“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
