Layla pulled into the parking lot, slipped free of her car, and searched for Trena’s dark red Lexus coupe as she found her way to the entrance of Lake Shrine. She’d made a point to arrive early, thinking it might give her the upper hand, or at least help to restore some of the confidence she’d recently lost.
From the moment she’d woken from her nap, she was inundated with texts, emails, and voice messages. It seemed every major news outlet had gotten wind of her blog post and wanted an interview.
Wearily, she deleted them all and gave her father strict instructions to hang up on anyone who dared to call and ask about it.
Trena’s was the only call she’d returned, though she still wasn’t sure why, other than the fact that she and Trena shared a connection. They’d met the first day Madison was presumed missing, and as much as Layla had grown to distrust and resent Trena, there was a time, not long ago, when Layla had believed in, and even admired her.
Now she viewed Trena as yet another morally ambiguous sellout in a city that specialized in them.
Still, Layla was smart enough to know when she was in over her head. She hoped Trena could help her make sense of the mess she’d found herself in.
Layla walked along the sun-dappled pathway. With the swan-filled lake on one side, and a fragrant garden tangled with blooms on the other, she took in the golden lotus archway, the houseboat, the statue of Krishna playing his flute, and the sarcophagus said to contain Gandhi’s ashes, and made her way past the windmill to the small, quiet cove with low marble benches.
As a kid, she’d visited frequently with her dad, but years had passed since she’d last made the trip. It was the perfect spot to meet, one of the few places in LA she could count on to remain paparazzi free.
“Well, this is unexpected.”
Layla’s heart sank when she saw that Trena had arrived early. Then again, Trena was always one step ahead. Resigned to the situation, Layla claimed the opposite bench.
“What surprises you most, the location or my willingness to meet?” Layla asked.
“Wasn’t sure you’d show.” A slight breeze kicked up and Layla watched as Trena lifted a hand in an attempt to keep her wild mane of bronze curls from blowing into her face.
“Why? Because you implicated me in a crime I didn’t commit?” Layla was tired, but not too tired to call her out. But again, Trena was a pro and took the harsh words in stride.
“How you holding up?” She studied Layla with concern.
Layla sighed. There was no point in pretending she was any better off than she was. “I watched your show last night.”
Trena arched a perfectly groomed brow. “You and a million other people.” Though the words reeked of smug self-satisfaction, the delivery was the opposite. Trena was merely stating a fact.
“How’d you get ahold of Madison’s birth certificate?” Layla figured Trena would hedge on the answer.
“My source came through.” Trena lifted her slim shoulders and crossed her legs at the knee. “How’d you get ahold of Madison’s diary? Or at least I hope that’s her diary, because if not . . .” She left the sentence unfinished. When Layla didn’t take the bait, Trena said, “Last time we met, you asked about libel laws. I’m guessing that’s why?”
Layla gave a quick nod and waited for a hand-holding couple to move well out of earshot. Maybe she’d made a mistake choosing such a public place to meet?
Sensing Layla’s concern, Trena leaned toward her and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I guess your post means you’ve determined it is in fact Madison’s?”
Layla screwed her eyes shut and slowly shook her head. When she opened them, she said, “My blog was hacked.” One look at Trena’s sardonic smirk was all it took for Layla to know her words had not landed the way she’d intended. “I mean, yeah. Obviously, the post was mine. I wrote the opening. Only I left it in my draft folder. I guess someone got tired of waiting.”
“Who got tired?” Trena’s voice took on a confessional tone.
“I don’t know. I don’t have a clue who’s behind this. Some anonymous person has been sending me packages that contain stuff about Madison, mainly diary entries, and they always include a threatening note.”
“What kind of threats?” The cautious look on Trena’s face made Layla wonder if she knew more than she was letting on.
Layla shrugged. “Some that came true.” She focused on the shiny Cartier watch encircling Trena’s wrist. A recent upgrade from the Timex she’d once worn.
Trena caught Layla looking and flashed the diamond bezel in a way that caused the stones to catch the light and glint. “A gift from my producer,” she said. “One of the perks of bringing in the highest ratings in the network’s history.”
“Guess your producer owes us all a watch then. Seeing as how you couldn’t have told the story without the access we gave you.”
Layla shot Trena a look that dared her to refute it, but Trena didn’t so much as flinch. She just smiled seamlessly and said, “For the record, you’re not the only one who’s received threatening notes. It’s why I was with Larsen the night you were arrested. I wanted there to be a record in case I went missing. I think you know how the night unraveled from there.”
