short as they came face-to-face with a group of teenagers who looked to be a few years younger than they were.

One of the girls in the group pointed them out to her friends, "Hey, look at the Plygs!"

The guy closest to her sneered at Casey. "Whatcha do with your horns, Crick boy?"

Chaz felt Casey tense and put a restraining hand on his cousin's arm. "We don't want any trouble."

Another girl in their group piped up. "Is it true you Plygs take your retards out into the weeds and shoot 'em in the head?"

"We don't shoot anybody," Chaz told her through gritted teeth. Grabbing his cousin's arm, he pulled Casey away amid their jeers and nasty name-calling.

Casey turned on him the minute they were out of earshot. "Why'd you let them say those stupid things?"

"Because we're not here to fight," Chaz reminded him, "and we were outnumbered." He pointed to the section of the store where the house wares were sold. "The mason jars are over there. You stock up while I get the freezer bags."

Luckily, they were able to make it through the checkout and to the van without further incident. When they were on the road again, Casey finally gave vent to his anger. "They treated us like freaks!"

"They don't understand our way of life," Chaz explained to him.

"Most times _I_ don't understand our way of life," his cousin fumed. "Do you think those kids back there have to do morning marches and mandatory community cleanups? Do you think any one of those guys know a gnat's tick about framing, carpentry, plumbing, or roofing?" He shook his head, clearly not expecting Chaz to respond. "They probably get to watch television, go to movies, play sports, and listen to music that ain't spiritual."

Growing up as a member of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or FLDS, this was as normal a life as Chaz had ever known. Therefore, he was at a loss to come up with a response that would placate his cousin, so he simply stayed quiet until Casey ran out of steam.

Reaching into one of the shopping bags, Casey pulled out a flyer and began flipping through it.

"Where'd you get that?"

"I saw the cashier put it in the bag." Casey stopped at a page filled with women's bras and underwear, and stared at the pictures longingly. "Do you think all the girls have them?" he asked, pointing to a picture of a woman's breasts.

Chaz glanced over to where he was pointing and quickly looked away in embarrassment. He could feel his face turning hot. "I wouldn't know."

Casey sighed in frustration. "You're probably thinking there's no salvation for me."

"You're just mad about those kids." Chaz tried lightening the mood. "Don't let them get to you, okay?"

"Easy for you to say," Casey told him bleakly. "You're satisfied to let the Prophet rule your life. Well, I'm not! I'm gonna marry who I want, not who the Prophet chooses for me!"

"Have you got anyone in mind?"

He nodded. "Her name is Rebecca Jared."

Chaz was so surprised he almost drove off the gravel road into the ditch. "When did this happen?"

"We've been meeting in secret, out by the community corn field," Casey confided.

Chaz chose his next words carefully. "Does she know how you feel?"

His cousin's chin jutted forward. "She feels the same way I do."

"You're wrong about the Prophet," Chaz told his cousin quietly. "You and Rebecca should go to him, tell him you want to be married."

Casey gestured toward his side mirror, and when he spoke, his voice sounded resigned. "If I'm so wrong, then how do you explain our tail?"

Chaz glanced into his rearview mirror, immediately frightened by the flashing lights of the police cruiser. "I don't believe this!"

The police, called the "God Squad" by many of the young males in Colorado City, regularly patrolled the community looking for violators of the Prophet's moral code. Chaz pulled over to the side of the road as Casey stuffed the flyer under his seat and frantically began pulling down the sleeves of his shirt.

"Hurry up!" Chaz hissed as he came to a stop and rolled down his window.

Casey had barely finished buttoning his sleeves before two officers appeared at their windows.

"Where are you boys coming from?" the one on Chaz's side asked.

"St. George, sir," Chaz replied politely. "Our father wanted us to go into town for some mason jars and freezer bags."

"Did you do anything else in St. George?" the other policeman on Casey's side inquired as he glanced inside of the van with interest. Pulling out his camera, he began taking pictures of the backseat.

"No, sir."

"Did you talk to any girls while you were there?"

"No, sir," Casey replied, his face looking angelic.

Chaz saw both cops looking at Casey with interest. All at once, he realized that his cousin's shirt was still open at the neck. Before he could give Casey a signal, the cop with the camera had snapped his cousin's picture.

The other cop suddenly barked, "Get out of the van!"

"But why?" Casey asked in desperation. "We haven't done anything wrong!"

Ignoring his outburst, the cop on Casey's side of the van yanked open the side door, gingerly picking up the undergarment Casey had discarded earlier. "Then whose is this?" There was no mistaking the menace in his tone.

Both boys remained silent, too afraid to do more than stare straight ahead. Before either one of them knew what was happening, the cop standing before Casey gripped his shirt by the neck and ripped it open, exposing his naked chest. Casey's eyes were defiant, but he remained silent.

"Look what we've got here!" His partner pulled out the flyer. A picture was taken of the flyer, followed by one of Casey's naked chest. "It seems like you boys have some explaining to do."

"It was just this once!" Chaz's composure was slipping, but he didn't care. "Please, you have to believe us!"

"You know that any outright violation of the Prophet's rules will result in punishment," the first cop told Chaz grimly. "Now get in the van and follow us." He turned to Casey. " _You_ ride with us."

As Casey was led to their cruiser, Chaz was able to make brief eye contact with his cousin. There was no mistaking the look of fear and resignation in his cousin's eyes, and it chilled him to the bone.

### CHAPTER 2

The Prophet's compound, which housed his imposing beige mansion, was sequestered behind a twelve-foot wall plastered with "No Trespassing" signs. Chaz's palms were sweating as he pulled up behind the police cruiser in front of the mansion and got out. Wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers, he fell in beside the cop, who was waiting at the front door, before proceeding inside. Casey and his escort had already gone in, and by the time Chaz caught up with his cousin, he saw with relief that Casey had regained some of his former confidence. He even managed to give Chaz a cocky "thumbs-up" signal as they were quickly ushered inside the Prophet's private domain.

"How are you boys doing?" the Prophet asked from behind the expanse of his oak desk. He had the gangly limbs of an adolescent on a growth spurt and the soft, high-pitched voice of a choir boy.

"We're doing well, sir," Chaz replied, taking the lead.

The Prophet ignored Chaz and fixed his unblinking gaze on Casey. "Is there something you would like to confess to me?"

Casey cleared his throat nervously. "I took off my underwear."

"Because it was hot," Chaz added unnecessarily.

The Prophet opened a drawer and picked up the Walmart flyer. He glanced through it slowly before looking at Casey again. "Have you been having impure thoughts as of late?"

"No, sir."

"Have you talked to any girls lately?" he asked, continuing with his interrogation.

"Only one," Casey admitted reluctantly.

"Oh?" His voice was ominously mild.

"Her name is Rebecca Jared," Casey rushed to explain. "I've only talked to her a few times, but we like each other and I would like your permission to marry her."

The Prophet seemed to ponder his statement for a long time, oblivious to the two nervous boys who stood in front of his desk. Finally, he delivered a startling pronouncement. "I don't feel as though she belongs to you."

"Excuse me?"

"In fact, I think she shall belong to another man," he decreed.

"No!"

Chaz glanced at his cousin's rigid body, seeing Casey's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He could tell Casey was on the brink of losing control.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Casey." The Prophet sighed, as if to emphasize his statement, before leaning back in his chair. "I think you need to leave Colorado City immediately. You're no longer welcome here."

"You can't do this to us!" Casey was now openly crying. "Rebecca is going to be my wife!"

