Infamous

by Alyson Noel

  While Aster was no expert when it came to art, the two pieces hardly seemed like the work of the woman responsible for the photos that hung on Madison’s wall.

  The note she’d received had specifically said: There’s an artist you need to meet / she lives on a flower-named street / she knows Madison’s secret / so don’t let her keep it.

  She and Ryan had been so sure they’d cracked the code, but had they somehow gotten it wrong?

  Was there another piece of art by another artist they should’ve gone after instead?

  “Everything okay?” Roland studied Aster’s face. “You look a little uneasy.”

  Aster shook her head and forced her lips into a halfhearted grin.

  “No, I’m good. It’s just—”

  Before she could finish, Roland headed for the electric teakettle she kept on the counter and pressed the switch. “I’m about to make some tea. Would you like to join me?”

  Ryan was quick to agree. Aster nodded wordlessly.

  “I’m sorry,” Aster tried again. “But I thought you were a photographer. I didn’t realize you were a painter.”

  She watched as Roland measured precise amounts of loose-leaf tea into a mesh infuser basket, which she then placed inside the ceramic pot.

  “Can’t I do both?”

  “Of course. Absolutely. It’s just . . .”

  “I teach painting.” Roland hooked a thumb toward the easels. “Those are works by my students.” She turned to Aster with a smile. “But you wanted to commission a photograph, is that it?” Her gaze switched to Ryan. “Listen, you two are great-looking kids, but if it’s head shots you want, I don’t do that sort of work. Though I can recommend someone who does.”

  Aster stole a glance at Ryan. Was it possible the woman didn’t recognize them? “No, no head shots. Nothing like that.” Aster waved the thought away as Roland motioned for them to sit, and Aster sank so deep into the cushion it forced her knees to heave up awkwardly as she struggled to reposition herself.

  “Don’t waste your energy.” Roland laughed. “That’s a war you won’t win. Those chairs are older than you, and they don’t give up easily. Better just to surrender until it’s time to leave.” She grew silent as she waited for the water to boil and the tea to steep. Once it was ready, she placed a teacup in front of Aster and Ryan, claimed her own seat, and looked at them expectantly.

  Aster sipped from her tea. Then, setting the cup aside, she said, “We’re here because we saw some of your work.”

  Roland stared in a way that made Aster nervous.

  “It was at a . . . at a friend’s house. The pieces were really unique.”

  Roland warmed her hands with her cup but kept her gaze blank.

  “They were photographs,” she started, before Ryan stepped in.

  “They were part of a series,” he said.

  Roland offered no clue as to whether she knew the photos he referred to.

  “The pics were dark and edgy. Sort of domestic scene. You know, downtrodden living rooms, old, secondhand furniture . . .” He rubbed his lips together. “A shiny gun on a battered coffee table.”

  Roland rocked back in her seat and studied them at length. “Aw, yes,” she said. “The trailer park series. I shot that a couple years ago.”

  Instinctively, Aster reached for the gold-and-diamond hamsa hand charm she’d once worn at her neck. Her fingers fumbled awkwardly against her bare collarbone when she remembered what had become of it. “That’s it,” she said, trying to contain her excitement. Was it her imagination, or was Roland suddenly acting cagey and suspicious? “I was really drawn to it. It had such a gritty, authentic feel.”

  Roland’s face pinched, her gaze narrowed until her eyes were barely visible. “Funny.” She sipped her tea and nodded toward Aster’s expensive designer handbag. “Gritty is not something I’d think you’d be attracted to.”

  Aster stilled, unable to breathe.

  “Then again . . .” Roland’s face softened, adopting a more thoughtful expression. “Art often speaks to what lies within.”

  The sentiment was similar to what Layla had said when she first saw the pictures hanging on Madison’s wall.

  Aster shifted uncomfortably. “Um, anyway—” She cringed at the way her voice pitched. “I’d like to talk about the series. If you don’t mind, that is.”

  Roland took another sip of tea. While she didn’t seem thrilled with the conversation, she’d yet to turn them away. It was enough to convince Aster to continue.

  “I was wondering if the pieces were commissioned or were they purchased from a gallery?”

  “Is that really what you wanted to ask?”

