“I’m tired of sitting around doing nothing while Aster’s in jail. I think we should make a list of evidence, things we need to follow up on. Between the picture, the diary entry, and Aster’s video, we have enough to start our own investigation.”
Tommy wiped a hand across his mouth and placed the empty bottle before him. “I have a gig.” He fielded Layla’s quizzical look with a shrug.
“I thought you wanted to help.” Her brow knotted as her gaze narrowed on his. “I mean, why else are you here?”
Tommy sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and glanced toward the bar, suddenly regretting his decision to meet. Aster was the only daughter of wealthy parents with unlimited resources. There was nothing he and Layla could possibly offer that Aster’s family and some white-shoe law firm couldn’t. Despite what Layla thought, they lacked resources and know-how, not to mention any worthwhile evidence. So what if Madison wasn’t always named Madison? She’d hardly be the first in Hollywood to create a fictional past for herself.
The only reason Tommy was sitting in that booth was because he’d wanted to see Layla again. It didn’t make sense; she wasn’t his usual type, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about her pretty much all the time. But clearly Layla saw him only as a potential Scooby Gang member. And the way she was glaring at him left no doubt that his feelings for her would forever go unrequited.
It was time he distanced himself from Layla and the whole Madison mess she was dragging him into. He was tired of always looking over his shoulder. Tired of always being hounded by paparazzi. Tired of complete strangers tweeting so much shit about him.
He’d arrived in LA with a dream, and it was time he started taking meaningful steps toward making it real.
“Have you ever considered that maybe Aster is guilty?” he said.
Layla balked. He’d rendered her speechless. A victory of sorts, though it hardly felt worth celebrating.
“You did not just say that,” she snapped.
Tommy had meant exactly that and more. In the days since Aster’s arrest, he’d had plenty of time to contemplate the evidence leveled against her, and he was no longer so convinced of her innocence. “She was dating Madison’s boyfriend,” he said. “They found Madison’s blood on her dress. Not to mention how Aster’s alibi for that night just doesn’t add up. She doesn’t remember? Really? Don’t you think that’s a stretch?”
“You can’t be serious.”
Layla was in shock—angry, and in shock. But someone needed to say it. Might as well be him. The evidence piling up against Aster made it increasingly difficult to believe in her.
Besides, how well did he actually know her? Not well at all. His experience with Aster was mostly limited to the contest, and even that revealed Aster as cutthroat, focused, and willing to play dirty and do whatever was necessary to secure the win.
Didn’t matter that the same could be said of him. He wasn’t guilty of harming Madison, whereas he couldn’t definitively say the same of Aster.
“I’m out.” He slid an envelope across the table toward Layla, watching as she blinked but wouldn’t so much as touch it. “Madison’s keys,” he explained. He should’ve turned them over to the police right from the start. But with Detective Larsen always breathing down his neck, Tommy had hung on to them, convinced Larsen would only use them against him. “Wiped clean of my prints, I might add.” He exhaled long and deep, relieved to finally be rid of them. “Seriously, I want nothing to do with this.” In an instant he was up, pulling a sizable handful of bills from his wallet and tossing them onto the table. He’d managed to find a place where he could drink a beer without being carded, and he hoped to keep it that way.
“But you haven’t even read the card yet! There was a card that came with it—it had a cartoon picture of a seriously messed-up cat, and—”
“Don’t need to,” he interrupted. “I meant what I said.”
“I can’t even believe this!” Layla’s voice was harsh, attracting the attention of the drunks at the bar, and she wore an expression so furious Tommy cringed when he met it.
He nodded toward the guy aiming a camera in their direction. “Pretty sure the waitress alerted the paparazzi. I’m guessing we have less than five minutes before we’re swarmed. Guess you should’ve ordered more than a coffee.”
