By the time Kate sat in the commissary to eat dinner, she was exhausted and her feet burned. But the day had been a magnificent whirl of watching voice and dance rehearsals, setting up her own desk area, taking notes on a clipboard, even driving one of the little carts to deliver call sheets. Late in the day, a small construction crew had started moving the house and ice cream parlor sets to Stage Six, and Kate had watched in amazement—thrilled to know that a Hollywood movie set was being moved because of her idea.
Now, Barbara Stanwyck sat across the commissary, eating in a quiet corner with an older man.
“Stop ogling,” Tad chided, scooping up the last of his mashed potatoes.
“I can’t believe I’m eating dinner with Barbara Stanwyck.”
“Well, that’s a stretch. Do you want the rest of your roll?”
Kate handed it over. “She was amazing in Stella Dallas. I cried at the end.”
“Yeah, too bad she’s not in our stable. We only have her on loan for one picture.”
Her gaze shifted to Tad. “Stable?”
“The stars we have under contract, so they can’t work for anyone else.” He dragged the roll through his gravy. “But keeping a star is expensive, so if there’s a gap in their schedule, we loan them out so they still earn their keep. It’s one of the biggest games in Hollywood—swapping stars. Clark Gable is the latest prize.” He bit off half the roll.
“What do you mean?” Kate pushed her plate away and leaned her arms on the table.
Tad swallowed. “Took Selznick two years to convince Mayer to give him Gable for Gone with the Wind, and it didn’t come cheap. But it’s perfect casting. They start filming in a month or two.” He put the rest of the roll into his mouth.
Kate had devoured the book two years ago, like everyone else, and thought Clark Gable would make the perfect Rhett Butler. “What if an actor doesn’t want to do a movie? Do they still have to do it?”
“Pretty much.” Tad sipped from his water glass. “If they refuse, we can suspend them for a year without pay. And if they try to work for someone else, we sue them. It’s in the contract.”
“Sounds terrible.”
He laughed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Don’t feel sorry for them. Most of them are small-town hicks when they get off the train, and we make their dreams come true. Fix their hair and makeup. Teach them how to walk and talk. How to dress. Even give them better names. We turn them into the most glamorous people in the world, and when the fame and fortune goes to their head, we hush up their dirty secrets. So yeah, we expect a little loyalty in return. And if they don’t like it, there are ten thousand more begging to take their place.”
Kate almost wished she didn’t know. “Hollywood doesn’t sound so fabulous beneath the surface.”
“It’s a business. The people who understand that work hard and succeed. The rest go home.” Tad set his napkin on the table. “Speaking of—how about I drive you home? My grandmother lives in Pasadena, and today is her birthday.”
“All right.” Bonnie and Aurelio would be working late.
They left the commissary, and Tad led her toward a maroon-colored car with a long nose and only one seat. “You drive an Auburn Speedster?” Kate was impressed. A boy she’d known in San Francisco had been obsessed with them.
Tad smiled, opening her door. “And you know cars. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
The night air still held the dry heat of the day, so they drove with the windows down, Kate holding her hair with one hand as Tad whipped the car around other vehicles. He talked over the noise, telling her about the Hays Code that enforced morality in movies. “It wasn’t easy to convince hardworking men to spend their money during the depression, so pictures got a little racy to lure them in. Then the studios figured out they could make more money if the whole family bought tickets, so they cleaned things up. My dad likes the Hays Code. Says it’s better to police ourselves than have the government step in with censorship laws we can’t control. But the creative people hate it because it ties their hands.” He glanced at her. “Sorry, I’m talking your ear off.”
“I like it. I have a lot to learn.”
“And I like teaching you. We make a good team, Kate.” He cast her a meaningful smile that made her feel like she was back in San Francisco on a date with an attractive, slightly older college boy.
But, as the Auburn pulled up at Ollie’s run-down mansion and several reporters materialized out of the shadows, the reality of her situation came crashing back.
