Kate saw the open door to her grandfather’s office, halfway between the kitchen and foyer, but stopped before reaching it to open the telegram in private. She pulled the paper from the envelope and was disappointed to see that it was a message, not a money order.
DARLING GIRL HAVING SUCH A MARVELOUS TIME ON THE SHIP LOVELY WEATHER AND DELIGHTFUL NEW FRIENDS STOP ANXIOUSLY AWAITING YOUR FIRST TELEGRAM FROM HOLLYWOOD PLEASE WRITE SOON AND DO GIVE CLARK GABLE A KISS FROM YOUR MOST HAPPILY MARRIED AUNT
MRS DONALD NORTON
Kate reread it. Anxiously awaiting. “Too obvious, Aunt Lorna,” she muttered.
Aunt Lorna wasn’t the sort of aunt who fretted over the details of her niece’s life, too busy with her own social calendar. She didn’t have any children of her own—by choice—and Kate had been thirteen when she’d moved in, so their relationship had always been more friendly than maternal. Sometimes their paths didn’t cross for days, which suited them both.
She’d received Kate’s telegram, all right, just didn’t want to admit that her new husband wouldn’t send the money. Your most happily married aunt. Mr. Norton had probably smirked in delight when he’d heard about Kate’s dilemma.
She curled her fist around the paper, hating that she needed his money. It made her no better than Aunt Lorna, who’d turned into a flirtatious fool whenever he’d entered the house. Oh, Donald, I love the way you’re so smart. Kate had rolled her eyes at first; there’d been a series of rich boyfriends since Uncle Harvey’s death. Then she’d noticed how often Mr. Norton had scolded her aunt and how quickly Aunt Lorna had apologized. For the soup being too cold and the room too hot. For daring to talk as he read the newspaper. That’s when Kate had written her list of Seven Reasons for Not Marrying Mr. Norton, hoping it would make her aunt come to her senses. Instead, Mr. Norton had found the list and forced Aunt Lorna to choose between a rich husband and a niece.
She hadn’t chosen the niece.
Now, Kate must apologize too. It made her sick, but without his money, she was stuck here. This morning, she’d have to send another telegram, this one addressed to Mr. Norton, begging his forgiveness for her silly list. Knowing him, he’d make her wait, forcing her to send a second, even more groveling apology.
And she would do it. Anything to get out of here.
She had to tell her grandfather she wasn’t going to live with him after all. She tucked the telegram back into the envelope and entered his office—and immediately stopped short, taken aback by a stuffed tiger glaring at her, its fangs bared. Her heart settled, and she looked up to see her grandfather sitting behind a desk, wearing a kingly cape with fur trim and a gold crown, gazing down at an open photo album.
“She never told me she was afraid of clowns,” he murmured to a stuffed cat on the desk. A black cat with four white paws. Boots, Kate guessed.
Heavy drapes closed out the real world, casting everything into dusty gloom. Her grandfather’s office was even more cluttered than the rest of the house, with only a few paths for walking between piles of strange artifacts. Egyptian urns and a golden Buddha. A tattered mummy leaning against the bookcase, its arms crossed. A suit of armor standing guard in the corner.
Old movie props, she guessed.
She made her way toward the desk, stepping over a metal jousting helmet. “Grandfather?”
His face brightened at the sight of her. “Kate! I thought you were still asleep. Come, come, you must look at these. Did you ever see such a precious child?” He held a photograph over the desk.
Kate expected to see herself, but the little girl in the photo was shabbily dressed, with 1906 written in the white border. The child clung to the leg of a young man with dimples—Ollie before his fame and fortune, looking barely older than a teenager. “Is this my mother?”
“That’s her—little Evie, always so shy.”
“Evie? Was that her nickname?” She’d always been Evelyn.
Ollie handed her another photo. “I love this one.”
