Twelve

W hen I stopped by, Emme was in her usual spot at her personal command center juggling a simulation game called Second Life and two games of Hold ’Em. “You found them?” I asked.

“A GF.” Girlfriend.

She bet the river, then motioned to the third monitor, open to a forum called Gossip Alley. The thread My boyfriend loves me! was written by a poster named PrimaDonna6969. I read, ignoring Emme as she won the Hold ’Em pot. PrimaDonna6969’s boyfriend liked to show his love by giving her things, which she happily took photos of and posted online.

I pulled out the list of items stolen from Kandy Wrapper’s house. Almost all were on the screen. Based on comments from other posters, PrimaDonna6969’s boyfriend had done this several times before.

“Check the date.” Emme said. PrimaDonna had posted on August 21st, three days after Haley was killed. “She had two similar posts after the other robberies.”

Geez. “What’s her real name?”

“IDK.” I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting that from Emme. “I pinged her IP,” she added.

I had no clue what that meant. So I waited and got nothing from her. “And … ” I prompted.

“IP addresses don’t give names. They give physical addys.”

“So where is she?”

“An apartment building in Echo Park.”

Two hours later, I was across the street from the address. I’d already left a message with the tip line and somehow suckered Sienna into going with me. Per Aubrey’s unsolicited advice, we’d taken her Mercedes.

I’d checked the building directory as soon as we pulled up. There were close to fifty apartments in there. None listed a PrimaDonna6969 as a resident. We were forced to wait and see who entered and left the building. Luckily, we’d stocked up on snacks again.

“We need a cover story,” I said. I was determined not to repeat the Montgomery stakeout situation.

Sienna thought for a moment. “We’re TV show hosts who stop people on the street. Ask them questions about who they’re wearing.”

“And do fashion trivia. And they can win a prize. A trip to Fashion Week.”

“Paris? Milan? New York?”

That was a hard one. “All three. Based on the questions they get right.”

“We’re the fabulous hosts.” Sienna looked at my outfit, Cavalli from two years ago. “Or I’m the host and you’re the producer.”

Valid point. “What about a camera?”

We both thought for a minute, stumped. Then it came to me. “It’s hidden camera.”

We spent the next thirty minutes giving our characters’ back stories. I was a former Project Runway producer who’d been kicked out because my ideas were ahead of their time. My name was Carri with just an I. Sienna was an aspiring model who’d grown up rich but lost her trust fund in a Ponzi scheme. Her name was Samantha and she refused to answer to Sam.

As we spoke, no one came in or out of the building. At least, I don’t think anyone did. We were too involved in our cover story to pay much attention.

Two hours and one and a half trips to the bathroom later, we were still in position. The good news was that we’d sat through the evening rush hour. The bad news was that there was still no sign of anyone who looked like they could’ve just walked off a Fashion Week runway. Sienna was telling me about her lunch with Montgomery Rose. She’d taken the initiative and called him. I was surprised to learn they’d actually discussed business. I was sure he’d wanted to get in her red-colored pants. He probably still did. He was just biding his time.

We paused when a woman left the building. I squinted, because people always think squinting will help you see farther, and was sure it was a false alarm. She was dressed to the nines. Unfortunately, she was a three at the most. She looked uncomfortable, like a little girl playing dress-up. Even her shoes, a pair of Pink Panthers, looked like they’d been stolen from her mama’s closet. No way was this PrimaDonna6969, the envy of everyone on Gossip Alley. “False alarm,” I said.

Sienna shook her head. “That’s her. There aren’t many things I’m good at, but I can recognize Givenchy from distances up to a mile. I’ve tested myself.”

I deferred to her expert opinion and we watched as PrimaDonna got into a lime-green Toyota Corolla she had to unlock by hand!

“She’s going somewhere!” Sienna was darn near shouting.

“Follow her, right? She could be going to her boyfriend’s. Or, better yet, to a robbery.”

“That sounds good,” Sienna said, but she didn’t seem too sure.

