Fifteen

Emme’s expression was one of true love. A smile so bright I swore I saw her wisdom teeth finally erupting. I half expected her to drop to one knee and propose. And if Gmail had a pulse and a Netflix account, she probably would have.

“Brilliant. Just. Plain. Brilliant.”

“Exactly,” I said, even though it was clear she wasn’t speaking to me. Or to Sienna for that matter, since we’d already gotten off the phone with her. “Just remind me why.”

“Google is the Internet equivalent of God. All knowing. All seeing. All keeping. You send an email, it’s in the ether. Even if permanently deleted, it’s out there somewhere.”

“Like in a galaxy far, far away.”

She ignored my pitiful attempt at humor. “Only thing Gmail doesn’t keep are drafts. It saves just the latest version. Delete one without sending. Poof. It’s gone. You’re SOL if you want to get it back.”

I suddenly got it. Emme was right. It was brilliant. Just. Plain. Brilliant. “So Lyla and her source opened a joint Gmail account because it was the only way they could talk without anyone finding out.”

Emme looked at me, all proud-like. And I was about to make her even prouder. “And the source doesn’t know Anani is dead. No one does. So they’ve been waiting to hear from her for like two weeks.”

I could use that to my advantage. In fact, I would use that to my advantage. “They’re gonna log in again, aren’t they?”

Emme nodded. “I’ll create an alert for anytime someone logs in to the account. We’ll know when they respond and we’ll ping the IP. Find their location.”

Worked for me.

I had expected to hear from Viv3000 the next day. I just hadn’t expected to hear from them right after my manicurist—Alice, according to the nametag—had wrapped acetone-soaked pads covered in foil on the digits of my left hand. I was in desperate need of a mani-pedi. But when I heard the ding indicating I’d gotten an alert, I quickly snatched my hand away. Someone had logged into the Viv3000 account. Yes! The sooner we found their location, the sooner we could find them.

The plan wasn’t to roll up on them for a confrontation, per se. I just wanted to know who they were, you know, just in case. I was about to text Emme but she beat me to it. The IP was another Coffee Bean. This one in Los Feliz. It would take me an hour to get there but Aubrey lived within spitting—or should I say, biking—distance. He could get there.

I put up one foil-clad finger to Alice, then dialed Aubrey. She sighed loudly. When he picked up, I quickly explained the situation. “So how soon can you get to the Coffee Bean?”

“I am not home but I am not far. I would estimate it would take me thirty minutes.”

That could be enough time. “They might still be there,” I said.

“You can always stall them, Ms. Anderson, until I can get there. You say you have some high technology way to communicate with them, do you not?”

I did, though those weren’t my exact words. Thank God. “I suppose I could pretend to be Anani. Message them long enough for you to get there.” Pre-Tomari-gate, I’d visited Anani’s blog almost as much as I visited the bathroom. If there was anyone I could emulate, it was Anani. “But what should I say? I can’t press too hard. I’m not sure how honest Lyla and her source were in their convos. Honestly, we’re assuming Piper is J. Chris, but what if she’s not? What if Lyla actually referred to Piper by her real name?”

“You are overthinking this, Ms. Anderson. One thing I learned from my time with the sheriff’s department is that as long as you act like you know what you are talking about, the other person will assume you do. I suggest you keep it vague and let them fill in the blanks for you.”

“I could do that.” We hung up, though I wasn’t ready to give up completely on my mani. I smiled at Alice. “I’ll just let this soak off. You can start someone else.”

She was already motioning the bottle blonde standing at the front desk to come over. I took a seat at the empty station next to her and pulled up the Viv300 account with my right hand. My left was still covered in foil.

Please let them stay at the coffee shop.

I checked the draft. The message from yesterday was still there. Why are you ignoring me?

Deleting it, I wrote, I’m not. Can you chat for a few?

I tapped the refresh icon five times before Viv responded. Luckily, I wasn’t expecting a college essay of a response because I would have been disappointed. It was one line. Thought you’d changed your mind.

They were still there. Good. Of course, that meant I actually had to talk. What did I need from them? I thought it over. First step was to confirm Viv3000 even had anything to do with Piper. Second was to finagle Piper’s true identity—J. Chris or not. Third was to convince Viv3000 to stop hiding behind an email account and go talk to the police. I wrote: We only have a couple weeks to the reveal. Definitely still going through with it.

