Aster Amirpour gazed out the passenger-side window and stared longingly at the pretty postcard view of Laguna Beach. With its iconic lifeguard tower and crowded pedestrian walkways, everyone looked so happy and trouble free, skating, strolling, and surfing their way through another hot summer day.
At the start of the season, Aster would’ve defined luxury as a closet full of designer dresses, handbags, and shoes. It was only now that she understood just how misguided she’d been.
Real luxury, true luxury, was having the freedom to embrace a beautiful day relaxed and unbridled from the sort of threats she currently faced.
“I can’t believe I don’t visit more often.” She sounded distant and dreamy, like they were merely enjoying an afternoon drive, and not on a mission to unearth the sort of clues that could change everything.
“I blame the traffic. That long stretch of freeway is a formidable barrier no matter what time of day.” Ryan exited Coast Highway and navigated a series of hilly, narrow paved streets, as Aster tracked the numbers on the haphazard row of mailboxes alongside the road.
The neighborhood was beachy and cute, pretty much what she expected to find in a small coastal town, though its quaint appearance was deceiving. Those small, charming cottages were known to consistently fetch an easy seven figures whenever one came on the market. The neighboring Tuscan-style two-stories fetched even more.
“You sure this is the right street?” Aster frowned.
“Camellia—that’s a flower, right?”
Aster gave a distracted nod.
“But more importantly, are you sure you want to go through with this?”
Aster balked, surprised by his words. They’d driven all this way and he was still questioning her intentions? “Of course I’m going through with this! Unless you have a better idea?”
She didn’t mean to sound so edgy, but luckily, Ryan took it in stride. “Actually, I have a lot of ideas. Not necessarily better ones, just—”
From out of nowhere, a band of skateboarding teens blazed down the middle of the street, immune to any oncoming traffic concerns.
Ryan swerved to avoid them, then rolled his eyes and groaned, “Kids.”
Aster was about to laugh, when she noticed the house just up ahead. “That’s it.” She jabbed a finger in that direction. “Number fifty-eight. Quick, pull over!”
“Um, where?” Ryan glanced up and down the street, crowded with cars lining both sides.
“Right up there.”
“That’s someone’s driveway.”
“Well, I don’t know.” Aster was flustered. “Double-park—or drop me off while you figure it out.”
She was antsy, shaky. Now that they’d arrived, she could barely contain her excitement. It was entirely possible the clue she needed most was right within reach.
“Hey—” Ryan reached for her arm in an attempt to keep her from jumping free of the still-moving car. “You can’t just run in there. We need to come up with a convincing story.”
Aster grumbled in frustration and reached for the door handle. “I have a convincing story. I told you all about it on the drive down.”
“Okay, then we need a more convincing story.” Ryan switched between the side-view mirror and his backup monitor as he struggled to parallel park without scraping his bumper against the Tesla in front of him or the vintage Porsche angled awkwardly behind. “Listen,” he said. “I’m just . . .” He frowned at the small, well-kept cottage with its painted yellow shutters and wild English-style garden. “What exactly are you going to say? You can’t just storm in there and start grilling her about Madison.”
“Have a little faith.” Aster spoke with more confidence than she felt. “I’m going in as an interested buyer. I’ll admire her work, inquire about her process, and then I’ll just happen to mention . . .” She paused.
“That you saw her work on a missing A-list actress’s wall when you broke into her house?” Ryan righted the car and killed the ignition. “Call me crazy, but I highly advise against it.”
Aster steeled herself against him. “I’m going to wing this. I’m going to march right up to that front door, ring the bell, and see where it leads. So if you’d rather stay behind and keep a lookout for . . .” She glanced around the safe and pretty neighborhood, which seemed impervious to any sort of immediate danger. “Whatever,” she said, already tiring of the argument. “Just—are you in or are you out?”
Ryan sighed in a way that let her know he remained unconvinced. “We’re both easily recognized. I doubt she’ll be fooled.”
“Well, at this point, I have nothing to lose.” Agitated, Aster popped out of the car, unsure if he’d follow.
Ryan raced to catch up and entwined his fingers with hers. “This okay?” He raised their joined hands. “Are we a couple?”
Aster stalled. Was he asking in regard to the story they were going to tell? Or did he mean on a more personal level? Although he’d invited her to stay with him last night, she’d ended up sleeping alone in his guest room.