No one dared question the decisions of the Prophet. To do so would bring swift ruin and damnation.

The Prophet's voice remained ominously quiet. "Good-bye, Casey."

As if on cue, the two cops took hold of Casey's arms and led him screaming from the room. In a matter of minutes, his audience with the Prophet was over, as was Casey's life in Colorado City.

The Prophet now turned his full attention to Chaz, who was doing his best not to cry. "How is your father?"

Taken aback, Chaz could only mutter, "Fine, sir."

"I'll be honest with you, Charles," the Prophet stated in that quiet voice of his, "I don't believe your father is worthy of reaching the Celestial Kingdom."

"But he is, sir, he is!"

"Your father is sixty-seven years old, and given his advancing years, he hasn't been able to demonstrate his worthiness to me despite my generosity in giving him good wives," the Prophet continued, as if Chaz's outburst hadn't happened. "I've decided to reapportion your mother and two of her sister-wives to a more worthy man, effective immediately."

"Give my father another chance, please!"

The Prophet's cold, unblinking gaze fixed itself on Chaz's forlorn face. "Come to think of it, I feel that Rebecca Jared should also belong to this man."

" _No!_ "

The Prophet stood towering over Chaz. "Defy me and you will risk eternal damnation. Is that what you want for your family?"

Chaz could only shake his head in shame. In his heart, he knew he had no choice... none of them did once the Prophet had made his decision.

* * *

Within days of his audience with the Prophet, Chaz's remaining eleven brothers and sisters, his mother, and two sister-wives were reassigned to Oliver Hewitt, a fifty-six-year-old man, well-respected within the FLDS. His new father already had five other wives as well as twenty-five children, all much younger than Chaz. Once his mother, her two sister-wives, and a very frightened Rebecca were spiritually married to Oliver, it was time for them to settle into Oliver's eighteen-bedroom, fourteen-bathroom compound. Life settled into a workable routine, which ended up being surprisingly similar to his previous one.

Chaz and his brothers and sisters were up at six for morning prayers with the rest of the family, followed by singing, after which they formally greeted their new father with a handshake and a kiss. After breakfast, the younger children were homeschooled by two of his mother's new sister-wives in one of the outbuildings attaching to the house while Chaz and his older siblings went to work with the women in the community corn field.

In addition to being well-respected in the FLDS, Oliver Hewitt was also a successful businessman, despite being felled by a serious heart attack a few years back. When Chaz wasn't helping in the fields with his other brothers and sisters, he would accompany his new father as he toured his farms where he raised cattle and sheep. Oliver's business interests also extended to logging and trucking. Despite the fact that Chaz missed his father, he admired Oliver Hewitt's success and thought that maybe their reassignment to Oliver's family hadn't been such a bad thing after all. However, all that changed the night Oliver Hewitt came and stood looming over Chaz's bed.

"Boy, wake up," Oliver told him. "I need you."

"What's wrong, Father?" Chaz asked, immediately alert despite the fact he had been roused from a deep sleep. There was a strange edge to his new father's voice.

"The time has come for you to honor God." And then more urgently, "Come!"

With little choice in the matter, a bewildered Chaz got out of his warm bed and followed Oliver into another bedroom. In the room was a double bed and in it was Tabitha, one of his mother's sister-wives, with whom Oliver was spending the week.

"Your mother must be sown with God's seed," his father decreed.

"You mean—" Realization was quick to dawn on Chaz as he felt the bile rise in his throat. "Please don't make me do this! I can't! I've never—"

"You must," Tabitha urged him in a serene voice, "it is God's will."

"I won't!"

"You are under my roof and you will obey me." Oliver took a step toward him, landing a blow somewhere behind Chaz's right ear. He was reeling in pain and unprepared for the second blow to his stomach, which was followed by two more in quick succession. Oliver's enormous size and strength made fighting back impossible.

"Please!" Chaz gasped. "No more."

"You'll do as you're told." With a mighty rip, the nightshirt was torn from Chaz's body and he was pushed toward the bed. Chaz tried covering himself in shame as he quickly slid beneath the covers.

Tabitha held him in her arms, cooing softly as she stroked his face and body. Conscious of Oliver sitting in a chair in the corner of the room watching them, Chaz could only lie there, consumed with a certainty that he was committing an unspeakable sin.

"Obey him and you'll be safe," Tabitha whispered in his ear.

Her face was right next to his, and for a brief second, he sensed her desperation. Regardless, her face remained a serene blank canvas, betraying no emotion. In fact, he wasn't even sure if he had heard her at all.

Tabitha began working his young body with long, reassuring strokes. After what seemed like an eternity, Chaz's body betrayed him and he reacted to Tabitha's relentless stroking and the feel of her warmth against his side. Instinctively, her hands went lower and he became consumed by lustful urges he didn't entirely understand. Unsure what to do, Chaz let his body guide him, and soon enough, it was all over.

He heard Oliver's grunt of satisfaction before being unceremoniously pulled from the bed and handed what remained of his torn nightshirt.

"To speak of this to anyone is to blaspheme God," he told Chaz solemnly.

Chaz, unable to speak, ran from the room and barely made it to the toilet before throwing up.

For the rest of the week, he continued to visit Tabitha while the rest of the house slept, except for Oliver. About a month later, Oliver joyously announced to everyone at dinner that Tabitha was with child and led everyone in a prayer of thanks. After a short respite, Chaz was again unceremoniously called upon by Oliver to "sow God's seed" in one of the other sister-wives, Gabrielle. It was at that point that understanding finally dawned on Chaz. Oliver's heart attack had obviously ended his ability to sow God's seed in any of his wives. Night after night, he was forced to copulate with Gabrielle while Oliver sat close by, making certain he did his duty. Chaz tried to disengage his mind during the act but deep down, he knew he was nothing more than a stud horse. He began to think that perhaps Casey's expulsion was a far better fate than the one he had been assigned.

With each passing week, Chaz knew he had to escape. It was only a matter of time before Oliver would call upon him to service Rebecca or even his own mother... and Chaz had no intention of being around long enough to let that happen.

THE END
NO HARD FEELINGS

A Kate Stanton Hollywood Mystery

Marta Tandori

Next up is a preview of _NO HARD FEELINGS_ ,

Book #3 in the _Kate Stanton Hollywood Mystery_ series...

### PROLOGUE

_I need to escape him. I need to escape the man who is both my lover and my captor, but there is nowhere to run_.

With a firm grip on my good arm, he pulls me along after him through the crush of humanity, toward the converging crowds gathering at Pandora's Box on the corner of Sunset and Crescent Heights. The closer we get to our destination, the louder and more boisterous the crowds of protestors and police seem to become. I cry out in pain as my body is jostled, hurting my dislocated left shoulder, which is supported only by the flimsy sling he has fashioned for me. However, he doesn't hear me cry out because he's too busy trying to keep up with his two friends.

For a second, I actually toy with the idea of wrenching my arm out of his grip and making a run for it, but almost immediately, I'm overcome by a fear so paralyzing that I'm barely able to breathe. He's already given me a nasty taste of what he will do to me if I ever try leaving him. He's promised to stop at nothing—and spare no one—until he finds me, even if it means killing every member of my family. If there's one thing I've learned from living with this monster, it's to _always_ take his threats seriously. With a sinking heart, I realize I am nothing more than a pawn to him; valuable when needed, but as with everything in his life, sadly expendable once I've served my purpose in his pursuit of his master plan. I don't know what his plan is, only that he calls it "Satan's Push". He has very few displays of human emotion, so it's difficult to figure out what he's thinking at any given time. One thing I _am_ sure of, though, is that he trusts no one, least of all me.