Viv3000 wrote back almost instantly. She might know. She mentioned Piper to me. She’ll kill us if she knew we were talking.

And that was all I needed. I had to get to Los Feliz to talk to Viv face to face. Hopefully Aubrey would make sure Viv didn’t leave before I got there. I ripped the foil off my left hand, paid full price for my half manicure, generously tipped Alice, and went to my car, where I reread the message.

Might know. Piper. Kill us.

Not quite new information, but at least it confirmed my assumption. The Viv3000 account was set up about the blind and it was in fact a secret someone would kill—and had killed—to keep.

I finally responded with fingers that still reeked of acetone. You’re right. Might be good to take precautions. I can make sure a copy of the video gets to the police.

The response was instantaneous. Thought the DVD was copy protected. You made copies?

Fudge. My response was just as quick. It is. Meant my copy.

Viv wrote back right away. And much like dino porn, it wasn’t anything I wanted to read. Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all.

I fired off a quick apology. Sorry if I made you think I made copies. I didn’t.

I hit refresh a kajillion times. Nothing from Viv.

The only thing stopping an impending sense of doom was that Aubrey was still on the way. I called him. He picked up immediately. “I just arrived, Ms. Anderson. No one is in here.”

We’d lost Viv.

Fudge.

Two days later and my apology was right where I’d left it. Viv3000 hadn’t even logged in to the email account. I kept checking, as if willing them to do so. Emme said there was no way to track a person’s IP unless they log in. I just hoped they responded and when they did, it’d be from a private IP address.

Day One wasn’t so bad. I knew the day would creep by if I just sat around alone waiting for Viv to write back. Instead, I decided to pass the time by bugging Aubrey. I was at his house as soon as rush hour let me get there.

He was landscaping. I decided to supervise. “Any luck with Junior’s friends?”

He shook his head. “They relayed to me that Mr. Reid was extremely vocal about coming into some money. However, he did not share who gave him said funds and they did not ask. The police have his cell phone but Ms. Ruth is getting me her grandson’s latest bill.”

The bill was also online. Emme could help with that but I didn’t dare suggest it. Instead, I decided to whine. “I keep thinking how I messed up. Again. Viv will respond, right?”

“It has only been a day, Ms. Anderson. You need to give it time.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“That is a ‘you need to give it time.’ If they respond, that is great. If not, we will figure out another way to find them.”

Hearing him use the word “we” was instantly reassuring. I jumped up. “I’m gonna get a water. Want anything?”

He shook his head and I strolled into his apartment like it was my own. I noticed the unopened envelope on the way back from the kitchen. It was brown, flat, and rectangular, like most envelopes. Also like me prepuberty. The return address was stamped Bureau of Security & Investigative Services. I took it outside, waving it in Aubrey’s general direction. “You didn’t tell me you heard back from the licensing people.”

Aubrey barely glanced in my direction. “I did not realize I had.”

I ripped it open. Aubrey was not happy. “You know it is illegal to open someone else’s mail, Ms. Anderson.”

“You know snitches get stitches, Mr. Adams-Parker.” I pulled out a slim handbook, study materials, and a letter congratulating Aubrey on his private investigator license application being approved. Skimming it, I gave Aubrey the highlights. “They’re happy your application has been accepted. Blah. Blah. Blah. Next step is to call the number in the enclosed handbook to schedule the exam.”

He just nodded. For someone so concerned about breaking federal mail-tampering laws, he was in no hurry to reclaim his package. I continued on. “Testing is six days a week in a wide variety of locations to fit your schedule and traveling needs. Ooh, there’s one in downtown. That’s not far.” I gave him a date. “Does that work for you? I can pick you up.”

“That will not be necessary, Ms. Anderson.”

“Great. Let’s call them now!”

After we got Aubrey all set up with his test, I bugged him for another half hour and then finally let him be. I spent the rest of the day cleaning Sienna’s and my apartment, talking with my parents, having dinner with my boyfriend, and generally managing to resist stalking an email account.

It was all good … until Day Two with no response.

That’s when I went into full panic mode, which normally involved sitting on my bed. In the dark. Trying to break a World Record for how many Oreos one could stuff in one’s mouth. My current best was nine. And that’s exactly what I did, alternating between downing Oreos and searching Google for references to Viv3000. The hope was I’d find some clue of Viv’s identity. They had to be somehow connected to Piper if they were close enough to not only know about any lip-syncing but also have access to proof of it.