His gaze glittered on hers, and she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Following the arrowed signs leading to the studio tucked behind the small cottage, they came across an older woman busily tending the garden.
“We’re looking for Roland? Roland Jennings?” Aster said.
Gripping a pair of pink-handled clippers in her right hand, the woman slowly rose from a kneeling position and glanced between them. “I’m Roland.”
Aster fought to hide her surprise. She wasn’t sure why, but she’d expected the artist to be younger. In the bright sunlight, the woman appeared to be well into her sixties. But what she lacked in actual youth, she made up for in vibrant energy.
With her petite frame, short-cropped white hair, Breton-stripe T-shirt, and distressed skinny jeans, she reminded Aster of a chic combination of a female Andy Warhol and a more mature Jean Seberg.
“Do you have an appointment?” Roland anchored her dark sunglasses onto the top of her head and squinted against the glare of the sun.
Ryan looked worried, but Aster kept her composure and said. “I’m sorry, we didn’t realize we needed one.” Then, hoping to keep from being turned away, she was quick to add, “We just drove down from LA.”
“Well, aren’t you brave soldiers?” The woman’s lips widened and lifted in a way that sent her blue eyes sparkling and lit up her whole face. “Are you on holiday?”
Aster glanced at Ryan, then quickly shook her head. Roland was talking to them like they were just a normal couple enjoying a beautiful late summer day. Like she hadn’t seen a tabloid or turned on the news since last spring.
“Uh, no. Just a day trip,” Aster said.
“Too bad.” Roland placed a hand on her hip. “There are loads of interesting things to do and see. And here’s a well-kept secret: our beaches are much prettier than yours.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Ryan grinned, causing the woman to narrow her eyes and study him in a way that made Aster nervous.
“You a surfer?” Roland asked.
Ryan nodded, and Aster turned in surprise. She hadn’t known that about Ryan. Then again, there was probably a long list of things she still had to learn. Or maybe he was just acting. It was impossible to tell.
“I try to catch a few sets every morning,” the woman said. “If you stay, let me know. I’ll let you in on some of my favorite spots.” She set her clippers on a small mosaic-topped table and wiped her hands down the front of her jeans. “So what can I help you with?”
“We’re interested in seeing your work,” Aster said.
“Oh, well, that’s easy. I’m currently showing at a gallery just south of here on Coast Highway.”
“We’ll be sure to check it out,” Aster said. “But I heard you also allow private studio visits.”
Roland nodded. “By appointment only.”
“Oh, okay, well, we were hoping—”
Before she could finish, Ryan jumped in. “We were also interested in possibly commissioning a piece.” He squeezed Aster’s fingers, warning her not to say anything to the contrary.
Roland lingered in silence. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and motioned for them to follow.
She opened a door and led them inside a small but surprisingly warm and cozy space. Large windows punctuated the walls, and generous-sized skylights allowed a stream of natural light to pour in. There was a small kitchenette off to the left with a mini-fridge, a poured concrete countertop, and some pretty customized cabinets below and overhead. And a charming tiled fireplace was tucked away in the corner, surrounded by some comfortable-looking chairs and a carved wooden table piled high with various art tomes.
Although the room was cheery and bright, to Aster’s dismay there was no sign of either a camera or a darkroom.
Warily, she eyed the two easels in a far corner, both featuring similar works. One was a landscape of the beach at daybreak; the other a still life of an old, rustic shed with a surfboard propped alongside it.
While Aster was no expert when it came to art, the two pieces hardly seemed like the work of the woman responsible for the photos that hung on Madison’s wall.
The note she’d received had specifically said: There’s an artist you need to meet / she lives on a flower-named street / she knows Madison’s secret / so don’t let her keep it.
She and Ryan had been so sure they’d cracked the code, but had they somehow gotten it wrong?
Was there another piece of art by another artist they should’ve gone after instead?
“Everything okay?” Roland studied Aster’s face. “You look a little uneasy.”
Aster shook her head and forced her lips into a halfhearted grin.
“No, I’m good. It’s just—”
Before she could finish, Roland headed for the electric teakettle she kept on the counter and pressed the switch. “I’m about to make some tea. Would you like to join me?”
Ryan was quick to agree. Aster nodded wordlessly.
“I’m sorry,” Aster tried again. “But I thought you were a photographer. I didn’t realize you were a painter.”
She watched as Roland measured precise amounts of loose-leaf tea into a mesh infuser basket, which she then placed inside the ceramic pot.