Kate was in this photo, about five or six years old, sitting on a settee next to her mother, both of them in fancy dresses. Every Christmas and Easter, they’d gone to the best photography studio in San Francisco. Sometimes her father had been in the photo too, but not this one. Maybe her grandfather had destroyed all his photos of Johnson Hildebrand, the way Kate had tried one lonely Christmas Day. But she hadn’t been able to find any, and Aunt Lorna had tearfully admitted to locking all the photos of her brother in a safe deposit box.
Kate handed back the photo and ignored the next one by looking around the crowded office. “You have quite a collection here.”
“Oh, yes, it’s a bit of a mess. Reuben’s trying to organize me, but I can’t find anything in there.” He waved a hand at the filing cabinet in the corner. A drawer hung open and documents littered the Persian rug. “He almost threw away my script from Sea Demon, if you can believe it. There are collectors who would pay a pretty penny for that. For all of this.” He swung an arm.
“You’re going to sell all these things?”
“Goodness, no! You’re as bad as Reuben.”
She noticed an enormous painting of Captain Powell on the side wall, on the deck of his ship, his eyes gleaming with heroic bravery. The table below the painting held what must have been movie memorabilia—an old-fashioned flintlock pistol on a wooden stand, a sea captain’s hat, and framed photos.
“That sword is real,” Ollie said, pointing to a box on the wall beside the painting, displaying a long, thin sword and scabbard. “My friend Frank had it made for my birthday to match the prop I used in the films. It’s a beautiful weapon, crafted by a famous swordsmith in Spain—and wicked sharp.”
The irony struck her. “A real replica of a fake original?”
“Ha! Never thought of it that way.” Her grandfather sank back on the chair, his eyes softening on her. “My darling girl, can you ever forgive me for that appalling welcome last night?”
He looked ridiculous in the gold crown and fur-trimmed cape. “Of course, Grandfather.”
“Ollie. I won’t pretend to be much of a grandfather. I didn’t even recognize you.” He lifted a finger. “But in my defense, you did have braces on your teeth in the last photo you sent me.”
“Sorry, I know I haven’t been very good about writing. Or phone calls.” Kate always kept them brief, thinking she had nothing to say to a boring, old man. But now that she faced him, Oliver Banks was anything but boring—and not really that old at fifty-four. Her gaze drifted to the top of his head. “King Arthur?”
He gave an embarrassed laugh and removed the crown. “Henry the Eighth. It’s a little game we play. Hats in the wheelbarrow. Close our eyes, and the first hat we touch, that’s our character for the day. Keeps me in practice.”
For what? Hugo was right: her grandfather lived in the past. “Grandfather—”
“Ollie, please.”
“Ollie. I was hoping you would take me sightseeing today. I’ve never been to Hollywood.”
His face froze for a few seconds before he managed a smile. “Not today, dear. I’ve promised to help Reuben organize my papers. Maybe next week.”
“I won’t be here next week; I’ll be back in San Francisco.”
His eyes widened. “You’re leaving?”
Saying it to his face was harder than she’d expected. “I thought Aunt Lorna had arranged for me to live here, but you weren’t expecting me, obviously, and you have boarders, and it does seem better if I get back to my own life … and you can get back to yours.” She glanced at the stuffed cat.
“Oh, I know your bedroom isn’t much, but we can fix it up. A little paint. Why don’t we try it for a month and see how it goes?”
“I can’t take a month off school. I’m already behind in math.”
He waved a hand. “Math is easy. I can teach you. Or Reuben can, at any rate.”
She resisted an urge to roll her eyes. “I’m in an advanced class at one of the best schools in the country. I’d hoped to find a good school here, but now—” Now, she saw that her grandfather couldn’t afford a private school.
“They let you quit at your age,” Ollie said, unconcerned. “Hugo dropped out when he was fifteen.”
Of course he had. Kate switched to an argument he might understand. “I can’t live here with your boarders. It isn’t appropriate.”
“Oh, they’re respectable lads, every one of them.”
“Yes, especially Lemmy, who’s on his way to visit some gangster in prison as we speak.”