Perhaps I should have recognized the warning signs earlier in our relationship, heralded by the bipolar extremes in his nature. For example, there was the time he stood naked in the middle of a violent storm, arms outstretched toward the sky as he laughed like a lunatic over Mother Nature's wrath, or the time he went into a frenzy of excitement over the repulsive sight of road kill innards fermenting in the hot sun. There is knowledge in hindsight, an ability to see the truth for what it is. I suppose the truth was there in front of my eyes for a long time, but I did not see it. I was blinded by infatuation for a man whose ideals are founded upon a deep-seated hate for women, thanks to a promiscuous mother who had sold him as a young child for little more than a bottle of vodka and a roll in the sack. He is the undeniable leader of his minions, yet my captor is a man who is antisocial while paradoxically possessing an unnatural need to call attention to himself; a dangerous man whose paranoia and insecurities have turned into ugly demons that infest his every waking hour.

The crowd of protestors—a mixture of teenagers, adults, and celebrities—begin to chant. This is, after all, supposed to be a peaceful rally to protest the passage of strict loitering laws in a lame attempt to reduce congestion on Sunset Boulevard. However, thanks to a rock station's announcement earlier today, this rally has attracted the attention of many from across Southern California. They've come on foot, and traveled by car or by bus, but now everything has come to a grinding halt with no more room to move on Sunset or on the sidewalks. Car horns blare angrily and the police—armed with shields and batons—are at attention, ready to take action should we become unruly.

It's an early November evening and uncharacteristically warm as we stand together, unified by our anger that the most basic of liberties is being discriminated against. The chanting is soft, the crowd's anger mellowed by the pot being passed around in fat reefers, its cloying sweetness perfuming the warm night air. Of course, not everyone in this crowd shares the protestors' sentiments. Some, like my captor, could not care a hill of beans about civil rights or stolen liberties. It's the two men who are important to him, and he has no intention of losing sight of either of them, even if it means having to endure the crowd of strangers at such close range.

Stuck as I am in the epicenter of the mob, my sight is limited. Therefore, I'm unable to see with any clarity what has caused the crowd to suddenly become irate and swell forward. All I know is that at this very moment, I'm in the middle of an eruption as the bodies surrounding me surge forward, taking me with them. The chanting has stopped, and has been replaced with screaming and yelling. I see batons arching through the darkness, raining down on hapless victims as the police aggressively converge upon us. In the mêlée, my captor's fingers struggle to maintain their iron grip on my elbow while we are jostled about. Slowly, we are pushed further apart, and for a moment, his grip is excruciatingly painful. I cry out, but my voice is drowned out by everyone else. Someone steps on my foot as another falls against my ribs, causing white-hot pain to course through my body. Before I can react, my captor's arm becomes taut as his body is swallowed by the unruly crowd. His hand is finally torn from my elbow, and his fingers leave a path of ugly red marks against my white skin. All around me, legs and torsos are writhing and pushing, but I'm oblivious to all of it as I frantically search the crowd for my captor's face. I steel myself for the inevitable hand that will again take hold of my arm in its vice-like grip, laying claim to its property.

One minute passes, then another, and several more, but nothing happens. He has not reclaimed me. The police suddenly raise their shields before charging straight at us. Strangely enough, I'm not afraid of my impending fate. For the first time in a long time, all I can think is that _I am free..._

### CHAPTER 1

"The great thing about this estate is that it's located on such a quiet cul-de-sac, and yet you're just off Santa Monica Boulevard," Eve Stanton remarked, her tone professionally neutral.

"Is that far from Rodeo Drive?" the attractive young woman asked, following a few steps behind Eve, her Prada bag seemingly too heavy to be supported by her slim shoulder. Perfectly manicured fingers had a firm hold on her husband's upper arm, and the huge diamond on her left hand dazzled as it captured the afternoon sun. Her air of possessiveness was undeniable.

"Not far at all," Eve assured her, taking out her phone and searching for the correct electronic key code combination for the lock box attached to the front doorknob. Finding what she was looking for, she efficiently entered the four digits on the lock box. After hearing the distinct click, Eve lifted the slide latch and removed the smaller box housing the key inside. Removing it, she quickly unlocked the front door and stood aside so her clients could enter.

"I wanted something in Bel Air or Holmby Hills," was the husband's terse remark as he took in his surroundings with clinical detachment.

L.A. was famous, thanks to Hollywood and the celebrities who lived in the luxurious neighborhoods of Beverly Hills, Bel Air, and Holmby Hills. Celebrities, socialites, heiresses, and the wealthy wanted to live here because of the prestige, privacy, convenience and culture these areas afforded. Her mother had taught Eve that selling luxury real estate took more than just knowing the rules and theories and being able to navigate the negotiation process. It also took finesse, knowledge, experience, charm, wit, and attitude, which not everyone possessed. Eve was lucky enough to have all of that, but sometimes it just depended on how well an agent could stroke a client's ego or smooth their ruffled feathers. This was definitely one of those times that called for the latter.

Eve had known this property would be a hard sell to someone of her client's pedigree. Everything about Charles Bartlett was casually elegant, almost understated. He reeked of breeding and lineage that certainly dated further back than the first flush of dot-commer cash. Everything about his young wife, on the other hand, from the perfectly highlighted blonde hair to the stiletto heels of her Manolos, screamed the designer chic of a newly-minted trophy wife.

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Bartlett. However, as I indicated to your wife on the phone this morning, out of all of the properties I'm showing you today, only one is in Bel Air. Even that one has only four bedrooms and five baths."

"I specifically requested at least six bedrooms with a guest house," he reminded her insistently.

"I know," she quickly replied. "There _is_ an eight-bedroom, eight-bath on Beverly Glen, but it's a rental. The client's a Saudi prince who only uses the estate when he's in town. He prefers to rent it out on short-term leases, mostly to movie companies for shoots and such."

"This is ridiculous."

"Unfortunately, we've got far more demand than we do inventory at the moment." Eve smiled apologetically. "It happens sometimes."

"Since we're already here, let's see the rest of the house anyway, sweetie." The new Mrs. Bartlett gave her husband a meaningful look that promised unspoken rewards later on.

The flush that slowly crept up his neck belied his business-like tone. "Fine."

Eve hid a quick smile. It was apparent that the young, but very wise, Mrs. Bartlett called the shots in this family. "I'm sure you'll agree that the gated courtyard entry with the covered porches, highlighted by a flowing fountain and lush tropical landscaping, makes the perfect introduction to this estate," she began as they stepped into the hallway. Once inside, ceilings soared overhead, giving way to the intricate detailing in the crown moldings, walls of glass, marble and wood floors, all of which complemented the flowing, open floor plan. A soaring stone fireplace was the focal point of the large step-down living room with hardwood floors and a coffered ceiling; the formal dining room boasted a similar ceiling.

"The room makes quite a statement," mentioned Eve for the benefit of her clients.

"I'll say," was the wife's awed response.

"Do the furnishings come with the home?" Mr. Bartlett asked suddenly.

