"Maybe it would give him some closure, though?" I offered. "Answer definitely if this was all a tragic accident or something more?"

  Ramirez sighed. "Honestly, an autopsy really should have been done on Beth to begin with. But I don't know if doing one now will give Ricky the answers he's looking for. And these things take time. There's a lot of red tape. No one is going to get immediate answers."

  "I'll make sure he knows that." I took a breath. "Let me ask you something. Have you heard of Ricci Brothers Construction? They're involved in commercial building projects."

  "Doesn't sound familiar. Why?"

  "Well, before we left Bart implied that they might have had some ties to organized crime in the past." I almost hesitated to repeated it. "And Bart said Ricky's dad was working with them at the time Beth died."

  "I'm liking this Bart guy less and less."

  "Yeah, I'm not in his fan club either. But I guess I was just wondering if there's any bit of truth behind it."

  Ramirez sighed again. "I can check in with Major Crimes. See if the name has ever come up for them."

  "Thanks. I think it would put Ricky's mind at ease."

  "Sounds like he needs some ease. Anyway, I shouldn't be too late getting home. Love you, babe."

  No matter how many times he said it, the phrase always warmed me. "Love you too," I told him before disconnecting.

  Fernando tapped me on the shoulder as soon as I hung up. "Maddie, could you encourage the showgirl review to move someplace else, please? I'm trying to run a business here."

  "What?"

  He pointed, and I couldn't suppress a laugh. Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt were raptly watching Ling demonstrate the kind of dance moves that might be illegal in some states. Lots of hip movement, hands straying to suggestive places. They were doing their best to imitate her, panting and giggling like Livvie on Christmas morning. The stylists were doing their best to ignore the spectacle. The clients were gawking. I even saw one woman who bore a striking resemblance to a former Friends cast member pull out a phone and aim it at Ling.

  I rushed over to the trio. "This is not the Glitter Galaxy, ladies," I reminded them with a pointed look toward the stylist station closest to us. Had the woman in the chair not been Botoxed within an inch of her life, I'm sure she would have been frowning at us.

  "What do you think, Maddie?" Mrs. Rosenblatt lifted up a knee and let it fall with a clunk. "Ling says with a little practice, we could be TikTok stars."

  I thought I wanted whatever Ling was taking, and then I wanted to scrub my brain of the image of Mom swiveling her hips around like a geriatric hula dancer.

  "You're doing real good," Ling said approvingly. "Remember, shoulder goes here, hip goes there. Maybe buy some fishnets, and you could go viral. What's wrong?"

  "Hip went there," Mrs. Rosenblatt gasped. "I've got to sit down."

  "Everybody thinks it's an easy job," Ling said. "Not so much, right? It takes a lot of work to spin your tassels."

  "I have newfound respect for dancers," Mom agreed. "Dorothy's not even wearing six inch heels and look how tired she is."

  "Take me to the shampoo sink," Mrs. Rosenblatt gasped. "I need some me time."

  As reluctant as I was to leave the three of them together, at least they'd stopped dancing, or whatever it was they'd been doing, so I took that as my cue.

  "I've gotta get some work done today," I told them. "You guys okay here?"

  Mom nodded. "I'll have Fernando drive me by to get my car later. I think I need a little pedicure time."

  A little pedicure time sounded like heaven. But I'd already put myself a couple days behind on the spring line, and I knew that deadline for the designs to go to my manufacturers would come all too quickly if I didn't put some hours in at my desk. So I said some quick goodbyes and ducked out of the salon.

  As I walked back to my minivan, I pulled up Dana's number.

  "Hey," she answered on the first ring.

  "Hey, back. I just wanted to check up on you guys. You okay?"

  Dana sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine. Drained, but otherwise okay."

  "Ramirez called me," I told her, giving her the quick version of the call, including his promise to look into Ricci Brothers Construction. "How's Ricky doing?"

  "Not too well," she admitted. "He took a sedative when we got home, and he's asleep. I think it's the most rest he's gotten since Moira DeVine's death."

  I felt a tug of sympathy. "Sounds like you could use a latte pick-me-up."