Instinctively, he slung a protective arm around Layla’s shoulder, scowled at the photog, and rushed her toward the door, all the while cursing himself for so quickly abandoning his vow to be done with her. First sign of trouble and there he was, jumping to Layla’s rescue, willing to do whatever it took to protect her. It was the decent thing to do, sure, but it also left him wondering if he’d ever truly be over her.
He’d see her safely to her car and no more. After that, they’d go their separate ways. He wished her and Aster well, but this was the end as far as he was concerned. Tommy Phillips was officially moving on.
FIVE
I WOULD DIE 4 U
Spotlight magazine exclusive!
Spotlight: We here at Spotlight recently caught up with teen heartthrob Ryan Hawthorne, who has been through a whirlwind of a rough time lately. Between the cheating scandal that led to the very public breakup with his girlfriend, A-lister Madison Brooks, followed by Madison’s disappearance, Ryan himself being called in for questioning, and the cancellation of his show (which we just received confirmation of after weeks of rumors) . . . Well, Ryan, first things first—our condolences on all the bad news. How are you holding up?
Ryan: Thanks, but no condolences needed. Life has its cycles, and peaks are always bordered by valleys. The key is to accept each stage as it comes, find the lesson so you can learn and grow and try not to repeat your mistakes, and never, ever take the good times for granted, or the dark moments personally.
Spotlight: Well, that’s certainly very enlightened of you. Not sure we could maintain such serenity in the face of all you’ve been dealing with. Maybe we need a new life coach or yoga studio!
Ryan: Is there a question here?
Spotlight: Certainly, and we’ll get right to it! We know Spotlight readers are dying to hear your take on these recent events, including the arrest of your former paramour, Aster Amirpour, just hours after you spoke to detectives. Do you have any thoughts you’d like to share pertaining to Aster’s arrest and the part she allegedly played in the murder of Madison Brooks? Was there some insight or clue you shared with police that led them to the discovery of the blood-soaked dress?
Ryan: Are you serious?
Spotlight: Well, even you have to admit the timing is extremely suspicious. . . .
Ryan: What I know is that I willingly spoke to the police. I wasn’t “dragged in for questioning” or however you chose to relay it at the time. Also, I had nothing to do with the discovery of the dress or Aster’s arrest. I was as surprised as you are. You have to understand that I haven’t spoken to Aster since the scene at Night for Night. And though I deeply regret my actions, which I’ve stated on countless occasions, I sincerely doubt Aster had anything to do with Madison’s disappearance. I also don’t believe Madison is dead.
Spotlight: And the dress?
Ryan: What about it?
Spotlight: Bloodstains don’t lie. And from what we’ve learned so far, the dress was covered in them.
Ryan: I can hardly be expected to comment on things I know nothing about. I’ve made my feelings clear, and I stand by my word. All I can do is continue praying for Madison’s safe return, and see how it all plays out once the case goes to trial. If you’re asking me to speculate, well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I won’t do that.
Spotlight: Right. Well, we thank you for taking the time to speak with us, and like you, we’re also praying for Madison’s return. Before you go, any hints for what’s next?
Ryan: I’ve got a few projects in the works, but nothing I can announce just yet.
Spotlight: Well, I hope you’ll consider giving us an exclusive!
Ryan: Yeah. Um, okay.
We’ll see.
Spotlight: You read it here first, life moves on for Ryan Hawthorne, and we at Spotlight wish him all the best!
“Why are you scowling like that?”
Mateo tossed the magazine aside and rushed to the side of his little sister’s hospital bed. He brushed a concerned hand over her forehead, relieved to find her skin mercifully cool, showing no sign of the fever that had started it all just one week before.
A fever, followed by bruising, unexplained weight loss, and eventually a fainting episode at school. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia was the official diagnosis, or ALL as they called it—a scary name for when the body went rogue and decided to manufacture too many immature white blood cells. And now, because of it, Valentina’s immune system was so weakened she’d succumbed to an opportunistic infection.
“How are you feeling?” He struggled to shake off any lingering traces of anger the article had sparked. But seeing his little sister looking so helpless and small among all the needles and tubes and the port in her chest awaiting chemotherapy only managed to trigger him more.