I wasn’t too sure myself. Neither the idea of her going to see gangbangers or to an actual robbery appealed to me. “What if she sees us?” I asked.

Sienna thought that over. “I’ll google surveillance tips. You drive.”

We quickly switched places and Sienna took out her smartphone. By the time PrimaDonna pulled out of her spot, she’d found tips for us. “Okay, make sure you stay one car away!”

I could do that! A minivan with a My kid can kick your honor student’s butt bumper sticker pulled up behind PrimaDonna. I got in line behind it. So far, so good. Sienna was quiet for a few minutes while she continued to read. She finally spoke. “Would you call this heavy traffic?”

“I would call this LA.”

“And LA has heavy traffic, right?” I took my eye off the minivan long enough to throw her a look. “If it’s heavy traffic, you should stay on the car’s bumper.”

“So I need to be behind her?”

I got in the left lane, sped up, and then cut in front of the minivan without using my signal. It was okay because it was LA. You could do that here. Soccer mom, however, wasn’t pleased. When I glanced in my rearview mirror, she and the toddler in the backseat were flipping me off. Mother of the Year.

We followed PrimaDonna onto the 5 freeway and merged into the traffic. Sienna got giddy. “This is the way to the Americana. Nothing like a little evening shopping. I can pick up that Gucci dress at Nordstrom. It’s—”

“Focus!”

She rolled her eyes but typed something else. “There’s no article titled ‘Conducting surveillance at the mall.’”

“Maybe try ‘Conducting surveillance on foot’? ‘In a building’?”

She typed in it. “Found one. Apparently you need at least two people.”

“Check!” Good to know we were finally doing something right.

“We should take turns following her so she’s not suspicious. Whatever we do, we don’t want to get burned.”

“What the fudge does that mean?”

“No idea, but it can’t be good. STDs. Forest fires. Freshly baked cookies. Burning is never a good thing.”

Amen. We continued on our way, getting on the 16. Then PrimaDonna made a quick left. “What? No!” Sienna sounded heartbroken.

We weren’t going to the Americana after all. PrimaDonna turned into a parking lot for an off-price department store chain called Bella’s. “Oh hecks no,” Sienna said. “I do not discount shop.”

“You don’t, but Samantha might. Cover story, remember?”

She glared but didn’t try to push me out the car. I took that as a good sign. “You owe me,” she said. I knew that was as good as I was going to get.

I continued down the street, then busted an illegal U-turn—an LA staple along with turning left on red—and doubled back. By the time we pulled into the lot, PrimaDonna had parked and was making her way into Bella’s. I dropped Sienna off and went to find parking.

Bella’s must have been having a sale because the lot was packed. It took me five minutes before I found an anorexic spot. I didn’t know what was smaller in LA, the parking spaces or the women. I squeezed out the car, went inside, and found Sienna. She was dismissively rummaging through a rack of Donna Karan jeans.

“See, they have a lot of your old friends,” I said.

“Last year’s friends who I don’t talk to anymore because I have new, cooler, prettier ones.”

Touché. “Where’s you know?”

“In that aisle over there.” Sienna motioned to a long rack filled with different dresses. “They just throw all the different designers together by size.” She sounded appalled.

“You should go check on her.”

“Nope.”

“She’s in the two-to-fours. I’m a ten, there’s no way I could be in that aisle without arousing suspicion. I’ll follow her when she moves to the shoes or something.”

As an answer, Sienna brushed by me. I looked down to see her red-bottomed shoes stomping down the aisle, then stopping a few feet from what I assumed was PrimaDonna.

After a few minutes, Prima’s pumps moved away while Sienna’s stayed put. I took that as my cue. I beat PrimaDonna to the next aisle and paused at a selection of horrendous print dresses so she could click-clack by me in her heels. I waited exactly ten clicky-clacks and followed, willing myself not to stare at her too hard in case she suddenly turned around.

After a few minutes, I felt in enough of a zone to think about my cover story. I mentally got into character. It reminded me of my acting days. I was focusing so hard I didn’t pay attention to where PrimaDonna was going.