  "It wouldn't hurt," she agreed. "But I don't want to keep you from anything."

  I briefly thought of my deadline. I'd have to pull a couple of all-nighters if I wanted to hit it. But Dana needed a friend. "Not at all," I told her. "I'm just leaving Fernando's now."

  "Are your mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt with you?"

  I shook my head as I unlocked my car and got into the driver's seat. "No, they're staying here. We ran into Ling at the salon, and I just broke up an impromptu dance lesson she was trying to give those two."

  Dana was silent for a second. "You don't mean the fox trot, do you."

  "Afraid not. Anyway, I left them at the salon. Hopefully no one calls the police on them before I get back."

  "I've seen Ling's act," she said. "If Mrs. Rosenblatt is trying to do that, they're more likely to call an ambulance."

  I laughed. "I'll be right over."

  "I'll leave the door open for you," she said. "Just come on in when you get here."

  Even with a Starbucks pit stop, I made surprisingly good time winding up into the hills. When I arrived at Dana's house, I noticed the herd of paparazzi had dwindled to nothing, and the CSI team was gone, too. All that was left behind were a few candy wrappers and a discarded empty water bottle. After just a couple of days, Moira DeVine's unexpected death was old news, which was both sad and a relief at the same time.

  I pushed through the door, calling a soft "Hello?" so as not to wake Ricky.

  "I'm back here," came Dana's voice from one of the spare bedrooms. I followed the sound through the house and found her kneeling beside a mound of cardboard boxes.

  "Still unpacking?" I asked, handing her a still-warm vanilla latte. Non-fat, non-sugar, oatmilk, of course. One did not look svelte in hot PI leather pants on a TV set drinking the type of full-fat, extra whip, double syrup mochas I had in my hand.

  Dana shook her head, accepting the drink and taking a small sip. "No, actually these are some of the things Robert and Lillian dropped by when they cleared out their house. Mostly old photos and stuff from Ricky's childhood. They're downsizing and thought Ricky would like to have it."

  I peeked into the box closest to her and saw a pile of slightly yellowed finger paintings, similar to the kind currently gracing my refrigerator. "Cute that he kept all this stuff."

  Dana nodded. "I thought maybe something in here might soothe Ricky. You know, remind him how much his dad loves him. Bring back some happier times."

  I sat down on the floor beside her, crossing my legs under myself, careful not to catch a spiked heel on my stretch pants.

  "Find anything so far?"

  She sat back. "Found lots of things. We've practically got an archive of Ricky's life here. That one's full of old photos. And that one"—she gestured to a box behind me—"has some of Beth's things in it."

  I couldn't help taking a look into the Beth box. "What kind of things?"

  "Remember how Moira DeVine asked Ricky to bring something of his mom's to the reading?"

  "He gave her a brooch."

  She nodded. "And an old perfume bottle. They were in there."

  There was something touching about Robert saving his dead wife's perfume bottle.

  I put my latte down off to the side, where it wouldn't accidentally get knocked over, and pulled a stack of papers from the box.

  "Those are letters Beth wrote to Robert while he was finishing his last year of school," Dana told me.

  "Did you read them?" I asked, pulling one out of a yellowed envelope.

  She nodded. "They're really sweet." She pushed her hair back, reaching into a box to her left. "Oh, isn't this cute?"

  I looked up at the memento in her hands—a baby boy figurine in a frame, with Ricky's name, date of birth, and birth weight inscribed beneath. "Seven pounds, two ounces. Hard to imagine."

  "They start out small."

  "I think I'll hang this upstairs." She ran her fingers over the figurine with a smile.

  "Better ask Ricky about that." I set the letters aside and found a collection of rubber-banded elementary school report cards, slid one free, and read it. I grinned at her. "Better ask him about this, too. His fourth grade teacher wrote Ricky enjoys performing in the school plays and is a talented actor."

  Dana craned to read it. "How do you like that. Almost as good as an Oscar, huh?"

  "I'm sure it was, back then." I noticed a shadow cross her face. "What?"