I started off just searching Viv3000. Besides an unrelated outdated Flickr account, nothing came up.

So I added Viv3000 and J. Chris to spice things up, all while trying to avoid getting Oreo remnants on my new bedsheets. I typed in the names and hit enter. Google being Google, it offered a suggestion: Did you mean Vivian J. Chris $3,000?

I did not, but I’d still take it. Clicking on the suggestion, I was shocked at how many links popped up—all with variations of the same headline: Singer-actress Janet Christie signs on for $3,000 remake.

I picked one article at random and clicked on it. J. Chris had signed on to play Vivian (ding ding) in a version of the movie $3,000, which apparently was a “dark drama” about a “down-on-her-luck” streetwalker who gets offered $3,000 to spend the week with a rich, successful businessman.

It was a remake. The original hit theaters in 1990, but not before Hollywood had stripped it of its dark elements, changed the title to be reminiscent of a song about a lady walking down the street, and gave it the requisite Happily Ever After. The movie itself had its own happy ending—Pretty Woman became one of the biggest romantic comedies ever.

My mind flashed to the Anani blind item. Lyla had mentioned “pretty” five times. Sienna and I were right in assuming it was a clue. It led us to Pretty Boy, after all. We just hadn’t realized it had another meaning.

Lyla had hidden Joseline’s sex tape in a Reality Bites case. Did she have a similar sick sense of humor about the J. Chris audiovisuals? I was pretty sure I’d seen a copy of Pretty Woman somewhere in her vast collection. Luckily, the two bags of DVDs were still stuffed in my backseat. I’d yet to donate Lyla’s stuff.

I’d love to pretend that I kept them because my Spidey senses told me I’d need them one day. In reality, I’d been “meaning to” stop by the Salvation Army in the same way I’d been “meaning to” drink more water.

Of course, when Past Dayna had shoved the DVDs back in the bags before she’d shoved them back in the car, she’d neglected to put them back in any semblance of order, which meant Present Dayna had go through both bags to find it. I could’ve taken everything out in an orderly fashion, one thing at a time so not to make my Infiniti any more of a mess than it already naturally was. Instead I dumped the first bag all over the backseat and went scavenging as if for gold.

I threw the random junk and non–Pretty Woman DVDs into the front passenger seat, not caring where they landed. That was a problem for Future Dayna. Coming up empty, I moved on to bag number two and repeated the entire process.

Pretty Woman wasn’t the last DVD I checked, but it was close. I opened the case. The DVD itself had the iconic photo of Julia Roberts and Richard Gere on it. Not a surprise. Someone would have noticed if it didn’t. But I still wasn’t ready to give up. Not just yet. Lyla had been nothing if not sly. Sliding the DVD jacket out from the case, I hoped for some additional clue. Maybe she’d written the source’s real name or exactly where she’d left the lip-syncing proof. No dice.

Deciding to watch the DVD anyway, I went back upstairs. Sienna sat on the couch playing with her phone. I gave her an update. When I told her about the J. Chris connection, she practically did a seated cartwheel and proceeded to scream “I told you so!” eleven and a half times—the half only because I finally managed to cut her off with an apology. “I will never doubt you again,” I said.

We both knew this was a lie, but we still went with it. I practically jammed the DVD into the player and waited for the thing to load. The screen went momentarily black. I held my breath until the menu screen popped up. I should’ve just breathed. It was a regular DVD menu.

I selected play movie as I spoke. “Maybe she got super slick and hid the proof in the movie. Maybe Lyla knew that one day someone—me—would look for the proof and that someone would see the menu. Maybe she hoped they would just give up—thereby keeping her secret safe.”

“Or maybe it’s just straight Pretty Woman.” The movie started and Sienna spoke again. “Oh hey, it looks just like the beginning of Pretty Woman!”

I had no plans to give up that easily. Ever. I hit the fast forward button. Once. Twice. Three times. The movie jumped forward in fits and bursts. Thoughts of Geppetto flashed through my brain just as quickly as bits and pieces of movie images flashed on screen. I recognized a few scenes as they flew by. The thigh-highs. The singing in the bathtub to Prince. Vivian wearing the red dress. Him snapping the necklace case shut.

“Stop!” Sienna yelled.