She stole a quick look at her implacable client. His earlier look of disdain had now been replaced with one of speculation. Eve knew that look well. Selling a single family home or condominium in L.A. required home staging, photographs, online and print advertising, a sign in the front yard, and more often than not, an open house. Selling _luxury_ real estate required _creativity_ that would tempt those with deep pockets to the point where they lusted. Her client wasn't at that point yet, but Eve knew if the property was presented just right, he would eventually want it—even if it wasn't in his desired neighborhood. "We can certainly write it in the offer, if that's what you'd like. I believe that some of the pieces are custom-made for this home."

The younger woman turned to look at Eve. "You know, ever since we met, I've had this strange feeling that I know you from somewhere." She scrutinized Eve's face closely. "Have we met before?"

Eve's face remained impassive. "I don't think so."

As a former child star of the show _Daddy's Little Girls_ , Eve was used to the question, along with the occasional double take as people tried to figure out where they'd seen her before. Although her show had been panned by the critics throughout its entire run, it was one of those shows that had somehow grown in popularity while in syndication. Now, it enjoyed a lofty place in pop culture hierarchy along with _I Love Lucy_ , _The Brady Bunch_ , and _Gilligan's Island_. Most girls her age had grown up wanting to be seventeen-year-old Libby, Eve's character on the show, while guys had had her poster plastered on their bedroom walls. Ironically, it was probably _their_ kids who now watched her show after school on Nickelodeon.

"I'm sure I've seen your face somewhere, I just can't place it," she insisted.

Eve gave her a tight-lipped smile. "You know what people say. We all have a twin somewhere in the world." Although she had long ago resigned herself to the fact that her cute alter-ego, Lyn Stanton, would forever remain America's teenage sweetheart, that part of her life was in the past. Eve certainly saw no point in trying to capitalize on it, especially in a town like L.A., where people had notoriously short memories.

"I guess you're right," she acquiesced reluctantly. "Anyway, don't mind me. I have this thing about faces."

"Don't worry about it, honey," her husband remarked dismissively.

Eager to move on, Eve led them up the grand staircase to the regal master suite. Here, a bay of windows welcomed in the outdoors beneath another coffered ceiling. It contained a spacious sitting area, in a muted shade of pale green, a large dressing area, a spa bath for two, an open shower and a fitness center just a step-down away.

"Remember Vegas, honey?" purred the younger woman, running her forefinger over the nub of her husband's nipple, which was outlined against the thin silk of his shirt. "After that workout in our hot tub, we never _did_ bother with the gym!"

Charles Bartlett caught his wife's errant hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles. "I'm sure Ms. Stanton doesn't want to hear about our little stopover in Vegas."

"What's there to tell?" She glanced at Eve, her voice husky with desire. "We never left our room for three days. My husband was insatiable!"

"This is not the time or place to be discussing that." He was clearly uncomfortable now.

_You've got that right_ , thought Eve dryly, eager to continue with the tour.

"What's wrong with telling people you were great in bed?" she asked innocently, giving Eve a lascivious wink.

"Sondra!"

"I think we'd better continue. We've got a lot of houses to cover today." Eve masked her embarrassment behind her professional demeanor. "As you can see, the master suite has a southern exposure that'll maximize your enjoyment of the lanai and multi-terraced patios which overlook the pool and sunning deck. The lush vegetation provides complete privacy."

"Which is just as well since my wife has a habit of sunbathing in the nude," offered her client dryly.

Eve cleared her throat. "As I said, the estate is pretty private and should adequately protect your wife from any prying eyes." _Except from those of the pool boy, the gardeners, the hired help, and the delivery personnel..._

They finally moved into the main kitchen, which overlooked the family room that led to the lanai and pool area. "The kitchen, unlike the rest of the house, is a little dated although the glass cabinets have mirrored backings that offer wonderful views of the outdoors. It's also got generous work surfaces, double ovens, a Sub-Zero refrigerator, and a center-island cook top."

"It definitely needs updating," commented her client. "The countertops aren't even granite."

"True," Eve conceded patiently, "although I believe this is reflected in the asking price."

"Which is?"

"Seven point nine five million," Eve replied, glancing at his face, but it remained impassive.

"I don't cook," the young woman announced.

It became patently obvious to Eve that the kitchen wouldn't be the selling point for either one of her clients. "Perhaps not, but if you entertain extensively, I expect you'll want to know that your home has the capability of handling large parties and events," she pointed out.

"Is it hard to find staff in Beverly Hills?" Sondra Bartlett's right hand moved back to surreptitiously knead the swell of her husband's lower back.

"We can certainly suggest several local staffing services, which can provide everything from estate managers to maids, chauffeurs, and butlers."

Her husband tried, without success, to capture his wife's errant hand, conscious of his growing excitement. "Yes, er, I'm away a lot on business and I wouldn't want my wife home alone."

"You shouldn't have any problems finding adequate staffing," Eve reassured him. Just then, her phone vibrated. Turning to her clients, she gave them a polite smile. "Excuse me for a moment, won't you?"

Eve crossed to the other side of the hallway, giving her clients some space while she checked her text messages. Scrolling down the list, Eve saw that she had a message from the office, followed by two more from the office in quick succession. She glanced at her watch. It was a little after three now. "Damn!" she muttered under her breath. She hadn't realized that it was so late. Eve dialed the main number and waited impatiently for the phone to be picked up.

Liz Farrell, her niece, picked up on the second ring. "Stanton Realty."

"Hi, Liz. This is Eve. Why are you answering the phones?"

"Hey, Eve. Beth's in the back, making some copies."

"You wouldn't happen to know why she was trying to reach me, would you?" Eve asked, glancing down the empty hallway.

"It wasn't Beth who called, it was me," Liz told her.

Eve bit her bottom lip. "Is everything okay?"

"More or less." Liz cleared her throat nervously. "You know the family you sold the house to on Stone Canyon earlier this week?"

"You mean the industry couple with the two kids?" Eve frowned, hoping the sale hadn't hit a snag.

"They're the ones," Liz confirmed. "They had their home inspection today, and they want you to call them ASAP."

Eve closed her eyes, suddenly weary. "Bad news?"

"Not good," she confirmed. "Apparently there's a huge crack in the foundation and they want out of the sale because they don't think the house is safe. They sounded pretty upset."

"Just great!" Eve muttered as she rooted around in her purse for a pen and piece of paper. "Give me the number for the inspection guy. I'll talk to him first."

"I can do one better," her niece told her. "I'll send you a copy of his report. His contact numbers are on it. I called him after I spoke to the couple and asked him to email us a copy."

"Excellent!" Eve found herself once again thinking how much they had lucked out when Liz had agreed to work for them. Her niece was bright and resourceful, and the best part was that Liz was turning out to be a positive influence on her eighteen-year-old daughter, Karen.

"So you're not mad?" asked Liz tentatively.

Eve laughed. "For what... taking initiative? I could kiss you right now for being so damned efficient." Liz had the makings of a great real estate agent, and when her mother came back from her trip, Eve wanted to discuss it with her before raising the issue with Liz.

"I just sent you the report," Liz confirmed.

"Thanks." She glanced at her watch. "I should be back in the office in about—" Eve broke off as she heard a woman scream.

" _What was that?_ " asked Liz.

"I'm not sure," Eve replied hurriedly, "but I'd better find out. I'll talk to you later." With that, she disconnected the call and quickly went in search of her clients. She found them in the small study directly off the kitchen. "What's wrong?"

