Nineteen

O ne of the first tasks for me whenever Justine began a new book was to create a timeline, which is nothing more than a straight line with marks off to the sides indicating major events in the subject’s life, and also historical happenings. What was going on in the world when Jean Harlow was born? That would go on the timeline across from the mark where “Jean Harlow’s Birthday” resides. What songs and movies were popular? Books? It’s a simplistic exercise that can get complicated and often resembles a complex diagramed sentence. It can be time-consuming and mind-numbing, but it helps when actually plotting out the book. It’s the framework I helped Justine build the biographies on. A solid visual.

Thank goodness I’d placed it in my briefcase and had it with me. I placed the printed-out Jean Harlow/Harlean Carpenter timeline on the floor. The floor being one of my favorite spots to spread out and think. I propped myself on my elbows.

Kate leaned over me. She was working today from our cozy guest studio apartment. “ ‘Indian Love Call,’ hey?”

“Yes, it was popular in 1936. It was Jean’s favorite song, sung at her funeral by Jeannette MacDonald,” I replied as I studied the timeline more. There were just a few gaps in Harlow’s twenty-six years of life. After she became a star, almost every minute was accounted for.

Kate pulled up the song on her laptop and the lyrics came spilling out of the speakers. “Kind of spooky. I don’t know why,” she said.

“If you think that’s spooky, check out ‘Sweet Mystery of Life.’ Nelson Eddy sang it at her funeral. It’s so depressing,” I said.

“Nah, I think I’ll skip it,” she said.

I continued studying the timeline. There were branches of the timeline written in purple. Those represented her mother. We’d investigated Mama Jean as well, since their lives were so entwined. Mama Jean married Marino Bello years after divorcing Mont Clair Carpenter, Harlean’s biological father. To say Marino was no good would be an understatement. He scammed his famous stepdaughter on more than one occasion, bilking her out of thousands.

“Prick,” I said aloud.

“Thanks,” Kate said and burped.

“I wasn’t talking to you. I’m sorry. I was talking about Marino Bello, Harlean’s mother’s second husband.”

I was so glad Kate hadn’t wanted to leave me alone today. Such friends are hard to come by in this life. I glanced up at her. “I love you, Kate.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” she said with a broad smile.

I couldn’t imagine my life without Kate. It didn’t matter to me if she was Karl or Kate—the essence of her remained the same, no matter the gender. But her offer to take a trip to Cloister Island with me was fraught with difficulty. Even though it was a healing place for me, she really couldn’t go back, no matter how much she wanted to. Her family was unforgiving and unaccepting—it was a wound she still suffered. No matter the brave face.

After studying the chart a bit more, I phoned Den. “I need my laptop.”

“I know. I’m trying hard to get the ball rolling,” he said. “You might have it tomorrow. In the meantime, we recovered Justine’s stolen computer. Found it in the alley behind the apartment building. Thought you’d want to know.”

“So you’ve got her computer, but I can’t have mine back yet?”

Kate glanced up from her laptop and rolled her eyes.

“Two different units,” he said, breathing into the phone. I pictured his mouth next to his cell phone. “So anyway, the cybercrimes unit has made a few inroads with Justine’s computer. You available to answer some questions?”

“Well, since I’m not working because you have my laptop, yeah,” I said. “Why don’t you come over. You know where I am.”

Kate shot me a glare.

Did that sound more flirtatious than I meant it?

“How could I resist an invitation like that?”

After we hung up, Kate asked how it was going now that I was abstaining from my habit of sleeping with cops.

“Fine,” I said, trying not to snap at her. I’d gotten pinged several times by some of my favorite guys. What would the harm be? What was the harm, anyway?

“Maybe I was wrong to think you couldn’t do this,” she said.

I snorted.

“But maybe not. There’s still time. Can you honestly say you’re not just itching for a cop in the sack?”

I couldn’t lie to Kate. “I wouldn’t say itching, but I’ve thought about it.” I paused. “But you make it sound like I’d just screw any cop because he’s a cop. That’s just not the case.” I rolled the timeline into a tube. “He’s got to be hot.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “There’s plenty of hot cops in the city. I know. But can’t you date someone else? Hey, how about a firefighter?”

I chewed it over for a few seconds and shrugged. “Sure, find me one and I’ll date him. I’ve nothing against hot firefighters.”

“I’ve heard they do amazing things with their hoses,” Kate said and laughed.

When I opened the door to Den, he nearly took my breath away. As he stood there in his uniform, sex emanated from him. Tendrils of excitement raced through my lower regions. Calm down, woman.

His eyes smoldered and relayed he was feeling those same impulses. We stood, taking one another in for a few beats. Kate angled her way in between us.

“Sergeant Brophy, how lovely to see you,” she said. I could have smacked her, with her big boobs flaunting in his face. But he seemed unmoved.

“Ah, yeah,” he said. “Nice to see you too.” He smiled politely.

He was draped with several briefcases and bags. But in his arms, he held my laptop. When my eyes went to it, his mouth curled into a grin. “I had to pull a few strings.” He handed it to me.

“Well, Sergeant Brophy, aren’t you something,” Kate said and lead us both into the apartment.

“Thanks, Den. I could hug you for that,” I said.

“Hold that thought,” he said under his breath.