“I’ll handle it,” Tad said, climbing out of the car.
Which irked Kate. She’d been handling reporters since she was thirteen. But she waited as Tad came around the car and opened her door. He took her hand and helped her out, as flashbulbs flared, leaving her blinking.
“Kitty! Can you tell us what happened last night?”
“Did you know the young man who was killed, Kitty?”
“Easy, boys,” Tad said, still holding her hand. “Miss Hildebrand won’t be answering any questions tonight.”
As if she were one of his movie stars. Kate started up the long path to the door, and Tad came along, keeping ahold of her hand.
“Tad Falcon, is that you?” Flashbulbs popped. One cameraman ran ahead to catch a front view. “Were you here last night, Tad? How long have you known Kitty Hildebrand? Are the two of you working together?”
“We’ll be making a formal announcement tomorrow,” Tad said. “But I will confirm that Miss Hildebrand has joined Falcon Pictures, and we couldn’t be happier.”
Seeking publicity, Kate realized, not avoiding it. She yanked her hand from his and hurried up the path alone, more irritated at herself than at Tad, for being lured by his flirtatious smile in the car. This wasn’t a date. Falcon Pictures wanted her for her fame—and now they had the bonus of Lemmy’s murder to go with it. She entered the house and quickly shut the door, leaning against it to catch her breath.
She was relieved when she heard Tad’s powerful car drive away.
The house seemed unusually dark and deserted, with the haunting whine of Reuben’s violin drifting from some place far away, eerily reminiscent of her arrival two nights ago. But tonight, the living room was dark. Kate followed the music toward the back of the house and found the back door propped open again. She cast an uneasy glance into the kitchen, which was empty, and then stepped outside.
A trail of flickering candles led the way to the swimming pool in the distance. Kate followed them, pausing at the top of two patio steps to take in the strange but enchanting scene below.
Beneath the glow of the enormous moon, Reuben stood on the pool’s low diving board, playing the violin, suspended over the green water and lily pads. The music was lovely, not jarring like the night she’d arrived, and more candles burned around the pool like twinkling fireflies.
Ollie lay on a long deck chair, staring up at the moon. Closer to Kate, Hugo lay on the ground on a blanket. He turned his head, as if sensing her presence, and for a moment they just stared at each other, then he patted the blanket beside him.
Kate was overly aware of him watching as she walked over, slipped off her shoes, and lowered herself to the blanket. As soon as her head settled on the pillow next to his, she knew she’d landed too close, their arms touching. But neither of them moved away.
The music climbed to a dangerous height and hung there.
“Hello,” he whispered, looking up at the moon.
“Hello.”
The melody swooped and tumbled for a few breathtaking notes before sliding into gentle order again.
“Ollie thought we should have a ceremony for Lemmy. He wasn’t a very nice person, but he lived with us, and no one should die like that.”
“No,” Kate agreed quietly. “And it’s a lovely ceremony.”
“We all took a turn on the diving board. Ollie quoted lines from some old Captain Powell movie. At least, I think that’s what it was. I was so worried he was going to fall in the pool, I didn’t pay much attention.”
Kate smiled in the dark. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“And now Reuben’s playing a song that doesn’t sound like it came out of a madman’s head, which is a nice change of pace.”
“I blame that violin for my moment of madness the night I arrived.”
“So, Reuben gets all the credit? I thought it was my impressive acting.”
She remembered Hugo coming at her in the kitchen, his eyes burning with murderous intent, one hand gripping a knife. “Your performance was … compelling.” She readjusted her position, settling her shoulder more comfortably against his. “Have you taken your turn on the diving board yet?”
“I recited a poem.”
She turned her head on the pillow. “That you wrote?”
“Yeah.” He kept his eyes on the night sky.
“I want to hear it.” He remained quiet. “Just one line.”
“Okay, let me think.” He paused, and then his voice softened. “And so we see, in the luminosity of stars, the diversity of souls. This one bright, this one fading, this one reflecting the light of another.”
