The Elizas: A Novel(53)

I’m out of options. I trudge to the cruiser and slump into the back. It smells like old leather. There’s some sort of paper bracelet in the footwell with the logo from a seedy strip joint. Larkin shuts the door behind me. I slump down as far as I can go in the seat. If my mother saw me now, she’d probably forcibly send me to the Oaks. I’d have no say in the matter.

I swipe to unlock my phone, then press the photos button, eager to look at the picture I’d taken of Leonidas’s call screen. One of the numbers on the list is needling at my memory—I know it, I just don’t know why I know it. But when I access my gallery, the image is gone. I swipe and swipe, but it isn’t anywhere.

“Uh?” I eke out, jutting my chin toward the silent figures in the front seat. O’Hara raises his eyes to me in the rearview. There was a crime, I want to say. Something was taken from me. When I was passed out, someone went on my phone and erased a photo.

I try to compose my words, but even before saying them, I know how they will sound. I will then have to explain sneaking into Leonidas’s dad’s office, which seems like too much of an effort and probably not something I should be talking about. This is my punishment, I suppose, for snooping.

It just doesn’t seem like this punishment fits the crime.





From The Dots


In mid-April, Dorothy surprised Dot by taking her to a resort. It was in the middle of the desert and Dorothy loved it because she could hear coyotes howling all night.

She got a suite for them to share. It had a large balcony that overlooked the warren-like courtyard of grassy nooks, flowering planters, and sleek wooden benches. A woman sunned herself on a towel in the nude.

Dorothy turned to Dot, grinning. “There’s a marvelous story about a murder at this hotel. Celebrities used to come here in the sixties, especially those who slept their way to the top. This one girl, she must have been mixed in with the wrong crowd, because someone killed her in that courtyard. Hit her over the head. And the next day, when the staff found her, they identified her as a different starlet—a more famous one. They planned this elaborate funeral for her. Friends and family from out of state came in droves. The FBI was doing a full-scale investigation. But then the starlet emerged, alive and well. Turns out, being dead for three days did wonders for her career. She made quite a few movies after that! Married a good friend of Sinatra’s!”

“But what about the real murdered girl?” Dot gasped.

Dorothy shrugged. “Oh, I have no idea what happened to her. She probably got in over her head with some goons, and that’s why they killed her.”

“They never figured out who did it?”

“No, I don’t believe so. This other girl wasn’t much of a priority.”

“Did the star who lived pay some sort of homage to her?” Dot asked. “I mean, it was because of this poor dead girl that her career took off, right? I hope she was grateful.”

A thoughtful look crossed Dorothy’s features, and then she looked at Dot squarely. “You know what would be interesting? If the famous starlet was actually the one in trouble with the goons in Palm Springs, but she sent this other gal in her place to bear their wrath. She got out of a jam and a career boost, lucky thing.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, don’t listen to me.” She playfully slapped Dot’s arm. “I’m just making up a plot.”

When they went to the bar, Dorothy wore her sunglasses and scarf. “Why don’t you want anyone to notice you?” Dot asked as her aunt checked herself out in the mirror.

Dorothy’s mouth made a straight line. “I just don’t want to answer questions.”

“Questions about what?”

“I wear many hats, Dot. I have my hands in many pies.”

Someone started playing a piano, an old-timey twenties tune with lots of trills and flourishes.

“Why does my mother hate you?” Dot blurted.

Dorothy grew still. “Is that what she said? That she hates me?”

Dot didn’t answer.

Dorothy’s head drooped. She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “We used to be good friends, marvelous friends, especially growing up. I mean, we didn’t see each other much, but there was still a bond, you know? I was always the pretty one, but I was unlucky in love. Your mother’s husband, your father? He was a peach. A good man. Took care of her and you. He lived in Los Angeles, which is why you all moved there. I moved to follow you. I bet you didn’t know that.”

Dot shook her head. She did not.

“But your mother is . . . Well, you know her. She didn’t give your father what he needed. I was over a lot—I could tell what was happening to their marriage. I saw him looking at me, too. I tried to ignore it, but I had needs, too. I’d just gotten divorced. I’d just lost Thomas. I was single and rich and miserable. I only kissed him once, but your mother caught us. She banished me from then on. Said I was no longer her sister.”

“You kissed my father?”

“No, darling, he kissed me. But he wasn’t a bad man. Please don’t think that. It just . . . happened. Sometimes things do. But anyway, your mother read it how she wanted to read it. I was the instigator, she thought. We didn’t speak for a time. I think she understood what I meant to you and what you meant to me. She also knew how I could help out, financially. So she agreed that you and I could still visit. But she made it clear she wasn’t happy with me.