  Aster tried not to fidget, but it was hard not to react when Roland regarded her with an all-seeing gaze.

  “Seems a bit silly to drive all this way when you can just ask your friend.”

  Aster gulped and looked searchingly at Ryan. She’d totally blown it. The only question left was how to make a quick but graceful getaway before Roland decided to alert the authorities.

  “We can’t ask her,” Ryan said, which only deepened Aster’s worry.

  Roland turned to him with a patient face, like she had an entire afternoon to waste on such nonsense.

  “The commission is for her,” Ryan lied so easily Aster didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed. “We know how much she loves your work, and so we thought we’d . . .”

  Without a word, Roland rose from her seat and went to fumble in a drawer.

  Aster took advantage of the moment to shoot Ryan her best what the fuck face.

  Ryan shook his head as though there was no reason to worry. It was all part of his plan.

  Roland returned with a folder she spread across her lap. Lowering a pair of reading glasses onto the bridge of her nose, she flipped through a messy pile of papers. “MaryDella,” she said, as Aster froze and waited for more. “That’s your friend, right? MaryDella Slocum?”

  Aster sucked in a breath, then nodded vaguely.

  Roland tossed a stack of pictures onto the table between them. Aster practically leaped from her seat to get at them.

  “She was very specific. Definitely one of the most interesting clients I’ve ever worked with,” Roland said.

  “In what way?” Ryan asked, as Aster began to shuffle through the deck of Polaroids.

  “I hardly had to do anything. She’d prepared the entire set. She even handled the lighting. Not necessarily how I would’ve done it, but it was her commission, and she paid good money for it.”

  “Where was the shoot?”

  Roland squinted as though sifting through a backlog of memories. “Bit outside of LA. Ojai area, if I remember correctly. An old trailer. One of those Airstreams, but vintage. It was off by itself, really remote. She claimed it belonged to her.”

  “What do you mean by ‘claimed’?” Ryan took a casual sip of his tea, as though they weren’t onto something big.

  “Just a feeling. Seemed more staged than lived in. It was fully outfitted with a working kitchen and bathroom, but it didn’t appear as though she spent any real time there.”

  Aster flipped to a photo of a pretty girl with long blond hair and violet eyes who she instantly recognized. Though everything else, from the ripped stockings to the short denim cutoffs, was decidedly un-Madison-like.

  “That’s her.” Roland gestured toward the picture.

  Aster held it up for Ryan to see and watched as his eyes went wide with recognition.

  “I wanted to take more pictures. I found her quite captivating. She had such an interesting, contradictory energy.” Roland’s expression grew thoughtful, as though she was lost in the memory. “She had one of the most exquisite faces I’d ever seen. Strangely, she seemed very displeased by my request to photograph her and only agreed to the one you’ve got there.”

  “Why did that seem strange?”

  Roland paused for a lingering breath. “Well, you’d think she’d be used to such requests. I mean, we are talking
about Madison Brooks, after all.”

  Aster swallowed.

  Ryan froze.

  “You’re not really interested in commissioning a piece, are you?” Roland’s features sharpened. The kind-older-lady facade had dropped. She’d been playing them all along.

  Aster stared wordlessly, having no idea how to respond, so Ryan spoke for both of them. “You know who we are, then.” Aster cringed when Ryan said it, but quickly realized there were no other options, no way to start over.

  Roland gazed at them shrewdly. “I recognized you immediately.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aster started. “We just—”

  “You’re just looking for clues, I suppose. I knew it was Madison back then. When I watched In-Depth, Trena Moretti confirmed it.”

  “Has anyone else come by?” Ryan rested his arms on his knees and leaned toward her.

  “Surprising as it may seem, you’re the first,” Roland told him. “But then, most people don’t really think about the deeper implications of what attracts people to the art they choose to surround themselves with.”

  “Did you and Madison keep in touch?”

  “She never knew I recognized her as Madison. I wanted the commission and knew better than to let on. If you’re asking me if I know where she is, the answer is no.” Aster started to return the pics, but Roland motioned toward the one of Madison and said, “You keep it. I have no need of it.” She dug deeper through the file and handed over an old photo of a similar scene, only this one didn’t seem staged.