Kate stared at his masculine profile. “Hugo … that’s beautiful.”
“Thanks.” His lips moved in the barest of smiles. “Is this too dark for you? I can get the flashlight.”
The disquiet running through Kate had nothing to do with the dark. She looked back at the moon. “I’m fine as long as there are people close by.”
“Well, then.” She heard the smile in his voice. “I’ll stay close.”
Reuben’s music flowed easily now, a river of lovely notes.
“I’ve never seen such a big full moon,” Hugo murmured.
“Actually … it’s a waning gibbous of about ninety-five percent.” Kate lifted her arm and pointed. “See how there’s a shadow on the right side?”
He leaned his head closer to hers. “Oh, right, I see what you mean.”
She tucked her arm back against him, missing the warmth. “It’s called a hunter’s moon, this time of year, because it rises right after sunset, so hunters can keep tracking animals without stopping for the night.”
“I thought it was called a harvest moon in the fall.”
“That was in September. The harvest moon is the one closest to the autumnal equinox, and the one after that is the hunter’s moon. The dates change every year because lunar phases aren’t the same as our—” She stopped herself.
Hide that big brain of yours, darling. Boys might like talking to smart girls, but they don’t kiss them.
“Go on,” Hugo murmured.
Kate swallowed an urge to tell him more. “I can loan you my copy of Sky magazine, if you want.”
“I’d rather hear it from you.”
He sounded like he meant it, but she kept quiet.
Hugo pointed at the sky. “I know that bright star near the moon is Jupiter. Some kid told me that, once, on a Boy Scout campout.”
Kate laughed, turning to look at him. “First of all—you were a Boy Scout?”
His lips twitched. “On my honor. But I was kicked out after I used my scoutmaster’s sleeping bag to put out a wildfire.”
“Sounds like you were a hero.”
“Well … I sort of started the fire.”
“Ah.” She smiled, looking back at the stars. “Secondly—Jupiter might have been near the moon on your campout, but tonight, that’s Saturn. The planets don’t stay in one place, they move in orbit. Tonight, Jupiter is probably…” She searched and pointed. “That bright one down there.”
“Oh, right, I see it.”
“And Venus is … already gone, I think. It’s only visible at sunset and sunrise.”
The violin music grew, swelling around them.
“It’s all so big and far away,” Hugo mused. “It makes me feel small.”
“That’s what I like about it,” Kate said quietly. “The universe isn’t fazed by our world wars and stock market crashes. We think a hundred years is a long time, but even a million years is only a grain of sand in the Sahara.”
“How did you get so interested in astronomy?”
A flutter rolled through her. Leave it to Hugo to find the tender spot. As if he sensed the truth.
He waited, gazing upward. And maybe it was the warmth of his arm against hers, or the moonlight, or the violin pulling a yearning note across the night sky, but Kate wanted to tell him. She whispered it. “My father.”
One of Hugo’s fingers curled around one of hers, a cautious link between their hips.
Her father used to lie next to her like this, pointing out constellations, his voice hushed and eager. Later, she’d realized he had the names all wrong—probably making it up, trying to convince his daughter he knew everything, the way he’d tricked investors.
“I stopped looking at the stars after it happened,” she told Hugo in a small voice. “Then I thought … it wasn’t the stars’ fault. They were the one thing I could believe in. The universe only tells the truth. We just have to be smart enough and work hard enough to understand it.”
Hugo turned his head on the pillow. “I’m glad you didn’t give up on the stars, Kate.” His breath warmed her ear. “And I’m glad…” His voice faded. Kate looked at him and found him staring at something on the other side of her, in the distance.
He sat up, leaving cold air behind.
Kate turned her head. A girl stood at the edge of the pool area—a pretty girl, a little older than Kate, returning Hugo’s stare, her hands clasped at her waist.
