enough to go back and face Judy.
My cell phone rings. Solomon. He wants more? Bring it on.
“What?”
“You have something I want.”
“Good skin maybe?”
Silence.
“Your father had something to do with Grace’s disappearance. I’ve spent the last sixty years putting pieces together and—”
“Look, if you want to spend your time chasing ghosts, go for it. My dad is dead. So is Grace. If you want to see her so bad, go walk into another fire.” I click off the phone, toss it into the empty seat next to me.
My hands shake. I’ve just thrown a log onto a blaze.
Chapter Seven
At the house, I find the garage empty. Judy’s black Jaguar is gone. Since I’ve lived here I’ve noticed she takes off a lot. Maybe it was her way of getting back at Dad for all the years he took his mystery trips. Not that I care. I just don’t want her giving me crap because I take off, when she does the same thing.
Dad’s black ‘69 Camaro sits abandoned in the third car spot. Dad loved that car; it still gleams in showroom condition.
The house is tomb quiet and just as dark. The sky outside is matted with clouds. The scent of carnations, roses, and lilies soaks the air. Judy’s put all of Dad’s flowers—the ones that didn’t fit around the grave—in every room. I’m breathing in the funeral all over again and it reminds me of my visit with Solomon. Of his scarred face. My stomach rolls.
A cold draft slithers through the empty halls. I take advantage of the privacy and head to Memory Lane. I never feel like I can linger and look at the photos hanging on the wall, not with Judy lurking at my heels. So many faces are recognizable. It was outrageously cool, what he did for a living. Secretly, I’m glad I inherited his artistic talent.
But what should I do with it?
He encouraged me to explore the arts, with the honest warning to stay away from the entertainment business. “It’s not what it looks like,” he’d said.
What it looks like, as I stand staring at the wall of black-and-white and color eight-by-ten glossies, is a great time. It’s easy to tell someone not to do something, but what if I could follow in his footsteps?
I can think of worse things to do with a day. Or a life.
There are no pictures of Grace Doll here. Up until today it hasn’t occurred to me why. She was his big claim to fame. No doubt Judy couldn’t stand for having the famous star’s photos in the house. Which explains Dad locking up the old picture in the safe deposit box. But he must have had other pictures of her. They had a history, even though it was decades ago.
A craving eats at me to know more about Grace. Her vulnerable gaze had stared back from those images hanging on the walls of Solomon’s place like she was there in the flesh, captured.
What exactly did Solomon think had happened between Dad and her?
My hands go clammy. Was Mom right? Had Dad been in love with Grace Doll? Maybe they’d had an affair. Even if that was true, Solomon was demented if he carried a grudge this long.
But Grace isn’t dead . And Solomon thinks I know something. Did he have any inkling she was still alive?
Stepping into Dad’s office, I suck in a deep breath. His scent—Old Spice cologne—is quickly fragmenting. My hands open and close.
All that I missed…
I can’t be in the room any longer.
I head to the guest room and stop in the jamb, breath stalling in my chest. It’s a shamble of upturned bedding, tossed books, drawers and closet. The crank windows are wide open. I’d left them closed.
I dig my phone out of my pocket, dial Judy.
“So now you’ve decided to call me?”she chirps.
“Someone broke into the house.”
“What?” she shrieks. “When? How? I just left. The Oscars. Did you see if the Oscars are still—”
“I’m looking now.” I run through the halls until I’m in the living room. Oscar one for Paradise Found . Oscar two for Lifetime Achievement. Everything is else perfect.
My cell phone rings. Solomon. He wants more? Bring it on.
“What?”
“You have something I want.”
“Good skin maybe?”
Silence.
“Your father had something to do with Grace’s disappearance. I’ve spent the last sixty years putting pieces together and—”
“Look, if you want to spend your time chasing ghosts, go for it. My dad is dead. So is Grace. If you want to see her so bad, go walk into another fire.” I click off the phone, toss it into the empty seat next to me.
My hands shake. I’ve just thrown a log onto a blaze.
Chapter Seven
At the house, I find the garage empty. Judy’s black Jaguar is gone. Since I’ve lived here I’ve noticed she takes off a lot. Maybe it was her way of getting back at Dad for all the years he took his mystery trips. Not that I care. I just don’t want her giving me crap because I take off, when she does the same thing.
Dad’s black ‘69 Camaro sits abandoned in the third car spot. Dad loved that car; it still gleams in showroom condition.
The house is tomb quiet and just as dark. The sky outside is matted with clouds. The scent of carnations, roses, and lilies soaks the air. Judy’s put all of Dad’s flowers—the ones that didn’t fit around the grave—in every room. I’m breathing in the funeral all over again and it reminds me of my visit with Solomon. Of his scarred face. My stomach rolls.
A cold draft slithers through the empty halls. I take advantage of the privacy and head to Memory Lane. I never feel like I can linger and look at the photos hanging on the wall, not with Judy lurking at my heels. So many faces are recognizable. It was outrageously cool, what he did for a living. Secretly, I’m glad I inherited his artistic talent.
But what should I do with it?
He encouraged me to explore the arts, with the honest warning to stay away from the entertainment business. “It’s not what it looks like,” he’d said.
What it looks like, as I stand staring at the wall of black-and-white and color eight-by-ten glossies, is a great time. It’s easy to tell someone not to do something, but what if I could follow in his footsteps?
I can think of worse things to do with a day. Or a life.
There are no pictures of Grace Doll here. Up until today it hasn’t occurred to me why. She was his big claim to fame. No doubt Judy couldn’t stand for having the famous star’s photos in the house. Which explains Dad locking up the old picture in the safe deposit box. But he must have had other pictures of her. They had a history, even though it was decades ago.
A craving eats at me to know more about Grace. Her vulnerable gaze had stared back from those images hanging on the walls of Solomon’s place like she was there in the flesh, captured.
What exactly did Solomon think had happened between Dad and her?
My hands go clammy. Was Mom right? Had Dad been in love with Grace Doll? Maybe they’d had an affair. Even if that was true, Solomon was demented if he carried a grudge this long.
But Grace isn’t dead . And Solomon thinks I know something. Did he have any inkling she was still alive?
Stepping into Dad’s office, I suck in a deep breath. His scent—Old Spice cologne—is quickly fragmenting. My hands open and close.
All that I missed…
I can’t be in the room any longer.
I head to the guest room and stop in the jamb, breath stalling in my chest. It’s a shamble of upturned bedding, tossed books, drawers and closet. The crank windows are wide open. I’d left them closed.
I dig my phone out of my pocket, dial Judy.
“So now you’ve decided to call me?”she chirps.
“Someone broke into the house.”
“What?” she shrieks. “When? How? I just left. The Oscars. Did you see if the Oscars are still—”
“I’m looking now.” I run through the halls until I’m in the living room. Oscar one for Paradise Found . Oscar two for Lifetime Achievement. Everything is else perfect.
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