The young woman was shaking, her face hidden against her husband's shoulder. She pointed a trembling finger in the general direction of the sofa. " _That!_ "

The high back of the piece of furniture obscured Eve's vision. She quickly came into the room, coming up short as her eyes fell on the woman's body. The woman was dressed casually in jeans and a polo shirt, and gave every appearance of resting were it not for the fact that her throat had been slit. Copious amounts of blood had been absorbed by the fabric, its dark stain contrasting grotesquely against the pristine ivory silk. The woman's mouth was partially open, as if she'd been gasping for breath, but it was her eyes that captured Eve's attention. They were still open, and bulging slightly out of their sockets.

Eve felt herself go weak in the knees, and reached out to grasp the edge of the sofa. "Oh my God!"

"Who is she?" demanded her client.

Eve cleared her throat, trying to control her turbulent stomach. "This listing isn't ours, so I have no idea." Fumbling for her phone, she punched in 9-1-1 before quickly relaying the pertinent information and disconnecting the call. "The police will be here soon."

"For a minute, I thought it was someone playing a sick joke," her client remarked, "when I saw the flowers."

Eve's eyes darted to the bouquet of tiger lilies in the woman's hands. She had been so focused on the woman's face that she hadn't really taken in anything else.

"Sweetie, let's just get out of here," Sondra Bartlett told her husband nervously.

"Why don't we wait in the kitchen?" Eve suggested quickly.

"You're not getting it," the young woman told Eve rudely. "I don't want to be here, _in this house_ , with that dead body." She tugged on her husband's sleeve. "Let's get out of here, sweetums. _Please!_ "

Eve cleared her throat. "I appreciate your reluctance, Mrs. Bartlett. Unfortunately, the police will want to take your statements, especially since you found the body."

"But we don't _know_ anything," she argued plaintively.

Charles Bartlett regarded Eve closely. "My wife is right. We don't know anything, but if the police need our corroborating statements, they can give me a call and I'll be happy to speak with them." With that, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card from his wallet, which he handed to Eve. "I'd appreciate it if you could pass my card on to the police for me."

"As I said, the police should be here any minute," Eve told them, but her words fell on deaf ears as the couple beat a hasty exit to their car parked outside.

"I think I need a drink," the young woman announced, revealing an expanse of smooth, waxed leg as she settled into the luxurious interior of their Bentley.

"Whatever you want, love," her husband told her as he climbed in beside her, his hand resting possessively on the inner curve of her thigh. He turned back to Eve, regarding her with a steady gaze. "Needless to say, Ms. Stanton, the dead body's a deal breaker for us."

"I'm very sorry about all of this, but if you—"

"We'll be in touch," he told her dismissively.

Eve watched in disbelief as their car made its way along the driveway through the ornate gates of the estate. After all of her years in the business, Eve had been convinced that she'd seen it all, but today proved differently. Here it was, they'd just stumbled upon a dead woman with her throat slit, and all these two were concerned about was that it was a "deal breaker" in their quest for the perfect love nest. As she went back inside the house, Eve couldn't help her derision. _Far be it for a mere murder to inconvenience the lives of the rich and self-absorbed in Hollywood!_

* * *

Eve was sitting outside on the lanai at the back of the house, staring at the sparkling blue water of the pool in front of her. The sun had slid further down the sky, throwing part of the property in shadows. This seemed to be the best place to be in order to keep out of everyone's way inside the house. Shortly after the police had arrived, the crime scene unit had made an appearance, followed almost immediately by the coroner. Although the kitchen and den were huge by anyone's standards, they were now a hive of controlled chaos as crime scene techs and the coroner's attendants tried not to step on each other's toes in their efforts to do their respective jobs.

Eve had called the office right before the police arrived to let them know what had happened. So far, except for the preliminary introductions when L.A.P.D. had first arrived on the scene and a few terse questions asking whether anything had been touched, no one had come to interview her yet.

As she stared at the shimmering water, Eve found herself thinking back to almost a year earlier when she had been in a similar situation, sitting in her mother's backyard after Kate had been abducted by her stepbrother, Leo. Back then, none of them could have imagined the scenario that was to unfold or the irrevocable consequences it would have on all of them.

A coffee cup was thrust in front of her face. Startled, Eve looked up to find herself staring into the familiar face of Detective John Warner.

Her face broke into a huge smile. "John, what are you doing here?" she asked quickly. "Is this your case?"

He shook his head. "One of the other guys, Walsh, has the lead on this one."

"So then why are you here?" she asked.

He pulled out a chair and sat down, slowly taking a drink from his own cup before answering her. "Cassidy, my partner, had heard about your 9-1-1 call and he phoned me." He looked momentarily unsure of himself. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm okay," she replied, blinking away the sudden tears that had welled up in her eyes. Eve was touched by his thoughtfulness. She had first met John Warner and his younger partner, Doug Cassidy, when they had been assigned to Liz's mother's hit-and-run case. It was thanks in part to John's perseverance with the case that her own mother hadn't been killed, and for that Eve owed him a debt of gratitude.

"Liar," he stated softly.

Eve managed a small smile. Everything about the way John Warner conducted himself was deliberate and meticulous, and from what Eve could tell, these qualities seemed to spill over into his personal life as well. His looks were understated, and although he would never be considered handsome in the classical sense, the way he carried himself exuded a sexy quality that Eve found particularly unnerving. There was also a comforting presence about the man that was a far cry from her ex-husband, the polished and very successful Beverly Hills doctor, Eric Devane. Over the past several months, she and John had met for coffee on several occasions and had even managed to grab lunch a few times. Their meetings had evolved into a solid friendship, and although both of them seemed to want more, their busy careers hadn't allowed the time for a romantic relationship to develop.

"I'm certainly doing better than the woman in there." She looked away, feeling suddenly vulnerable. "Do they know who she is yet?"

"She's been identified as Elaine Lynch, the owner of the house." Jack looked at her. "I gather she's not your client?"

"No," she replied. "Aside from the agent's caravan a few weeks ago, today was my first time showing this house."

"Agent caravans are usually hosted by the listing agent, right?"

Eve nodded.

"Walsh tells me there are no signs of forced entry, nor are there any defensive wounds on the body."

Eve stared at him. "So what you're saying is that she knew her killer?"

"It would seem to be that way," he acknowledged thoughtfully. "Tell me more about the lock box on the front door."

She shrugged. "They're standard procedure when selling a house, allowing agents to show a home when the owners aren't there."

"And how do you access the key inside of it?" he asked.

"There's a four-digit combination code that's provided to each agent by the MLS," Eve explained. "Each agent is assigned their own code. This helps identify who's entering the home, and also records the time and date when they enter and leave." Frowning, she played with the rim of her cup. "It's strange, though. Normally, a house this size has servants on call, but I haven't see any the entire time I've been here."

"Maybe they have the day off."

She gave him a funny look. "All on the same day?"

"Something else we'll look into, including contacting the MLS to get a printout of the comings and goings on the house over the past twenty-four hours."

"Why that particular time frame?"

"The body's still in rigor and the coroner estimates the time of death to be between three and four o'clock this morning."

Eve's eyes opened wide. "Do you think there's a possibility that another agent may have done this to her?"

"It's just another avenue that'll be investigated," he replied evasively.

Her look was shrewd. "There's something else you're not telling me, isn't there?"

He cleared his throat. "The note—"

"What note?"

"The one attached to the flowers that the victim was holding suggests a history between the victim and her killer."

"What did it say?" Eve asked as she unconsciously sat up straighter, her coffee all but forgotten.

John met her gaze head on. "It said, No Hard Feelings."

THE END
THE CROSSING AT BLAISDELL PARK

A Kate Stanton Hollywood Mystery

Marta Tandori

Next up is a preview of _THE CROSSING AT BLAISDELL PARK_ ,

Book #4 in the _Kate Stanton Hollywood Mystery_ series...