“Can’t I do both?”
“Of course. Absolutely. It’s just . . .”
“I teach painting.” Roland hooked a thumb toward the easels. “Those are works by my students.” She turned to Aster with a smile. “But you wanted to commission a photograph, is that it?” Her gaze switched to Ryan. “Listen, you two are great-looking kids, but if it’s head shots you want, I don’t do that sort of work. Though I can recommend someone who does.”
Aster stole a glance at Ryan. Was it possible the woman didn’t recognize them? “No, no head shots. Nothing like that.” Aster waved the thought away as Roland motioned for them to sit, and Aster sank so deep into the cushion it forced her knees to heave up awkwardly as she struggled to reposition herself.
“Don’t waste your energy.” Roland laughed. “That’s a war you won’t win. Those chairs are older than you, and they don’t give up easily. Better just to surrender until it’s time to leave.” She grew silent as she waited for the water to boil and the tea to steep. Once it was ready, she placed a teacup in front of Aster and Ryan, claimed her own seat, and looked at them expectantly.
Aster sipped from her tea. Then, setting the cup aside, she said, “We’re here because we saw some of your work.”
Roland stared in a way that made Aster nervous.
“It was at a . . . at a friend’s house. The pieces were really unique.”
Roland warmed her hands with her cup but kept her gaze blank.
“They were photographs,” she started, before Ryan stepped in.
“They were part of a series,” he said.
Roland offered no clue as to whether she knew the photos he referred to.
“The pics were dark and edgy. Sort of domestic scene. You know, downtrodden living rooms, old, secondhand furniture . . .” He rubbed his lips together. “A shiny gun on a battered coffee table.”
Roland rocked back in her seat and studied them at length. “Aw, yes,” she said. “The trailer park series. I shot that a couple years ago.”
Instinctively, Aster reached for the gold-and-diamond hamsa hand charm she’d once worn at her neck. Her fingers fumbled awkwardly against her bare collarbone when she remembered what had become of it. “That’s it,” she said, trying to contain her excitement. Was it her imagination, or was Roland suddenly acting cagey and suspicious? “I was really drawn to it. It had such a gritty, authentic feel.”
Roland’s face pinched, her gaze narrowed until her eyes were barely visible. “Funny.” She sipped her tea and nodded toward Aster’s expensive designer handbag. “Gritty is not something I’d think you’d be attracted to.”
Aster stilled, unable to breathe.
“Then again . . .” Roland’s face softened, adopting a more thoughtful expression. “Art often speaks to what lies within.”
The sentiment was similar to what Layla had said when she first saw the pictures hanging on Madison’s wall.
Aster shifted uncomfortably. “Um, anyway—” She cringed at the way her voice pitched. “I’d like to talk about the series. If you don’t mind, that is.”
Roland took another sip of tea. While she didn’t seem thrilled with the conversation, she’d yet to turn them away. It was enough to convince Aster to continue.
“I was wondering if the pieces were commissioned or were they purchased from a gallery?”
“Is that really what you wanted to ask?”
Aster tried not to fidget, but it was hard not to react when Roland regarded her with an all-seeing gaze.
“Seems a bit silly to drive all this way when you can just ask your friend.”
Aster gulped and looked searchingly at Ryan. She’d totally blown it. The only question left was how to make a quick but graceful getaway before Roland decided to alert the authorities.
“We can’t ask her,” Ryan said, which only deepened Aster’s worry.
Roland turned to him with a patient face, like she had an entire afternoon to waste on such nonsense.
“The commission is for her,” Ryan lied so easily Aster didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed. “We know how much she loves your work, and so we thought we’d . . .”
Without a word, Roland rose from her seat and went to fumble in a drawer.
Aster took advantage of the moment to shoot Ryan her best what the fuck face.
Ryan shook his head as though there was no reason to worry. It was all part of his plan.
Roland returned with a folder she spread across her lap. Lowering a pair of reading glasses onto the bridge of her nose, she flipped through a messy pile of papers. “MaryDella,” she said, as Aster froze and waited for more. “That’s your friend, right? MaryDella Slocum?”
Aster sucked in a breath, then nodded vaguely.
Roland tossed a stack of pictures onto the table between them. Aster practically leaped from her seat to get at them.
“She was very specific. Definitely one of the most interesting clients I’ve ever worked with,” Roland said.
“In what way?” Ryan asked, as Aster began to shuffle through the deck of Polaroids.