This was what truly mattered! His fingers circled the bed rails so hard his knuckles pushed taut against his skin. Yes, a celebrity had gone missing, had maybe even been murdered, which was an undeniably terrible thing, but did it really deserve to claim every headline when there were so many innocents suffering in the world?
What made Madison’s story more worthy than the tragic tale of his sweet little sister?
Why did people care more about celebrities than the fate of everyday people?
Valentina regarded him closely. “Well, now I really need to read it.” She nodded toward the magazine. “The way it got you all wound up, there’s clearly something good in there, so hand it over, please!”
Mateo frowned and made no move to retrieve the magazine. “You shouldn’t be reading that stuff.” Even to his ears he sounded stodgy, old, and judgmental, but he assured himself he was only trying to protect her.
“Why, because I’m too young?”
In his eyes, Valentina would always be the cherished baby sister he’d give his life for. But knowing how much she’d hate hearing that, he leaned against the bed rail, brushed her long dark curls away from her forehead, and said, “No, because it’s too trashy for a classy princess like you.”
She tried to scowl in return, but it was only a second later when her face burst into a grin that made his heart lurch. The fact that she could even manage such a thing in light of all she was facing was almost too much to bear.
How was it possible that just a few weeks earlier she’d celebrated her birthday looking as vibrant and healthy as any other ten-year-old girl, only to end up in this horrible, sterile room with its mint-green walls and tired floors, hooked up to various tubes and machines responsible for keeping her alive?
Seeing his little sister suffer was the absolute worst thing he’d ever experienced, and Mateo had seen more than his share of sorrow. But Valentina was a child, an innocent. She didn’t deserve any of this. The whole thing reeked of unfairness, and it left him wondering if the black cloud hanging over his family would ever move on.
The Luna Curse—it was the name he’d given to the unfathomable situations they continued to find themselves in. With the death of his father shortly after Valentina’s birth, followed by the loss of his older brother Carlos a few years later, Mateo was sure he’d seen the worst of what life had to offer. The night they’d received the call informing them that Carlos had overdosed outside a Hollywood nightclub hadn’t been entirely unexpected. Carlos had suffered from addiction for a while, had even gone a few rounds with a local rehab center. Still, the devastating news had thrown the Lunas into a spiral of grief they were only just beginning to recover from when Valentina fell ill.
Clearly the Luna Curse hadn’t gone anywhere. It had merely taken a hiatus, a much-needed rest in which to gather enough strength to come roaring back—rearing its ugly head and descending on them with a vengeance they could never imagine.
He watched her lids flutter closed once again. She tired so easily, and yet she was imbued with an inner strength that surpassed everyone else’s, somehow managing to remain happy and cheerful and never once complaining, no matter how bad things got. Mateo wished he could do the same.
While their mom fought hard to keep a brave face, inside she was broken. And most of the time Mateo felt broken too. In the last week alone his mom had lost her job, and Mateo had lost Layla. Both of which, while bad, weren’t entirely out of the ordinary. But this—this thing with Valentina—was all the proof he needed that it was time for him to step up and do whatever it took to look after his family.
He reached for his sister’s hand. It looked so small and pale folded in his. Up until now, he’d had the luxury of not wanting for much. He’d easily gotten by on the pay (plus tips) he made working as a surf butler at some of the fancier resorts. The usual trappings of success—a big house and showy car—held no interest for him. And though he recognized his lack of ambition as a growing source of irritation for Layla, he’d never thought it a problem until now.
After listening to the pediatric oncologist explain the course of treatment and all the exorbitant costs that accompanied it—the sort of costs that could easily break them, possibly even leave them all homeless—there was no denying it was time for him to grow up and shoulder the burden his mom could no longer carry alone.
Maybe Layla was right.
Maybe his lack of ambition was a much bigger issue than he’d initially realized.
