The seventeen-year-old rolled her eyes and chanted the list like a mantra. “No drinking, no swearing, no drugs, no sex.”
“And you stay inside the restaurant, and you don’t leave with anyone except me,” Serena added.
“Yes, Mom,” Cat groaned.
The girl no longer called her that ironically; she meant it. Jonny was always Stride to Cat, but over the last year Serena had become Mom to her. She liked it that way. Serena was unable to have kids of her own, and she’d made peace with that long ago. But it also made her grateful that Cat had become a part of their lives. She and Jonny both loved this girl as much as if she were their own daughter.
That didn’t mean it was easy. Two years earlier, when they’d rescued her, Cat had been a pregnant girl on the streets, dabbling in drugs and prostitution. Since then, two steps forward with her had always been followed by one step back. But Cat was a different person now. She visited with the parents who’d adopted her son every week. She was razor-sharp in school and was thinking about college. She still hung out with people Serena didn’t trust—particularly a slick young con artist named Curt Dickes—but Cat had matured into a serious, determined young woman.
Even so, a party like this was, well, catnip to a teenager. And Cat had tumbling chestnut hair and a sculpted, angular beauty that Hollywood types were bound to notice. Her Hispanic roots gave her golden skin, and her face was an alluring combination of innocent sweetness in her smile and mature sophistication in her dark eyes. When she wanted to, she could easily look ten years older than she was.
The two women got out of Serena’s Mustang. They were dressed to impress, and the long walk in heels to the restaurant door was icy and cold. They held on to each other to avoid stumbling. A security guard was at the door, and Serena showed him her badge and gave him both of their names. Stride had called ahead to clear them, and the security guard held the door as they breezed inside.
The room was packed shoulder to shoulder. Serena saw a dozen faces she recognized from television and movies. Even among the strangers, the men and women all looked too beautiful to be ordinary human beings. They were dressed as if they’d stepped off a runway. She had to remind herself that this wasn’t Los Angeles. It was still Duluth.
Cat grabbed Serena’s bare arm as her eyes soaked in the ambience. “Oh. My. God.”
“It is pretty cool,” Serena admitted.
“I suppose they wouldn’t like it if I streamed this on Facebook Live, huh?”
“Probably not.”
“Can I mingle?”
“Sure. Go mingle. Remember the rules.”
Serena watched Cat put on her game face. The teenager squared her shoulders, threw her hair back, and melted into the crowd as if she belonged there. Serena felt a twinge of anxiety, thinking about her own teen years in Las Vegas. Back then, she’d run away from the abuse she’d suffered at home. She’d been pregnant, like Cat, but she’d chosen an abortion, which had gone badly. Those were dark days for her. She wanted a different life for this girl.
“Hello, Serena.”
She hunted through the faces in front of her and saw Chris Leipold smiling from behind a can of Bent Paddle Kanu. He was one of the only men in the crowd in a suit and tie. His wispy hair was greased down. In her heels, Serena towered over him. He approached her and kissed her cheek.
“Chris, it’s good to see you again,” Serena said. “How’s the filming going?”
“It’s fine when the weather cooperates. No one on the crew appreciates my interest in location shooting at this time of year. They’d rather be in Vancouver.”
“Well, so would I right now,” Serena admitted.
“Is Stride coming?”
“No, sorry; he asked me to fill in.”
“Thanks again for getting him to agree to work with me. I know that wasn’t easy.”
“Jonny’s a private guy,” Serena said. “But the money you’re paying will put Cat through college, so how could we say no?”
“Have you found out anything more about our missing intern, Haley Adams?” Chris asked.
Serena shook her head. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Aimee Bowe may be able to tell you more.”
“Aimee is costarring with Dean Casperson?”
“Yes, she’s ‘the caged girl.’ In a lot of ways, it’s her film. Aimee worked with Haley a lot. She probably knows her better than anyone else on the set.”
“I’ll talk to her. When did you last see Haley?”
“I’ve asked around, and it looks like no one has seen her since sometime Tuesday morning. Oh, and I ran the photo of that other man past several people here. I haven’t found anyone who knew who he was.”
“I appreciate your help.”
“Of course. Enjoy the party.”
Chris disappeared with a little wave.
Serena worked her way down the long, narrow restaurant. The dining room was paneled in light oak and had been cleared of tables. Despite the frigid outside air, the crowded bodies made it warm inside. She wore a knee-length navy blue dress that she hadn’t put on in years, and she was pleased that it still fit. It showed off her statuesque body. Her long black hair caressed her white shoulders. If anyone looked closely at her legs, they would see the mottled scars she’d suffered in a fire several years earlier. But time had taken away her self-consciousness about how she looked and who she was. She still had her Vegas attitude.
Several men hit on her. The badge on her belt didn’t dissuade them. She laughed at the idea of any of these men coming face to face with Jonny. In each group, she asked about Haley Adams, but no one had anything helpful to say. They didn’t know anything about Haley’s background. They didn’t know if she’d grown up in Duluth or where she had gone to school. They didn’t seem to know who’d hired her for the film crew. It was as if Haley had shown up out of nowhere and started working.
So many people said the exact same thing that Serena began to wonder if a script had been passed around the party: When the police ask you about Haley Adams, this is what you say.
The only answer that varied from person to person was the one thing that should have stayed the same. When Serena asked them to provide a physical description of Haley, their replies varied. Some said her hair was short; some said long. Some said blond. Some said redhead. Some said her eyes were blue; some said green. Some said freckles; some said clear skin. It was as if they’d all met a different girl each day.
Serena didn’t understand it.
After an hour asking questions and getting nowhere, she finally spotted the woman she’d been trying to find all evening. Aimee Bowe stood off by herself near the windows that looked out on the dark forest. She held a glass of white wine. Serena recognized her because she’d seen the actress in a comedy the previous year in which she’d done a memorably drunk, half-dressed version of the Macarena. Her role in Duluth was 180 degrees from that. She was playing a character inspired by Lori Fulkerson, the last of Art Leipold’s victims.
Lori was the woman Stride had rescued from inside the box.
Aimee wasn’t tall, but she had presence, the way every actor did. In a profession in which beauty was commonplace, she had a unique look that made her stand out. Her nose was a little long, her forehead a little high, and her chin a little pronounced. She had penetrating and intelligent blue eyes, and one looked slightly larger than the other. The cascading blond hair she’d worn in other roles had been cut into short spikes and dyed to a squirrel brown for this role.
As Serena approached her, Aimee’s eyes made a quick assessment, the way one beautiful woman typically did to another. Her eyes stopped when she saw Serena’s badge. The actress’s face immediately turned cautious.
“Ms. Bowe? My name is Serena Stride. I’m a detective with the Duluth Police. I was hoping to talk to you about Haley Adams.”
Aimee didn’t look surprised. “Have you found her?”
“No, we haven’t. Not yet.”
The actress took a sip of wine and then said, “I don’t think you will.”