“Any suspects? Regarding the sender, I mean.”
Trena bit her lip in a way that seemed false. Like she was trying to appear conflicted, when in fact, she felt just the opposite. “At first I thought it might be James.” She worked her lip and paused. “You know, the bouncer at Night for Night?”
“And now?” Layla prompted, striving to keep her face free of suspicion. No point in letting Trena know she doubted her story.
Trena adopted a faraway gaze. Lifting her shoulders, she said, “Why don’t you delete the blog post?”
“It’s a little late, don’t you think?”
“So what’re you going to do?”
Layla sighed. “Whatever they tell me to.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I can’t even tell you how many death threats I’ve received. I feel unsafe just sitting here now.”
“Some people are immune to facts,” Trena said. “No matter what kind of proof you show them, they’ll always default to their personal paranoia and bias. But while your fear is understandable, make no mistake: this is exactly the moment you decide who you’re going to be. When your back’s against the wall, that’s when you discover what you’re really made of.”
Trena spoke in earnest, but Layla responded by rolling her eyes. “Pretty sure I saw that exact quote on an inspirational meme.”
To her surprise, Trena laughed. “Listen, I think I know you well enough to know you don’t sit around waiting for people to tell you what to do. You’re smarter than most, and your vision cuts right through the bullshit. Don’t deny that part of yourself—use it! Now more than ever, you’ve got to put your strengths to work so you can clear your name. As a journalist, your credibility depends on your reputation. You lose the trust of the people, you lose everything.”
Layla grew quiet, allowing the words to sink in. “It’s not just the notes and the death threats. Whoever’s behind this always knows right where to find me. They have access to everything.”
“So, who has direct access to your life outside of Aster, Tommy, and Ryan?”
“My dad.” Layla shrugged. “Mateo—or at least he used to. Ira.” Her gaze leveled on Trena’s.
“So perhaps we should take a closer look at some of them.”
“Aster, Tommy, and Ryan were arrested too.”
“And what about Mateo? Where was he?”
“He wasn’t there.”
“But he knew you were going?”
“Forget Mateo,” Layla snapped, surprising herself. “Not because of any lingering feelings for him, but . . .” Before she could finish, Trena shot her a knowing look that annoyed Layla to no end. “Just because a relationship ends, doesn’t mean—” She caught herself before she could go any further. Overexplaining was only making it worse. “Whatever, just . . . no.”
“That leaves Ira. Also, your dad, but let’s just stick with Ira.”
It wasn’t like Layla hadn’t always considered Ira a suspect, but she had no idea where to begin.
“Problem is, I haven’t been able to uncover much of anything. Certainly no ties to West Virginia, though there was a stint in Oklahoma that for some reason he keeps under wraps.”
“Oklahoma?” Layla jerked to attention.
“He went to university there, though not for long. It was right before he moved to LA.”
“Do you know when that was?” Layla fought to keep her cool and seem only mildly interested.
“Nearly two decades ago, but there’s no connection to Madison. Thing is, if Ira is behind this, which I really believe he could be, then there’s got to be a connection somewhere, something that links him to Madison. So far, all I’ve managed to uncover is the stuff you already know. . . .”
Trena went on to list Madison’s lies. How she wasn’t really a tragic yet well-bred East Coast prep, but rather little MaryDella Slocum, born and raised in West Virginia until the night her parents mysteriously died in a fire and she was reborn as Madison.
Layla tuned her out. She’d heard it all before. It was Ira’s stint in Oklahoma that intrigued her the most.
Tommy was from Oklahoma. And though Trena had been vague about the dates, Tommy was eighteen, soon to be nineteen. Ira having been there around two decades ago gave new insight into something that had always bothered her, a sort of nagging truth she could never quite grasp.
Tommy possessed an uncanny understanding of Ira’s motivations. Once, when Layla questioned him, Tommy had been quick to dismiss it, claiming he simply liked to know who he worked for.
At the time, Layla let it pass. But now, if what Trena said was true, then Layla was sure Ira Redman was Tommy’s father.
“I found a news report claiming two dead and two injured in that fire. Madison burned her arm, as we all know, but I got the impression the article wasn’t referring to her. . . .” Trena droned on while Layla pretended to listen. Truth was, her mind was in a whirl.
Tommy Phillips was Ira Redman’s son!