  "Nothing, really." She bit her lip. "Maybe it's silly, but looking through this stuff makes me a little sad."

  I reached for my cup. "Sad? Why's that?"

  She shrugged. "All these mementos, these pictures. It makes me think about, I don't know, having a family of my own. I thought I would by now, you know?"

  "You still could," I pointed out gently.

  "I know, but with our careers, we're just apart so often." She sipped from her latte before going on. "Do you realize what with our shooting schedules, this is the first time in months we've even been on the same continent?"

  "That does make things hard," I agreed.

  "The price of fame, I guess. Don't get me wrong," she added quickly. "We have a wonderful life together. I don't want to sound ungrateful." Her fingertips lingered on the baby figurine again, her wistfulness like a living, breathing thing between us. I wasn't sure what to say, so I said nothing.

  "Well, we all make our choices, right?" She sat up straighter. "Anyway…" She trailed off, clearly trying to put on a happy face. "Oh, look at these pictures."

  She pulled a cache of photographs from a box. "These are old." She sorted through them slowly. "This must be Beth with Robert."

  She held up a photo of a 20-something Robert with a beautiful dark-haired woman at his side, standing beside a vintage red Mustang, smiling into the summer sun.

  "No wonder Ricky's so handsome," I said with a smile. "That must be the car Moira DeVine referenced in his reading."

  "It's pretty, isn't it?" Dana studied the image. "Look how young they were. I remember Ricky and his dad reminiscing about that car. They both loved it. In fact, Robert bought it on Ricky's fourth birthday." She laughed. "He called it Ricky's gift to him. But I guess Beth didn't think it was a good family car, and he said she made him sell it later. I wonder if Ricky realizes this is in here. I should have it framed for him."

  "He'd like that." I picked up another photo. "This is a nice one, too."

  Dana took it. "Oh, that's Robert with Lillian." Suddenly she froze. "Oh, I…" The words died in her throat.

  I frowned. "What?"

  In response, Dana held up the photo of a young Robert and Lillian, standing in front of the gleaming red Mustang.

  "He certainly liked that car," I noted.

  But Dana shook her head. "Maddie, Beth made him sell that car."

  I looked at the picture again, the implication sinking in. Robert with his arm around Lillian. Standing next to the car that his wife later made him sell.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "You have to try to calm down before we get there. You look like you're ready to serve her head on a platter."

  Dana glanced over at me, her lips practically white from compression. "I know."

  "There might be a perfectly innocent reason why Lillian's in that picture with your father-in-law."

  "Give me one."

  I couldn't. I didn't have one. Robert had told us he and Lillian had met on the Santa Monica Pier after Beth had died. A chance meeting during Ricky's birthday visit. Neither had mentioned knowing each other prior to that. Maybe it had been an innocent oversight.

  Maybe it hadn't.

  "Why is this traffic so heavy?" Dana fumed, gripping the steering wheel of her Tesla. "This is taking forever!"

  "Remind me how long you've lived in LA?"

  The comment earned a small smile in return. "It never fails to amaze me," she said, sounding less like the Incredible Hulk and more like Dana again, "how so many people can be going somewhere all at the same time, at all hours of the day and night, every single day."

  "I think you secretly love it," I teased her. "If you wanted to beat the traffic, you could always live off the grid or something."

  "No, I couldn't."

  We drove on for a few minutes before she said, "You know what really bothers me, Mads? I thought I knew Robert. I never would have imagined him cheating on Ricky's mom. It sounds old-fashioned, but I thought he was honorable, you know?"

  "He is honorable," I said. "He did raise your husband, you know. And look how Ricky turned out. Try not to judge him, okay? Wait until you know the whole story."

  "I don't want a story," she said. "I want the truth."

  "Then maybe you don't want to go in hurling accusations. You'll only put her on the defensive." I paused. "Remember how much you care about Lillian."

  "I thought I did," she muttered. "Until a half hour ago."

  "Then remember how much you care about Ricky. Try not to do anything that would damage his relationship with her. She's the only mother he's known most of his life."