### Prologue

_I bet if these walls could talk, they'd have plenty to say_ – things like, "There she is, there's Annie O'Leary's killer." Not because I'd actually killed Mom but it's _because of me_ she's dead, which is practically the same thing.

I should've just slipped out my bedroom window when I heard him fiddling with the lock but I honestly never thought he'd have the balls to break in. Come to think of it, the half-dozen empty beer cans strewn all over the kitchen table should've gotten my Spidey senses tingling but my mind was on a million other things more important than my mother's horn-dog boyfriend.

I wish Mom had never hooked up with him in Atlantic City. He'd been on the boardwalk, working his con when Mom and I saw him. She'd stopped and stared at him with a strange spark in her eyes, as if mesmerized. Although his con had been pretty slick for a buffer, Mom's was way better and she'd made a point of telling him so after everyone had wandered off. Within minutes, they were into some serious flirting and by the time we left Atlantic City, he was a permanent fixture around our trailer. For a while there, I was actually glad he was around because Mom had been lonely since her last boyfriend had taken off the year before. It was only when he started giving me the _eye_ , real sly at first, that I knew this one was going to be trouble. From that point on, I did my best to stay clear of him. Not that he ever tried putting his dirty paws on me – but I could tell he was thinking about it just by the way he kept staring at me when he thought no one was looking. It made me feel dirty.

I wasn't sure when Mom actually noticed him watching me. She never let on that she suspected anything until she told me in secret that we were taking off after Philly without him. The plan was to go straight to L.A. and catch up with the rest of our clan there. _But Mom should never have told me_. She'd still be alive today if she hadn't.

When he finally busted down my door, there had been no time to scream, let alone escape. He was on top of me in a flash, one filthy hand trying to yank up my t-shirt while the other was snaking its way down my jeans to cop a feel. There was no way I was just going to lie there and take it so I kneed him one before pushing him off of me. _That's when it happened_. I blurted out that we were finally going to be rid of him, once and for all, and then he'd get what was coming to him. He practically jumped off of me as if a current of electricity had zapped him or something and I certainly didn't waste any time running out of there as fast as I could.

I took refuge behind a clump of bushes on the other side of the park before calling Mom to warn her that he knew. Her phone wasn't on so I ran over to the May's trailer where Mom sometimes played cards in the afternoon but she wasn't there. I must've spent the better part of the afternoon searching for her, frantically running around our trailer park like a lunatic. When I finally gave up and crept back to our trailer, I realized that my efforts had all been for nothing. _I was too late_.

I found the blood first, seeping through the crack under the screen mesh door. " _Mom!_ " I opened the door to find her on her side, a knife in her back. Her face had been beaten so badly, I barely recognized her. I knelt down beside her, gulping back my sobs. She wasn't moving and there was this horrible noise coming from her mouth as she gasped for air. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault—"

"He... said he... would... come after... us if I didn't..." she whispered weakly.

I tried to take her hand but Mom cried out in pain. It was twisted at an odd angle, probably broken at the wrist. "Just don't move, Mom. I'm going to go get help."

"No... too late for that –" Her voice was coming out in breathless little spurts. "Don't let them... find me... like this," she rasped. Her swollen eyelids began to close. "You... know... where... the... box... is..."

"I'm not leaving you!"

Mom's lips were moving really slowly now. "It was...never ours...to...ke—" Her broken body shuddered once and then she was still.

"No!" I gathered up Mom in my arms and rocked her gently as I sobbed. I don't know how long I sat there wanting to die right along with her, but in the end, I knew I couldn't do that. All of this had been for us and our future and now I was the only one left in our little family. Willing myself to get a grip over my emotions, I finally laid Mom down.

Despite the terrible rap buffers give us, we Irish travelers have our own credo, especially when it comes to death. I went and got the can from the shed attached to our trailer. I splashed the gasoline all over everything in sight before making a trail down the hall into the kitchen and around Mom's body. The fumes burned my throat as I fumbled around in my mother's pockets looking for a book of matches. Finding one, I lit it before hurling the burning matches down the hall. In one loud whoosh, the trailer burst into flames. I left quickly, the screen door scraping my left ankle as it slammed behind me, yet I felt nothing but hollowness in the pit of my stomach; a hollowness that seemed to be seeping into every nook and cranny of my body.

The only spark of satisfaction, if I could call it that, came from knowing that the walls of our trailer would never be able to talk – not even to say, " _There goes Annie O'Leary's killer, never to be heard from again_."

### 1

"So this is where the magic supposedly happens." Karen Devane looked around the elegant shop, her disappointment evident. "It doesn't look very magical to me."

Kate Stanton regarded her nineteen-year-old granddaughter fondly. "Don't hold back, sweetheart. Tell me what you _really_ think," she teased.

Karen shrugged. "Sorry, Grams. I didn't exactly mean it like that. It's just that when you told me we were going to Esme Carlyle's shop, _La Courant_ , I guess I expected something a bit more exciting than women pouring over sketch books and swatches of fabric. After all, weren't you the one who told me Esme was _the_ hottest designer in Hollywood right now after her work on _The Crossing_?"

"Maybe not exactly in those words," Kate admitted in amusement, "but close enough, I suppose. Anyway, I consider myself very fortunate that Esme's found the time to design my dress for the Walk of Fame ceremony."

"Being fortunate has nothing to do with it," argued Karen. "She's good friends with Mom, which gives you an automatic pass to the front of the line, not to mention the fact that it's also good business for her."

"How do you figure that?"

Karen shrugged. "You're kind of hot yourself right now. Having Kate Stanton as a client elevates her status, if you know what I mean."

Kate blushed. "Don't be silly."

"I'm serious, Grams. In fact, I'm willing to bet that _iTunes_ downloads of your song are probably through the roof."

"That's because of the movie's popularity, not because of me."

Karen looked unconvinced. "You can deny it all you want. All I'm saying is that Whitney's song made _The Bodyguard_ just like Celine's song made _The Titanic_. Your song helped make _The Crossing_ the huge deal that it is."

_The Crossing_ , as it had been dubbed by the press, was actually _The Crossing at Blaisdell Park_ , the year's blockbuster civil war epic that had taken everyone by surprise. With an initial worldwide gross of just under a billion dollars and a sequel of the movie already in production, it looked like _The Crossing_ and its sequel were going to be one of Hollywood's most memorable – and certainly profitable – film franchises. Finn Butler had directed the movie and he had brought on Esme as head costume designer, which had proven to be a smart move on his part. Esme had graduated from UCLA with an M.F.A. in costume design and had earned her Ph.D. in history of design from the Royal College of Art in London so her good friend Finn's period epic was right up her alley.

It had been Kate's current husband and executive producer of the movie, Paul Wagner, who had decided to have Finn direct the _The Crossing_. With only a few movies under his belt, it had been a calculated risk to have a relative unknown like Finn direct but Paul had been impressed by his earlier work and had been willing to give the younger man the coveted position. Finn had been a long-time fan of the Paisleys, the sixties musical duo made famous by Kate and her first husband, Marcus, and it had been he who had suggested using the Paisleys' first hit single, _Make a Wish_ , for the movie's theme song. Paul, in addition to being Kate's husband and the producer of the film, also owned the Paisleys' songbook and had been enthusiastic about the idea, even going so far as to suggest an updated interactive version with Kate contributing to the original vocals. Kate had been adamantly against the idea but had eventually capitulated under the onslaught of encouragement from her family.

