Epilogue

Dante was convicted of murdering Lyla.

Kitt was arrested for blackmail, but she was released after Mack and J. Chris refused to press charges. Still, she was fired from SSO and blackballed from ever working in this town again. For some, a fate worse than jail time.

Mack’s secret came out during Dante’s trial. Even his manager couldn’t keep that under wraps. Instead, he sent Mack on a sympathy tour. A stint in rehab for exhaustion. An interview with the Today show and Dateline. Mack also signed a deal to write his memoirs and VH1 was currently casting for his authorized biopic.

J. Chris ultimately decided to stand by her man in his time of need. After Mack finished his rehab stint, they finally shot $3000. It was a flop.

Regina surfaced in Miami. I only know this because she started posting selfies again once Dante was arrested. I still haven’t spoken to her.

It turned out cameras had been rolling when Omari kissed me. The video went viral. Stories about Tomari were replaced with how people loved Omari even more for his “regular-sized” girlfriend. It wasn’t enough to warrant a nickname.

Sienna decided to create one for us. So far, nothing she’d come up with stuck. I was more than okay with that.

The mechanic finally figured out what was wrong with my car, which was a good thing. I still couldn’t afford a new one since we never received the SSO reward money. No surprise there.

I took a month off to recover. Sienna, Omari, and even Emme took turns bringing me Tommy’s chiliburgers. It definitely helped me feel better.

I was figuring out my next move when the envelope came in the mail. The return address was Aubrey’s house in Silver Lake. We hadn’t spoken since I’d given him that phone number. I was curious what he was sending me.

I tore the envelope open. Inside was a certificate letting Aubrey S. Adams-Parker know that ASAP Investigations was officially licensed by the state of California. I wouldn’t have to throw away those business cards after all.

Z stopped popping up at my car. I didn’t see or hear from him for three months.

Then one day, he was there like he’d never left, still smelling like cinnamon, still rocking just enough purple, still feeling like a pain in the you-know-what. He smiled when I approached him. “I need your help.”