“Esther.” Hugo shifted away from Kate on the blanket. Only a few inches, but she felt it. “What are you doing here?”
The girl took a step and stopped. “I read there was a murder and got worried.” Her hands twisted. “I’m so sorry we argued, Hugo. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Kate sat up.
“How did you get here?” Hugo scrambled to his feet and went to her.
“The bus.”
“You shouldn’t ride it at night.”
“I know—but if anything happened to you—and you thought I was still mad—if you didn’t know I love you—” She flung her arms around his shoulders, pressing her face into his neck, and his arms tightened around her with equal fervor. They clung to each other.
Kate felt slapped. And stupid. She was glad Hugo couldn’t see her face. She clenched her jaw, trying to school her expression for the polite introduction.
But Hugo didn’t look at Kate and the others as he separated himself from Esther’s arms. He wiped his eyes, keeping his back to them, then took the girl’s hand and led her to the pool house. A light flipped on, the door closed, and Hugo pulled down the window shade.
“Well, well,” Reuben drawled, and Kate realized the music had stopped.
She forced her voice into cool indifference. “Who was that?”
“I have no idea,” Ollie said, sounding bewildered. “Maybe that actress he mentioned from the play.”
Hugo hadn’t mentioned an actress to Kate. Did he stab her on stage every night, up close and personal?
“I’m done here,” Reuben announced, walking off the diving board. “May Lemmy the snake rest in peace.”
“Let’s finish our card game,” Ollie said, and the two of them made their way toward the house.
Kate stood, her eyes on the pool house. She couldn’t hear anything, and no shadows moved behind the window shade. Whatever they were doing didn’t involve much talking or movement.
Her heart felt like a stone.
What a fool she’d been, falling for the cozy pillow talk and linked fingers. The thoughtful rasp in his voice. She would have warned a girlfriend against some boy she’d only known two days. An actor who’d dropped out of school when he was fifteen. Of course Hugo had girls in his past. Kate had boys in her past. She’d gone to a movie with Freddie Bayer just last week, and a school dance with Andy Gardner two weeks before that.
She tried to think of a boy whose sudden appearance would bring tears to her eyes, but none came to mind.
Kate returned to the house to find Ollie and Reuben playing cards at the kitchen table, betting with piles of beans that had been painted blue, green, and red—the red being worth the most, she guessed, since there were fewer of them.
As she passed the table, Ollie reached out and took her hand. “He’s never talked about a girl, so I don’t think he’s sweet on her.”
“Makes no difference to me,” Kate said, but her voice sounded so tight, the lie so obvious, her face warmed.
She got busy unpacking, making numerous trips back and forth between her trunks in the laundry room and the small closet in the housekeeper’s room. She hung up her clothes in their usual order—dresses and blouses according to color; jackets, warmest to lightest; party dresses on the left. Sweaters, neatly folded on a shelf.
Every time she walked past the window, she glanced outside, but nothing had changed. She unpacked her telescope, set it up in front of the window, and focused on the pool house. But it only gave her a closer view of the same closed door and drawn shade. She could just make out the vague shape of a person standing behind the shade. The girl, maybe. Hugo would be taller.
A chair scraped in the kitchen, and Kate straightened with a guilty jerk.
She placed her things in the dresser in tidy rows—silk stockings and garters, handkerchiefs and gloves. She folded pajamas with military precision and slid them into the bottom drawer.
Nothing was as it seemed in this town, but she would keep her wits about her. Next time, she wouldn’t fall for his little performance.
Tomorrow would be another early morning. She went to the closet to choose a blouse and slacks, but everything was wrinkled. She yanked clothes off hangers, irked at herself for not thinking of it earlier—for not having it on her list.
She entered the kitchen with an armload of clothes. “Is there an overnight laundry in town? Everything I own needs to be pressed.”
“Hugo will do it,” Ollie said absently, studying his cards. “He presses all my things.”