“Moe Kravitz?” Ollie looked amused. “Moe isn’t a gangster, just has a little gambling upstairs at his club. I used to go there myself, back in the day. The police just have to throw him in jail now and then to keep the busybodies happy.”
Kate gave up on being tactful. “I can’t live here. As soon as I get a money order from Aunt Lorna, I’m going home, probably tomorrow.”
His face sagged. There was something childlike about the way he showed every emotion. “Oh, Kate. I thought this was our chance to finally get to know each other.”
“Well … that’s why I thought we should go sightseeing today. Get you out of the house a little before I leave.”
His eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious. “What did they tell you?”
“Nothing, I just think it would be nice to be outside together.” An obvious lie. Kate drew a breath. “Ollie, you can’t spend the rest of your life inside this house. There’s nothing to be afraid of out there.”
“Afraid,” he scoffed. “I’m not afraid. It’s annoying, that’s all. Reporters and cameras everywhere I go. Everyone watching my every move.”
She wasn’t sure if he actually believed he was still a big star or just trying to convince her. Still believed, she suspected. “I don’t think it’ll be so bad now.”
Ollie slumped on the chair, now a petulant child. “It’s always bad. Can’t even buy a pair of shoes without the salesman asking for an autograph. And restaurants! Try eating ribs with a dozen people watching your every bite and dribble.” He waved a hand. “You have no idea.”
“Actually … I do.”
It took him a moment to understand, and then his eyes widened in dismay. “Oh, Kate, of course you do. I’m so sorry.”
She forced a brief smile. “I guess we have that in common.”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “I was just reflecting on that, actually … how wonderful it is to have you here with me … all safe and sound.” He slowly moved the photo album aside, revealing an open scrapbook on the desk, filled with newspaper clippings.
Kate didn’t understand at first, the headline upside down, then the heavy black type formed words, and her heart lurched.
Her head seemed to drain of blood, the bold headline going fuzzy. She pressed her hands against the desktop to keep upright, her thirteen-year-old face smiling up at her—a school photo.
“I’m sorry,” Ollie murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He started to close the scrapbook.
Her hands shot out to keep it open, her heart thundering. “Wait.” She’d never seen the newspapers from that week; Aunt Lorna had seen to that, banning them from the house until the story died down. But here they were—part of her grandfather’s treasure trove—front page stories the entire world had read.
So why not Kate? She turned the scrapbook to face her before she lost her nerve.
Her eyes flickered over the opening paragraph several times before her brain settled enough to understand that it was giving a brief recap of the situation.
Kitty Hildebrand, thirteen-year-old daughter of wealthy financier Johnson Hildebrand, granddaughter of movie star Oliver Banks, had been kidnapped from the Hildebrands’ Nob Hill home while her parents were at a party. Chloroformed, most likely. Perhaps hidden in the trunk of a car. The kidnapper had left a note demanding a million dollars, claiming that’s how much her father had stolen from him, but when he’d shown up to collect the ransom, he’d been ambushed by the police and killed.
Without revealing her location.
At the time of this article, she’d been missing three days. Doctors warned of death by dehydration. Investigators were combing through the kidnapper’s papers and property, hoping to find some clue to her whereabouts. Her parents were shown in a grainy photograph, her mother crying, her father kissing her mother’s temple. Kate stared at their blurry faces—a day in their life she’d never seen, only imagined.
Her hand trembled as she turned to the next page in the scrapbook.
While searching the kidnapper’s files, suspicious paperwork had been found, prompting a raid of her father’s office. The front page photo showed men carrying boxes out of Kate’s childhood home, with her father in the doorway, his hands on his hips. He was quoted as welcoming the search if it helped find his daughter, who’d now been missing for five days.
Liar. He would have let her die in that dark hole if it meant keeping his secrets.
Kate turned the scrapbook page, her hand a little steadier now.
