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