“Your pajamas?” Kate snapped, tired of hearing about the wonders of Hugo. Tonight, Ollie was back in the striped pajamas he’d been wearing when she arrived; she recognized the food stain. “You can’t live in pajamas, Ollie. Tomorrow, you have to get dressed.”
Reuben pulled a toothpick from his mouth. “His clothes don’t fit. He’s too fat.”
“And that,” Ollie declared, laying down a card, “is the pot calling the kettle black.”
“You need exercise,” Kate said over the top of her armload of clothes. “You agreed to walk around the neighborhood.”
“You promised to take me.”
“I work now, but Reuben can go with you.”
“I’m not his babysitter.”
“Just a quick—” Kate heard the back door open, and her gaze flew to the hallway.
Hugo entered the kitchen wearing a black leather jacket, his expression tense, his eyes on the floor. The girl stayed back in the hall. “I need to borrow your car, Figs.”
Reuben slapped a card on the table. “You gotta pay for the gas.”
“No problem.” Hugo turned away.
Ollie chirped. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”
Hugo sighed and turned sideways, lifting an arm to the hall. “This is my sister Esther. She doesn’t want to meet you because you’re corrupting my soul and she’s not supposed to be here.” His eyes shifted to Kate. “Except you, I guess. Esther, come meet Kate.”
The girl took a tentative step into the kitchen—and the resemblance was suddenly obvious. The same fair skin and dark hair. The same arched eyebrows. Maybe a year or two older than Hugo. She offered Kate a small smile. “How do you do?”
Kate had been raised with impeccable manners but couldn’t think of the proper response, her eyes darting to Hugo. “Your sister,” she breathed, not caring if he could hear the relief in those words.
A muscle in his jaw tightened and released. “One of them. I’ve got five more, plus a brother.”
“Catholic or Mormon?” Reuben asked around the toothpick.
“You shut up,” Hugo said, not angry, just an order.
Ollie said cheerily, “You could start a singing group—the Quick Family Singers. Join us, Esther! We want to hear embarrassing stories of Hugo’s misspent childhood.”
She stepped back. “No, thank you.”
“I told you,” Hugo snapped. “My dad would belt her if he knew she was here. I’m driving her to Glendale.” He cast a final, uneasy look at Kate, and the two of them left.
Reuben worked the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Well, well.”
Kate stared at the empty doorway, her arms full of clothes, wishing she’d been a little friendlier. She wanted to know more about Esther—and the five other sisters—and one brother—and the father who would belt his daughter.
Reuben and Ollie bickered over their cards and painted beans.
Sister. Kate fought a goofy grin as she dumped the clothes at the end of the table. “Either of you know how to iron?”
Reuben pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “You put the hot thing on the fabric and slide it around.”
“Thank you, Reuben.”
He eyed her with a knowing smirk. “Someone looks mighty happy after meeting a sister.”
Kate only smiled as she turned away, humming under her breath as she went to the laundry room to find an iron and ironing board.
Six sisters and one brother, plus Hugo. Eight children. He hadn’t just run away from a father; he’d left an entire family behind.
Where was Glendale? Not far, she guessed, since Ollie had hired Hugo’s father to do his plumbing. And yet, judging from the tearful reunion, Hugo rarely went home. If ever.
She opened the tall cupboard in the laundry room, where she’d found the mop and pail, and saw the ironing board leaning against the side wall. She pulled it out—a bit awkwardly; it was heavier than it looked—and something fell loose behind it, clattering to the ground. She looked down around the ironing board and saw a slim sword on the floor, its long blade smeared by a dull, reddish-brown stain.
Her stomach lurched.
Kate stared, her heart galloping into a faster beat. She recognized the fancy gold handle. It was the same sword she’d seen in a display case on Ollie’s office wall, next to the painting of Captain Powell.
It’s a beautiful weapon, crafted by a famous swordsmith in Spain—and wicked sharp.
Now, covered in dried blood. Hidden in the laundry room where Hugo had fumbled in the dark last night.