The article explained how smooth-talking Johnson Hildebrand had coaxed millions from investors for new business ventures that didn’t exist and used the money to fund his own lavish lifestyle. A Ponzi scheme with profits on paper only, early investors paid back by later investors. The kidnapper had been one of his victims, and now more investors were coming forward, claiming fraud.
Kate prepared herself as she turned the page, knowing the worst was yet to come.
According to the housekeeper quoted in the article, her parents’ argument had started in the dining room, then moved upstairs. Her father had shouted that he was Johnson Hildebrand for God’s sake and had no intention of going to prison. Her mother had screamed that their daughter was probably dead and it was all his fault. Followed by two gunshots. And then silence.
Their daughter, Kitty Hildebrand, had been missing for six days, with no promising leads.
The kidnapper’s cabin in the woods, with its underground bunker, had finally been discovered. Kate didn’t remember the moment because she’d been unconscious—hours from death by dehydration, according to the doctor quoted. But the newspaper had a photograph of her limp body being carried out.
Kate stared hard at the photograph, her heart hammering, recognizing the small house in the background, surrounded by tall redwood trees. Remembering the strong hands that had pushed her through a hole in the floor. “I’m sorry,” the man had called down, sounding like he meant it, and the square of light had disappeared. When she’d finally stopped screaming and begging, the world had been utterly dark and silent, with no explanation of what was happening or why. Or promise it would end.
She’d explored the dirt floor and found a canteen of water, crackers, and apples. The supply had eventually run out, leaving her hollow with hunger and maddened by thirst. She’d screamed for help in the dark until her voice had given out. Sobbed in despair. Rocked herself to sleep, only to be tormented by nightmares—then jolting awake to the worst nightmare of all: it wasn’t a dream.
Kate despised the house in the photograph but couldn’t take her eyes off it. Despised herself for not being smart enough to—
“It was a terrible thing that happened to you,” Ollie said gently, coming around the desk. “A terrible, terrible thing.” He stopped beside her, draping an arm across her shoulders.
Kate stiffened, resisting the urge to turn toward him. She never talked about it with anyone. Never allowed herself to cry.
His hand rubbed her shoulder. “I’d given up all hope of your aunt ever allowing you to visit. But you’re here now, and even if it’s only for one day, I couldn’t be happier.”
Aunt Lorna had never said she couldn’t visit; it was Kate who’d never asked. Her mother had described her father as a self-centered movie star who’d partied all night and gone on glamorous vacations without her. Aunt Lorna had smirked whenever his name came up, calling him an old fool who’d squandered a fortune. And he was an old fool, wearing costumes and talking to a dead cat. Never leaving the house.
But he was the only relative she had besides Aunt Lorna.
Kate closed the scrapbook, making the house of horrors disappear. “Why did you keep these newspapers? They’re just a bunch of bad memories.”
His hand fell from her shoulder. “Sometimes I like to have a good cry about it. Helps clear the cobwebs.”
“It isn’t healthy, dwelling on the past.” She picked up the loose photograph of her mother clinging to Ollie’s leg and returned it to its proper place inside the photo album. “How long has it been since you left the house?”
“Oh … I don’t know.” She heard him take a few aimless steps behind her. “Four years, I guess. I came home from Evie’s funeral and just … never left.”
Kate hadn’t left the house either, for a few weeks. Aunt Lorna had finally lured her into the car for a short drive. Then a quiet bookstore.
She closed the photo album and turned to lean against the desk. “Why don’t the two of us go for a drive today? You don’t have to get out of the car, just point out the interesting sights. Would you like that?”
He avoided her gaze, looking to the side. “Reuben’s been hounding me to organize those papers.”
“I’ll help with that when we get back.”
Lively music started somewhere in the house. “Sounds like Aurelio is at it again,” Ollie said.
“A short drive, just the two of us.”
“Maybe later. Right now, I think you’ll find Aurelio much more interesting.” Ollie forced a smile. “Run along, you don’t want to miss it.”
“Miss what?”
“I’m not going to tell you. This is something you must see for yourself.”
Kate’s curiosity got the better of her, and she left the office.