  "I know, I know." She glanced at me with a self-deprecating grin. "Sometimes I hate it when you have to point out the incredibly obvious." She exited the highway at the next ramp and followed the loop around the mall to the department store where Lillian worked. We found a parking spot, and Dana shut off the car but didn't get out.

  I frowned at her. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah." She bit her lip. "I really wish I didn't have to do this."

  "You don't," I said. "You could pretend you never saw that picture. Put it back in the box and forget about it. Does it really matter at this point when they met?"

  She considered the question. "Yes," she said finally. "It does. It matters to me. And it may matter to Ricky."

  "Then let's go talk to her. But be calm," I cautioned her as we made our way across the parking lot to the store entrance. "Remember, she's not going anywhere, and you don't want to alienate Ricky or your father-in-law."

  "I just want answers," she insisted.

  We found the cosmetics counter on the second floor, where we were greeted by an impeccably made-up blonde with a dazzlingly white smile. "Can I help you?"

  "We're here to see Lillian Montgomery," Dana told her. "Is she working today?"

  "I'm sorry, Lil is on her break at the moment. Is there anything I can do? Maybe a new lipstick?" She glanced at me. "I have the perfect concealer for you."

  My hand immediately went to my face, wondering what she thought needed concealing.

  "It does wonders for tired eyes."

  "I have twins," I said, defending my eyes. Which should have been explanation enough but apparently wasn't.

  "Maybe illuminating powder?" she insisted. "It'll brighten your whole face."

  "Does my face look dull?" I glanced in one of the round mirrors on the counter.

  "How long will Lillian be on break?" Dana asked.

  She hesitated. "About another ten minutes or so."

  "We'll wait," Dana announced, plopping down on one of the stools intended for makeover customers. With an apologetic smile, I pulled another stool closer and sat down.

  The saleswoman seemed puzzled. "Did you have a reaction to a product Lillian sold you? You can make a complaint with—"

  "It's a private matter," Dana cut in.

  She took a step back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

  I felt a twinge of sympathy. "Maybe you could show me that illuminating powder while we wait?"

  "I'd be happy to!" Immediately she brightened and rushed off to get it.

  Dana crossed her arms and legs, her foot bobbing, her fingers twitching against her upper arms. She was the living, breathing definition of tension. "I wish I didn't feel this way," she said in a low voice. "I like Lillian. I do. But I don't understand why she would misrepresent her relationship with Robert for all these years."

  I chose my words carefully. "We don't really know what kind of relationship they had."

  "They looked awfully cozy in that picture."

  I had to admit, they kind of did. "Let's just see what she says, okay?"

  Ten minutes and eighty-nine dollars' worth of illuminating powder, concealer, nighttime serum, and lipstick later, Lillian returned from her break, hurrying over with a welcoming smile. "Dana, what a wonderful surprise! What brings you two here?"

  In response, Dana pulled the photo from her purse.

  "Oh, look at that!" Lillian studied it with a smile. "Look how handsome Robert is. It's hard to believe all the years that have passed since this was taken. Where did you happen to find it?"

  "In one of the boxes you gave us," Dana said.

  "Isn't that lovely."

  "No, it's not." Dana clenched her jaw. "I know when this was taken."

  Lillian's smile faltered for a second. She glanced over at the other saleswoman, who was rearranging boxes in the display case while failing to conceal her eavesdropping. "Why don't we take this over to that other counter?"

  She led us across the aisle to another counter. Perching on a stool, she gestured for us to take seats. When Dana stubbornly remained standing, a small sigh escaped Lillian's lips. "I can see you're upset. Please say what you came to say."

  Dana slapped the photo onto the glass. "How could you have had an affair with my father-in-law?"

  "A-affair?" Lillian said, eyes darting around the cosmetic department. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I'm talking about the fact that this picture was taken when Robert was still supposedly happily married to Beth."

  "No." Lillian shook her head. "No, this was well after she passed away. Robert was a widower when I met him."

  "I don't think so." Dana jabbed a finger at the Mustang. "Beth made Robert sell this car. I've heard the story a hundred times. She was still alive when this was taken. Alive and married to Robert."