The more Layla thought about it, the more it made sense.
Their nearly identical navy-blue eyes only served to seal it.
Layla looked at Trena, wondering if she should tell her.
“Before MaryDella was adopted, she lived with Eileen Banks, Paul Banks’s mother.” Trena’s voice was a whisper. “Paul was first on the scene the night of the fire. He was head of the drug task force unit before he abruptly quit and moved to LA.”
If Ira was somehow behind it, and Tommy was involved, did that mean Tommy was part of it too?
Layla shivered at the thought, causing Trena to misread her reaction. “I know,” she said. “It’s like the pieces of the puzzle are beginning to take shape; only the inside is still missing, so we can’t yet determine the face.”
Layla decided to keep the revelation to herself. Information was power, and she’d yet to meet the person who could keep a secret as potentially explosive as that.
She pushed her thoughts aside and focused on Trena.
“In the diary entry, she mentioned she owes her life to P,” Trena said. “Clearly P stands for Paul. I’ve been unable to locate him, which led me to believe the body found in Joshua Tree was his.”
Layla’s gaze narrowed.
“LAPD’s holding a press conference today—they identified the body.” She paused dramatically, as though imagining the at-home audience leaning closer to their TV screens.
Layla found it extremely annoying.
With a shake of her curls, Trena said, “Not him.”
Just like that, Layla felt a block of tension dissolve. Paul had served her a restraining order demanding she stay clear of Madison. It was a connection Layla couldn’t afford. Larsen would read it as motive. “Who is it?” she asked.
“Kevin O’Dell.”
The name meant nothing to Layla.
“A white male, forty-one years old, with an extensive criminal record. All petty crime, nothing that points to kidnapping or murder.”
“Then why was Madison’s tracker found with his body?”
Trena shrugged. “I’m sure he’s a suspect. But I also heard the body was purposely dumped there long before you arrived, so there’s a good chance he’ll be cleared. If you ask me, someone set the scene, then lured you there on purpose.” She glanced over her shoulder, as though she didn’t quite trust her surroundings. “We need to find Paul. He’ll lead us to Madison.”
“You think he kidnapped her?”
Without hesitation, Trena said, “Technically, I guess he could have, but I doubt it. I think he’s protecting her.”
“What makes you say that?”
Trena hooked a stray curl behind her ear. “He’s spent a lifetime doing exactly that. Why stop now?”
“A thing does what a thing is known to do.”
Trena quirked a brow.
“Something I read once. It stuck because it seemed simultaneously dumb and insightful. Anyway, in this case it applies. But don’t you think we should look into this Kevin O’Dell person?”
Trena nodded. “That’s how we find Paul. My gut tells me they’re linked. And when my gut speaks, I’ve learned to listen.” She gave a short laugh. “Well, most of the time.”
“So why include me?”
“Because you’re coming on my show, of course.”
Layla sat with the news. She should’ve guessed as much. “And what do I get in return? Aside from being on your show, which isn’t actually as valuable as you might think.”
Trena’s expression was patient. “Don’t kid yourself,” she said. “But if you need more, how about a letter of recommendation to the journalism school of your dreams?”
Layla paused a few beats to consider. “It’s a start.” She knew better than to display even the slightest hint of appreciation. “So, where to begin?”
“With Javen. Unless you know of a better hacker we can trust.”
“I can’t go near him. I won’t take the chance, not after the text I received.”
“Okay, so I’ll deal with Javen. And you?”
Layla lifted her chin. “I’m going after Ira.” She rose from the bench and straightened her skirt. Now that she’d decided, she was eager to leave. “Thanks for the talk,” she said, surprising Trena with her sudden departure. “It really did help.”
Before Trena could respond, Layla retraced her steps to her car. About to climb inside, she noticed a small envelope wedged under her windshield wiper, though of course there was no one around. Whoever was responsible for these things made a point of never being caught at the scene.
She ran a finger under the flap and retrieved a note written on high-quality card stock with a rhyme that read:
Seems like you’ve learned your lesson
So I won’t keep you guessin’
Meeting with Trena puts you on the right track
Though she has never truly had your back
She’s hiding a clue
And has no plans to reveal it to you
You can beat her at her own fame-seeking game
Or risk looking lame
It’s up to you to discover
I shall remain undercover
If you make me proud
I will sing your praises out loud
If not
I will make sure you rot
Without hesitation, Layla slipped the note into her bag, reached for her phone, and called Javen.