Five

Besides a one-day gig filling in for a receptionist at an investment firm downtown, the next few days amounted to a whole bunch of nothing. I spoke to Daddy a couple of times, but the bank hadn’t called again. I chalked the Rolls misunderstanding to Haley being delusional. There were also no new revelations about the night she died. Not wanting to waste even a drop of gas, I barely left the condo. But then I had to. Emme was actually planning to leave her house. It was a joyous occasion. And it was all thanks to something called Call to Action 5.

When I promised I’d go with her to buy it, I didn’t realize we’d be going at 3:00 a.m. to some place called Claremont so Emme could be among the first to buy the game. It was a bit too inland for my taste, but Emme claimed there’d be less people than in LA proper. Sienna tagged along, coming straight from the club. Even that early, we were about fiftieth in line. To say we were out of place would have been an understatement. Sienna and I weren’t the only ones with breasts, but we were the only ones with breast implants.

Emme, however, was completely at home and completely natural. The lack of makeup made her angular face even more pale. Her blonde hair was kept long solely to make it easy to put in a ponytail. She was skinny, mainly because she was always forgetting to eat. Even in her ever-present Converse, she towered over us. She wore her usual uniform—jeans that managed to be skinny and loose at the same time, a T-shirt that read The Princess Saves Herself, and, of course, her necklace.

The diamond on it had been on her grandmother’s favorite pair of earrings. Grandma Bess had gotten them when she was sixteen and wore them until she died. She only took them off to let her twin granddaughters play dress-up. Unfortunately, she only had one pair of earrings and two granddaughters. Right before she passed, she had each earring made into a pendant necklace—one for Emme and one for Toni.

Although she never said it, I think Emme loved the necklace so much because it was the last time someone had treated her and Toni as equals. She played with it as we began Hour Two of our wait.

“They claim that Kandy Wrapper had piles of cash lying around,” Sienna said. “In garbage bags.”

She and I were discussing a recent string of celebrity home break-ins. The cops had nicknamed the robbers “The Rack Pack.” The most recent target was Kandy Wrapper and her slam-dunking boyfriend. “I wonder who they’ll hit next,” I said. “They’re—”

“Toni Abrams.”

The stranger’s tone was familiar, like he and “Toni” went back to sandboxes and Seven Minutes in Heaven. Emme looked at him and even managed to smile. “Not her. Sorry.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“—due to hit up someone else,” I said, like I had never been interrupted.

I’d been friends with Emme long enough to know the best way to handle the situation—politely say no, then if they still didn’t get the hint, continue what you were doing. Normally, they’d realize how awkward it was and shuffle away. “Fab started a pool to see who was next,” Sienna said.

SNAP!

The guy took a photo of Emme with his phone. Since it was still dark, the flash nearly blinded us. She didn’t say anything, just shifted her head slightly so she was blocked by Sienna. Not bothered in the least, he snapped another pic. A woman a few feet away noticed, then did a double take when she saw Emme. “Is that Toni Abrams?!” Her voice was one of those annoying stage whispers that is always louder than using your regular voice.

“Yeah,” the guy said. “Major attitude problem.”

I broke protocol and glared, wishing him a venereal disease. Not that either of them noticed. The woman spoke. “Ms. Abrams, I’m a huge, huge fan.”

Obviously not huge enough to know Toni wasn’t even in town or that she had a twin sister.

“Can I have an autograph?” she continued.

Emme smiled at her. “I’m not who you think I am. Sorry.”

“You can have my autograph,” Sienna said. She was joking. I hoped.

The woman looked at Sienna and tried to figure out who she was, then gave up and just handed her a piece of paper. It was an old receipt. “Okay.”

Emme and I exchanged a look. “Who should I make it out to?” Sienna asked.

“Stephanie Dimsey.”

Sienna narrated her writing. “To Stephanie. Keep shining. Love always, Sienna.”

She finished with a flourish and a dotting of the I, then handed it back. I don’t know who was cheesing harder, Sienna or the woman. I glanced away and noticed a crowd was forming, and not for Call to Action 5. The news had spread a star was in their midst.

“Toni, give me your autograph!”

“Toni, I called my sister. Talk to her.”

“Toni, marry me!”