Maybe it was immature, childish, a refusal to start acting more responsibly and taking the first steps toward adulthood.
Or maybe it wasn’t that at all.
Maybe it was just who he was—mellow, content, interested in pursuing the kind of things money couldn’t buy.
All he knew for sure was that the one time he had compromised hadn’t gotten him anywhere. Hoping to bridge the growing rift between them, he’d planned to surprise Layla with the news that he’d accepted a sponsorship with a surf brand that had been after him for a while. Only before he could tell her, he’d received an anonymous text with a picture of Layla kissing Tommy, and they hadn’t spoken since.
Not like it mattered. As it turned out, a sponsorship mostly consisted of a pile of logo T-shirts and swim trunks and a handful of stickers to put on his boards. It wasn’t the payday it used to be. The exotic surf trips (which he didn’t really care about) and the monthly paychecks (which he did) were reserved for the top few on the professional circuit—an elite tribe to which Mateo didn’t belong.
Still, he wasn’t without options. And though he’d once sworn against the idea of relying on his good looks to make a living, confronted by the sight of his baby sister, her life dependent on the tubes that slow-dripped various liquids into her veins, he no longer had the luxury of thinking that way. Turned out, there were some things that only money could buy—like the best hospitals, doctors, and lifesaving treatments for Valentina. And it was up to Mateo to find a way to provide those things for her.
“How are we doing?” The door swung open behind him, and he turned to find the nurse briskly entering the room. “Anything I can get you?”
Mateo started to shush her, warn that his sister was sleeping, when Valentina’s eyes popped open and she nodded toward the chair by her bed.
“Can you hand me that magazine, please?” She shot a glance at Mateo and grinned triumphantly when the nurse promptly retrieved the tabloid and placed it onto her lap. “My brother thinks it’s too trashy for me—what do you think?” Valentina held it before her, the cover displaying a picture of Madison looking angelic beside Aster’s haggard mug shot—her hair tangled, face pale, as her fearful gaze stared into the camera.
The nurse took a moment to consider. “I think he’s probably right.” She nodded gravely as she set about checking Valentina’s blood pressure. Then, brightening, she said, “But that’s last week’s news. Have you heard the latest?”
<
br /> Valentina’s eyes widened as she sat up a little straighter, and Mateo groaned in frustration. His little sister was ten going on sixteen, and like most girls her age, she idolized Madison—wanted to be just like her. Also, like most ten-year-olds, she hated being treated like a child. And while Mateo wanted to stop it—stop her illness, stop her preteen obsession with celebrities—he was powerless against both of those things.
Though there was something he could do—something he could no longer afford to avoid.
As Valentina and the nurse discussed the merits of their favorite Madison movies, Mateo pressed a kiss to his sister’s cheek and stepped outside the room. Hurrying down the hall, he pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolled through his long list of contacts, and sighed in relief when he saw he’d at least had the foresight not to delete the one number that just might change his run of bad luck.
“Hello,” he said, the moment the phone connected. “You told me to call if I ever changed my mind about your offer. Pretty sure I just did.”
SIX
HOTLINE BLING
LA Times reporter Trena Moretti stifled a yawn and lamped up the stereo on the Lexus she’d driven off the lot just a few weeks before. Having grown up in New York City only to spend the last several years in DC, she had no need for a car and considered it an unnecessary, climate-destroying convenience she would not indulge in. But LA was a car-conscious place that held fast to its motto: You are what you drive. If she wanted to fit in, she needed to at least make an attempt to do as the natives did.
Initially she had her heart set on a used Porsche, but when the salesperson guided her across the lot to the dark red Lexus coupe, it was love at first sight. And it wasn’t long before she’d become addicted to the thrill of driving the racy convertible.
She glanced in the rearview mirror, assessing her clear blue-green eyes, dark caramel complexion, and headful of wild bronze-tinged curls she’d long ago given up trying to tame. Maybe she still looked the same, but falling in love with a car proved she was dangerously close to becoming a full-blown Angeleno.