Although Paul was one of Hollywood's top producers and was recognized in the industry for having a nose for blockbusters, even he had been unprepared for the unprecedented success of _The Crossing_ when it was finally released earlier this year. And while Kate was certainly happy for everyone involved in the film, as well as appreciative of the public's renewed interest in the Paisleys, she was less thrilled about the public's resurgence of interest in _her_. Her showbiz career had long been put to rest, with her interests and energies for well over twenty years being devoted to Stanton Realty Inc., the real estate brokerage she had founded and up until recently, ran with her daughter, Eve. Kate was semi-retired now, content to leave the day-to-day running of the business in the capable hands of Eve and their eighty or so agents, while she devoted her time to her charities, her beloved family, and of course, Paul.

"Have I ever told you what a smart cookie you are?" Kate's expression was thoughtful as she regarded her pretty granddaughter. "Maybe you should reconsider your acting career and go into business instead. Something tells me you'd be a natural."

Karen looked crestfallen. "Please Grams, not you, too! It's bad enough that Mom is constantly on my case about not working with you guys."

Kate squeezed her hand. "Don't be silly. You have my full support in whatever you decide to do. I was simply making an observation, that's all and besides, your mother will come around eventually. Don't you remember how she acted when you got your first walk-on on that sitcom a few months ago?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Karen, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "She'd set every DVR in the house to record the episode."

"And the ones in the office as well," Kate recalled. "If that isn't a proud mother then I don't know what is."

Before Karen could respond, an attractive, but slightly frazzled woman came out of a back room, precariously balancing several large bolts of fabric over both shoulders. Her face broke into a huge grin when she saw the two of them. "Kate! Am I behind schedule or are you just early for your last fitting?"

"Sorry, Esme. I think I'm the one who's early," Kate confirmed, glancing at her watch. "We were having lunch in the neighborhood and decided to come here afterwards." She then made the necessary introductions. "Esme, I'd like you to meet my granddaughter, Karen. Karen, this is Esme Carlyle."

"It's nice meeting you, Ms. Carlyle," Karen told her, shaking her out-held hand.

"I never stand on formality," the younger woman told her with a friendly smile. "It's just Esme, okay?"

Karen nodded. "Sure thing, Esme."

"It's great to finally meet you, Karen. Your mom talks about you all the time – so much so that I actually feel as though I know you."

"Did you want us to come back later?" asked Kate.

"Totally not necessary. You're being here early isn't a problem," Esme told them, "as long as you don't mind waiting a few minutes for me to get an important shipment out. Can I offer you some refreshments while you wait?"

"Of course we don't mind," Kate confirmed, "and don't you worry about us. As I said, we just finished lunch."

"Why don't you come out back and have a look around while I finish up," Esme suggested, quickly leading the way through to the back.

"Wow," said Karen, stopping to stare in surprise. The back opened up into an enormous work room that held large bolts of colorful fabric, six workstations with industrial sewing machines and three large cutting tables, all occupied by workers who were too busy and too focused to look up from their tasks to see who their boss was speaking to. "So _this_ is where the magic happens."

Esme laughed, a light throaty chuckle that spilled from her glossy lips and was quickly muffled by the bolts of fabric and noise around them. "I'm not sure if it's magic exactly but I like to think it is. Back here, we work on our made-to-orders that clients have selected from the sketches and fabric swatches out front. Everything is done on site and here, we only hand cut."

"What's the big deal about hand-cutting?" asked Karen, running her fingers along one of the bolts of fabric.

"Cutting designs on a large scale is always automated," Esme explained. "For my upcoming line for QVC, I've bought a small factory in downtown Los Angeles. There, the cutting is all automated and that's where the bulk of our fabric is stored and where all of the sewing is done. I've also invested in a fabric dyeing and finishing facility in Hawthorne and a knitting facility in Garden Grove."

"Is that to cut out the middle man?" asked Kate shrewdly.

Esme shrugged. "Let's just say it's to streamline the supply chain and lower costs by not having to rely on subcontractors."

With the extraordinary success of the movie, Esme's career had really taken off. In addition to owning this shop on Melrose, she was creating and producing a line of "Charlotte dresses", named after the dress worn by Charlotte Valcour, the now-famous and much-loved heroine in _The Crossing_. Esme was slated to appear on QVC shortly after Thanksgiving to hawk her line of dresses. As if that weren't already enough, she was also designing a line of period home décor to be sold through select high-end furniture retailers across the U.S.

"It all sounds really exciting," Kate enthused.

"It is," Esme agreed, "but frightening at the same time. I'm afraid that if I actually stop and think about it too much, I'm going to crumble under all the responsibility."

Kate smiled complacently. "Something tells me that you thrive on stress and responsibility."

Esme grinned, transforming her lovely face to one of youthful playfulness. "I kind of do but don't tell Finn that. He's been after me for the last little while to slow down and take things easy."

"Maybe he's right," Kate remarked.

Esme stood her ground. "Nothing doing. Opportunities like this only come once in a lifetime. I'll have time later on to sit back and smell the roses. Right now, I have to ride the wave, as the saying goes." She pointed to the door on the other side of the large room, pointedly changing the subject. "And to finish off our brief little tour, in there we have four fitting rooms for clients. They're serviced by several very capable seamstresses."

Just then, the door which led to the fitting rooms opened and one of Esme's employees came out, pulling a large garment rack behind her. Hanging on the rack were twelve grey garment bags with _La Courant_ stenciled on them in fanciful script. The employee wheeled the rack over to Esme.

"They're ready, Consuelo?" Esme asked anxiously.

"Yes, Ma'am. As soon as you give your final approval, we can ship them out," the older woman reassured her. "The driver's waiting at the loading dock as we speak."

"Right," said Esme, briskly unzipping the first four garment bags and pulling out the dress contained in each bag.

"Are those Charlotte dresses?" asked Karen excitedly.

"They are," Esme confirmed, the pride in her voice evident as she checked each dress with a professional eye before reviewing the label inside each dress carefully. "They're for the new shoot and they're the only ones I'm doing here at the shop. The other costumes that couldn't be salvaged from the first movie, as well as a few new ones, are being sewn in the costume department at the studio. As many as a hundred thousand yards of fabric and other materials are cut annually in the studio's wardrobe department. At last count, I think the wardrobe department had fifteen warehouses, housing over one hundred thousand costumes representing nearly every historical period. Our department can equip as many as five thousand actors and extras in a single day."

"That is absolutely incredible," breathed Karen.

"It is," Esme agreed, "but the Charlotte dresses are my babies, which is why we're doing those here," she explained, running her fingers over the folds of the ivory fabric lovingly. "There are three sets of four dresses each. Each set of four is the same; two for Susan Crenshaw, the actress portraying Charlotte, and two are for her stunt double." She pointed to the label sewn into the neck of the first dress. "As you can see, this one says 'Susan – Dress 1' and the other says 'Susan – Dress 2', and so on." Esme then unzipped the middle four garment bags and pulled out the dress inside each of them.

Karen eyed the next set of dresses in surprise. "No offense, Esme, but those don't look very clean at all."

The young woman smiled. "They're not supposed to. They've been carefully treated to make them look worn and dirty to represent Charlotte's clothing after several days of travel through the Underground Railroad." She undid the zippers on the last set of garment bags and pulled them out as well. "These 'rags' are what the character Charlotte wears during the last half of her arduous journey. Keep in mind, she's been travelling through swamps, forests and underbrush at night for more than a month while hiding under church floorboards, in barns and in haylofts during the day. She's filthy and getting sicker by the day."