I followed her through a door where five sets of eyes, all attached to bodies in various states of undress, glanced at me. I was not expecting a communal dressing room. It took the women staring at me a beat too long to remind me that I had no clothes to try on. Since I was empty-handed, I looked like a perv. It didn’t help that my mouth was hanging open.

I didn’t come from a “naked” house. Other people’s nudity made me uncomfortable. The last time I saw my mom nude was when I was breastfeeding, and even then I closed my eyes. Even when I get intimate, I make sure the lights are completely out. If I’m feeling adventurous, I keep the hall light on and crack the bedroom door, but no more than two inches.

I was contemplating slowly backing out the room when Sienna came up behind me. She at least had the good sense to bring in an item to “try on.” She stopped short when she saw me and we just stared at each other for a minute. Then we both looked at PrimaDonna, already down to her bra and panties a few feet away.

Sienna, God bless her, shoved me toward the girl. PrimaDonna could see me standing behind her in the mirror. I had her full attention. It was now or never. Time to channel Carri with an I, reality show producer. I took a deep breath and finally spoke. “Anything you want to tell us, creep?”

Where did that come from? I didn’t have time to think about it. PrimaDonna’s eyes bugged out. I didn’t even wait for Sienna to catch on. I just went right into her line from her audition, then added a bit of improv. “Don’t be shy now. Sharing is caring. I’m Carri. And this is my partner Samantha.”

I motioned to Sienna. “Don’t be shy. Sharing is caring,” she said.

I’d just said that, but PrimaDonna didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy freaking out. “I don’t know what—” she said.

“Save it,” Sienna snapped. “We all know this ain’t your first time at the rodeo. You know we gotta give you your Miranda rights.”

I went off script. “We know about your boyfriend and what he did.”

“What are you talking about?” PrimaDonna asked. “What boyfriend?”

“The robberies. Kandy Wrapper. Joseline. Oscar Blue,” I said.

“We know that’s where you got that Givenchy you’re wearing,” Sienna said. “That he gave you.”

“You know he killed a girl to get it?” I asked.

Prima’s eyes bugged out even more, but she didn’t say anything. The other women in the dressing room weren’t even pretending to not be paying attention. One even got out her cell phone to record us.

“Her name was Haley Joseph,” I said. “Your boyfriend and his merry gang of thugs killed her on the way back from robbing Kandy Wrapper.”

“That Givenchy might as well be covered in blood,” Sienna said.

Nice line! I threw her an approving look and we mentally high-fived. PrimaDonna took that time to finally speak. “That’s impossible.”

“Impossible?” I asked. “We have proof! You’re in it up to your eyeballs.”

“Unless you give us his name,” Sienna said. “I can’t make any guarantees, but we can talk to the DA and get you a deal.”

We might as well be writing for Law & Order.

“You got the wrong girl,” Prima said. “I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Sienna said. “You’re gonna go that route.”

“Help us help you.” I’d always wanted to say that to someone.

“But I don’t,” she insisted.

“You’re wearing the clothes he got you.”

“I bought these,” she insisted.

She was tougher to break than I thought. A true ride-or-die chick. I’d have given him up, gifts or no gifts. “We saw your postings on Gossip Alley,” I said. “‘My boyfriend loves me so much. He surprised me with this Givenchy dress. Blah. Blah. Blah.’ That’s admissible in court, you know.”

“I made that up.” As she spoke, she looked at me and Sienna, then at the other ladies in the room as if they were a jury of her peers.
“I just created this life on there because I wanted some excitement. I made up this boyfriend and then when I saw those clothes at the shop, I bought them and took those stupid pictures. I’ve never even had a boyfriend.”

One thing she said caught my attention. It wasn’t the lack of a boyfriend thing. They were overrated anyway. “Shop? Which shop?” I doubted she could afford the gas to even get to Robertson Boulevard, much less shop there.

“That secondhand store on Vermont. What’s the name?” It took her a second, but it finally came to her. “Clothes Encounters! I bought them at Clothes Encounters.”