Those who weren’t talking were taking pictures. I was surprised. This was LA. Folks were supposed to be used to seeing famous people getting coffee or buying groceries, but that must not extend to parts east of Los Angeles proper. In the excitement, someone shoved someone else. Someone shoved back. Everyone turned, scared—or excited—a fight might break out.

Emme used the distraction to walk to the car. Sienna and I followed suit. No one else did; an autograph wasn’t worth losing their place in line. Thank you Call to Action 5.

“I can stay,” I said to Emme. “Get the game for you.”

She shook her head. “I’ll order it online.”

We got in and pulled off. We drove in silence the first full minute, digesting what had happened. Finally, Emme spoke. “You can have my autograph.”

Her voice was a perfect imitation of Sienna. Just like that, all three of us started laughing. “You should’ve charged her,” I said.

“I could never do that to my fans,” Sienna said. “Though I’m not as friendly to my fans as Joseline’s latest fiancé was to his last night.”

I was about to ask for more details when we drove past another tip line billboard. It wasn’t about Haley’s death, but it was enough to remind me about it. I had to be the only person on the planet who knew less after investigating than more. Blurg.

“Day, did you hear me?” Sienna asked. “He got her at least ten karats.”

I heard “carrots” and couldn’t figure out what she was talking about. “For a salad?”

“Joseline’s engagement ring! You stay with food on the brain.”

“Amen,” I said.

A light bulb went off over my head. And it illuminated Haley’s face. “What if Haley wasn’t talking about a car? What if she was talking about a rose?”

Emme and Sienna had no clue what I was yammering about.

“Haley,” I said. “Her last word was ‘Rolls.’ It doesn’t really make sense, unless she wasn’t talking about a car at all. Remember the car that was coming from a cross street and would’ve run into the side of Emme’s car if she hadn’t stopped? It had those gaudy roses etched into the window tint. That had to be the car. Haley must’ve seen it.”

They both looked doubtful. “‘Rolls’ and ‘rose’ don’t necessarily sound alike,” Sienna said.

“If you’re enunciating,” I said. “Haley had just been hit by a car. She was probably slurring her words, and Betty misinterpreted what she said.”

“Shouldn’t he have been coming down Vermont toward us if he’d hit her?” Emme asked.

“Not if he was trying to get away,” I said. “That area has a bunch of dead ends. People always get screwed trying to take a short cut to Normandie.”

“So we did see the car.” Sienna sounded as surprised as I felt.

I actually had information that could help the cops find Haley’s killer. Of course, I still had to remember what kind of car it was. I drew a blank. “So what kinda car was it?” I finally asked. One of them had to know.

“An Audi.” Sienna sounded pretty confident. “Sedan. Definitely dark-colored.”

Yes! I imagined myself writing a check, sticking it in a stamped envelope addressed to my parents’ bank, and putting it in a big blue mailbox.

“Wrong,” Emme said. Wrong? What the heck did she mean by wrong? “Two doors. Something American like a Chrysler. It was dark-colored, though.”

Why couldn’t anyone remember this car? Me? Sienna? Emme? Betty? My check-sending fantasy was replaced with a nightmare of a foreclosure sign being stuck in my parents’ front yard while Ms. Jenkins from across the street looked on with glee. “At least we’ve established it had doors,” I said.

“There’s a way to find out what it was, FYI,” Emme said.

“I can’t call every mechanic in LA,” I said.

Sienna looked at me. “She’s talking about Omari, Day.”

I drew a breath. No one had actually dared say his name to me in weeks. He was like Voldemort, except with a nose. Both my best friends knew we’d gotten into an argument, but I’d been too embarrassed to tell either of them about Thumb-gate. I had no plans to tell them either. Just like I had no desire to talk to him. Yes, I missed him, but part of me felt if I called at this point, he’d think I was another person trying to leech off his success. If I wanted to see Omari, I could just turn on CBS like everyone else.

“He’s not going to remember anything,” I said. “He has the worst memory of anyone I know. I’ll just have to fig—”

Sienna interrupted me. “His phone. I was recording with it. I caught the car.”

I figured Omari would have already erased all elements of me from his life, deleting my number from his phone and my photos from his Facebook and petitioning the government to remove “Day” from America’s vocabulary. “No way he kept that video.”

“One way to find out,” Sienna said.

No way was I contacting him. No way at all.