“I hardly had to do anything. She’d prepared the entire set. She even handled the lighting. Not necessarily how I would’ve done it, but it was her commission, and she paid good money for it.”
“Where was the shoot?”
Roland squinted as though sifting through a backlog of memories. “Bit outside of LA. Ojai area, if I remember correctly. An old trailer. One of those Airstreams, but vintage. It was off by itself, really remote. She claimed it belonged to her.”
“What do you mean by ‘claimed’?” Ryan took a casual sip of his tea, as though they weren’t onto something big.
“Just a feeling. Seemed more staged than lived in. It was fully outfitted with a working kitchen and bathroom, but it didn’t appear as though she spent any real time there.”
Aster flipped to a photo of a pretty girl with long blond hair and violet eyes who she instantly recognized. Though everything else, from the ripped stockings to the short denim cutoffs, was decidedly un-Madison-like.
“That’s her.” Roland gestured toward the picture.
Aster held it up for Ryan to see and watched as his eyes went wide with recognition.
“I wanted to take more pictures. I found her quite captivating. She had such an interesting, contradictory energy.” Roland’s expression grew thoughtful, as though she was lost in the memory. “She had one of the most exquisite faces I’d ever seen. Strangely, she seemed very displeased by my request to photograph her and only agreed to the one you’ve got there.”
“Why did that seem strange?”
Roland paused for a lingering breath. “Well, you’d think she’d be used to such requests. I mean, we are talking about Madison Brooks, after all.”
Aster swallowed.
Ryan froze.
“You’re not really interested in commissioning a piece, are you?” Roland’s features sharpened. The kind-older-lady facade had dropped. She’d been playing them all along.
Aster stared wordlessly, having no idea how to respond, so Ryan spoke for both of them. “You know who we are, then.” Aster cringed when Ryan said it, but quickly realized there were no other options, no way to start over.
Roland gazed at them shrewdly. “I recognized you immediately.”
“I’m sorry,” Aster started. “We just—”
“You’re just looking for clues, I suppose. I knew it was Madison back then. When I watched In-Depth, Trena Moretti confirmed it.”
“Has anyone else come by?” Ryan rested his arms on his knees and leaned toward her.
“Surprising as it may seem, you’re the first,” Roland told him. “But then, most people don’t really think about the deeper implications of what attracts people to the art they choose to surround themselves with.”
“Did you and Madison keep in touch?”
“She never knew I recognized her as Madison. I wanted the commission and knew better than to let on. If you’re asking me if I know where she is, the answer is no.” Aster started to return the pics, but Roland motioned toward the one of Madison and said, “You keep it. I have no need of it.” She dug deeper through the file and handed over an old photo of a similar scene, only this one didn’t seem staged.
“She gave me this for reference. Though it wasn’t necessary, seeing as how she’d arranged the scene exactly how she wanted. It’s rare to work with a client with such an exact vision. Made me wonder why she didn’t just get herself a nice camera and take the pics herself. But again, I needed the money, so I did my best to give her what she wanted. Tell me, how do they look—hanging on her wall?”
Aster stared at the pic. It looked a lot like the ones Roland had taken. After a moment, she flipped it over. The word Home had been written on the back, the letters awkwardly formed as though written by a child. “The pictures are striking.” She looked at Roland. “Though they seem a bit out of place among the glitzy surroundings.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.” Roland nodded. “Like I said, the girl was full of contradictions.”
“Can I keep this as well?” Aster asked, surprised when Roland reached toward her and snatched it right out of her hand.
She tucked the photo into her pocket and stood, signaling she’d run out of patience.
“I’m sorry for the trouble,” Aster said. “We appreciate your help.”
“Seems you need all the help you can get about now.”
Ryan grinned gamely. Aster fell mute.
They made their way back through the gate and were rounding onto the street when Roland called out behind them. “In case you change your mind about that commission.” She handed Ryan her card, then disappeared back inside.
Ryan glanced at the card, tucked it into his palm, and ushered Aster toward his car.
“I’m not sure how I should feel about that,” Aster said, once they were safely inside. “I’m left with more questions than answers.”
Ryan pressed his lips together and pulled onto the road. “I’ll tell you how you should feel about it.” He handed her the card. Seeing Aster squint in confusion, he motioned for her to turn it over.
Aster flipped it, then gaped at Ryan in shock.
“Looks like we’re taking a trip to Ojai,” he said.