"I guess I never thought about clothes being designed in tatters," Karen remarked, eyeing the frayed edges of the 'dirty' material.

"As a costume designer, you can't afford to let even the smallest detail slip by you and that's even more crucial when it comes to a period piece," she explained. "Everything has to be as authentic as possible. Costume design is actually quite the production in itself."

"How so?"

Kate glanced at Karen, amused at her granddaughter's unbridled interest, but said nothing.

"Well, the first step usually calls for an analysis of the script – like where the movie takes place, what time of the year it is, who the characters are and are they rich or poor and what each character does, that kind of thing," Esme explained. "Action is really important, too, because if the characters will have a lot of action sequences, their costumes have to allow for that type of flexibility."

"And here I thought it was just doing some sketches and then sewing stuff up," Karen remarked dryly.

"Most people would probably think the same thing – and to some degree it's just that. However, it's also a lot of meetings with the director beforehand to discuss budget and timetables. Then, of course, there's the actual costume research."

"What exactly do you use for sources?" asked Kate. "I've often wondered about that myself."

"Museums, periodicals, newspapers, sculptures and paintings are a costume designer's go-to sources," Esme admitted. "Those and the internet, of course. It was only after I'd done all my research that I was able to sit down and prepare a few preliminary sketches."

Karen looked impressed. "Wow! I never realized it was all so complicated."

"As I said, it's all part of a process." Esme checked the last dress with a flourish. "It looks like everything's in order, Consuelo. Bag'em and send'em on out. Make sure you get the driver's signature on the requisition form."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Kate and Karen now had Esme's full attention. "Now that we've got that out of the way, let's get on with your fitting," she told them, leading the way to the fitting rooms. "Holly, would you please get Mrs. Stanton's dress," she told the seamstress behind the counter.

"It's already waiting in Fitting Room 2," the woman called Holly told her with an efficient smile. "Whenever Mrs. Stanton's ready."

"Then I best not keep everyone waiting," Kate told them, heading to the fitting room with the number 2 marked on it.

Esme stopped the other woman as she was about to follow Kate. "I'll look after Mrs. Stanton today, Holly."

Holly nodded briskly. "As you wish."

The plastic garment bag had been removed and was hanging on the door behind the dress. Kate looked at the dress in pleasure, despite her earlier misgivings about its severe tailoring. She didn't normally like clothes with a heavy tailored look to them but Esme had talked her into it, assuring her that it would look good on her trim figure.

"Well, what do you think of the finished product?" asked Esme, carefully watching Kate's reaction.

"It looks beautiful and if it looks half as good on me as it does on the hanger, then you've done a splendid job."

Esme became very businesslike. "Let's not keep ourselves in suspense, then."

Kate quickly removed the skirt and top she was wearing while Esme unzipped the dress and slid it off the hanger. Carefully guiding it over Kate's head, she zipped it up before critically eyeing the dress for the slightest flaw.

"Well?" asked Kate eagerly. "How does it look?" It wasn't normally like her to fuss over her appearance but the occasion calling for this dress could hardly be characterized as 'normal' under any circumstances.

Esme grinned happily before turning Kate so that she was facing the three-way mirror. "Why don't you take a look for yourself?"

For just about a full minute, Kate said nothing. Any fears she may have had melted away as her eyes slid down her reflection in appreciation. The severe tailoring of the dress somehow accentuated its elegance. It was navy blue in color, the hidden pleats at the side of the skirt splaying open as Kate turned to get a better look at her appearance from another angle. A huge smile lit her face.

Esme was waiting for her reaction. "Well, what do you think?"

"I love it!"

"I'm relieved to hear that," the younger woman remarked, kneeling down to make a slight adjustment to the pleats. "I have to admit that I was a little worried given your earlier reservations."

Kate's face held only delight. "I think you were spot on about everything and I'm glad I listened to you."

"I wish all my clients were as easy-going as you," Esme told her, tilting her head to one side as she stared at the stark neckline of the dress. "I'm not crazy about the neckline, though. I think it's missing something but I believe I have just the thing to fix it." She went over to a built-in wardrobe housed against the one wall. Opening the top drawer, Esme pulled out a large silk scarf in a pale blue and red paisley pattern. Taking it over to Kate, she artfully twisted the scarf before draping it into a loose loop around Kate's neck. "There, that completes the look perfectly. A paisley scarf for a former Paisley!"

Kate was really touched as she once again looked at her reflection. "You're right, it's the perfect accessory."

"So – has it hit you yet that you're going to get your very own star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it my very own since I'll be sharing the honor with my late husband, Marcus," Kate reminded her. "And if you want the honest truth, just the thought of the whole thing has my insides in a knot. On the one hand, I'm glad the Paisleys are finally getting the recognition they deserve but on the other, I'm reluctant to step out into the spotlight again. Moments like this, I wish Marcus was still alive. He'd be tickled pink about the whole thing." Thinking about her beloved first husband made Kate momentarily melancholy. Without a doubt, Marcus had been the driving force and the visionary behind their musical group. As far as she was concerned, she'd simply gone along for the ride – and what a ride it had been back then!

"Something tells me he'd be very proud of you." Esme gave her a quick hug. "How about showing off your new outfit?"

"Let's do it!" Kate stepped out of the fitting room and went and stood in front of Karen. "Well, what do you think?"

Karen whistled. "Grams, you look totally awesome!"

"You look lovely, Mrs. Stanton," Holly agreed.

"The consensus appears to be unanimous," said Esme, who was leaning against the fitting room door. "I think this calls for some champagne, don't you think?"

Before Kate could reply, the phone rang and Holly went to answer it. "For you," she told Esme, holding out the receiver. "It's the police."

"The police!" Esme took the receiver from her. "This is Esme Carlyle." She looked troubled as she listened to the voice on the other end. "I'm not sure, let me check." Placing the receiver on the counter, Esme hurried into the back work room, returning a few minutes later before picking up the receiver again.

"My employee has confirmed that the driver's already left – about fifteen minutes ago." She listened again for several more minutes. "That's fine, I'll be waiting." Esme slowly hung up the receiver with a hand that shook.

"Esme – what's wrong?" asked Kate, noting Esme's obvious distress.

"That was the LAPD," Esme told them in a robotic voice. "It seems that the studio's regular driver was found murdered over on La Cienega, apparently while on route to my shop."

"Oh my God – how terrible!"

"So who picked up your dresses then?" asked Karen.

Esme managed a half-smile but it looked grim more than anything else. "The murderer, I think."

THE END
Marta Tandori had always been an avid reader but it wasn't until she began studying acting in her early twenties at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York that she realized acting wasn't really her passion – writing fiction was. Thanks to an overly zealous addiction in her youth to all things _Nancy Drew_ and _Trixie Belden_ , Marta fell in love with mysteries and it's hardly a surprise that she chose to write in the same genre! Marta's books feature strong female protagonists who have closets full of nasty skeletons and the odd murder or two to complicate their already complex lives. She's the author of the Kate Stanton Hollywood Mystery Series as well as several other standalone mysteries and is a contributor to Broowaha.com. To learn more about Marta, please visit her website at <http://martatandori.com> or her Facebook Author Page at www.facebook.com/MartaTandoriAuthor or connect with her on Twitter at <http://twitter.com/MartaTandori> (@MartaTandori).