  “She gave me this for reference. Though it wasn’t necessary, seeing as how she’d arranged the scene exactly how she wanted. It’s rare to work with a client with such an exact vision. Made me wonder why she didn’t just get herself a nice camera and take the pics herself. But again, I needed the money, so I did my best to give her what she wanted. Tell me, how do they look—hanging on her wall?”

  Aster stared at the pic. It looked a lot like the ones Roland had taken. After a moment, she flipped it over. The word Home had been written on the back, the letters awkwardly formed as though written by a child. “The pictures are striking.” She looked at Roland. “Though they seem a bit out of place among the glitzy surroundings.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.” Roland nodded. “Like I said, the girl was full of contradictions.”

  “Can I keep this as well?” Aster asked, surprised when Roland reached toward her and snatched it right out of her hand.

  She tucked the photo into her pocket and stood, signaling she’d run out of patience.

  “I’m sorry for the trouble,” Aster said. “We appreciate your help.”

  “Seems you need all the help you can get about now.”

  Ryan grinned gamely. Aster fell mute.

  They made their way back through the gate and were rounding onto the street when Roland called out behind them. “In case you change your mind about that commission.” She handed Ryan her card, then disappeared back inside.

  Ryan glanced at the card, tucked it into his palm, and ushered Aster toward his car.

  “I’m not sure how I should feel about that,” Aster said, once they were safely inside. “I’m left with more questions than answers.”

  Ryan pressed his lips together and pulled onto the road. “I’ll tell you how you should feel about it.” He handed her the card. Seeing Aster squint in confusion, he motioned for her to turn it over.

  Aster flipped it, then gaped at Ryan in shock.

  “Looks like we’re taking a trip to Ojai,” he said.

  TEN

  FAKE LOVE

  “When are you going to introduce me to your mom?”

  Mateo blinked his eyes open to find Heather propped up on her side, gazing at him.

  “You serious?”

  Lazily, she traced the tip of her finger around the curve of his ear. “Of course, silly. Why else would I ask?”

  Mateo gazed up at the beaded chandelier hanging over the foot of the bed and tried to imagine such a thing. The vision didn’t get very far before it fell apart.

  Heather hummed quietly with a hint of impatience, letting him know she was waiting for an answer.

  “My mom’s pretty simple.” Mateo regretted the words the second they left his lips. Still, it was true. His mom was hardworking and down-to-earth. And while he knew she’d be nice and polite (she was that way with everyone), the first thing she’d ask once Heather was gone was if he’d lost his mind bringing home such a frivolous girl.

  “Are you saying I’m not simple?”

  Mateo glanced her way. “Simple is not a word I’d use to describe you.”

  “Hmmm . . .” Her bottom lip nudged forward as the corners of her mouth tugged into a full-blown pout. “So what words would you use?”

  He took his time to consider. He was wading into dangerous waters, where anything he said could, and most likely would, be used against him. “Driven, perfectionist, successful, self-motivated . . .” It seemed like a solid list to him, but before he could finish, Heather heaved a dramatic sigh and made a point of rolling her eyes.

  “All wonderful traits in a job interview, sure. But isn’t there something else you might want to add? Maybe something like, oh, I don’t know, something more to do with my physical attributes. Like the way I look, perhaps?” She inched the sheet lower to refresh his memory. “’Cause it seems like you’ve already forgotten. Then again, it was nearly an hour since we last . . .” She grinned and slithered closer, rendering Mateo unable to resist her.

  At some point, he knew he had to put an end to whatever it was they were doing. He’d planned on doing exactly that just after they’d left RED. But then they’d grabbed dinner, and headed back to her place, and before he knew it, they were in bed together. If he hadn’t seen the point in resisting her then, he saw absolutely no point in starting now. Next thing he knew he was kissing her.

  He guessed they were in a relationship, since he wasn’t seeing anyone else, and as far as he knew, neither was she. But it was undefined and could end at any point. While he’d miss certain things, he wouldn’t necessarily miss her. He didn’t kid himself into thinking they’d share a future together. And he’d certainly never taken her seriously enough to consider bringing her home to his mother. To his surprise, Heather took it a lot more seriously than he did.

  Or maybe she was just playing him. It was impossible to tell sometimes where the actress left off and the person began.

  All he knew was at that particular moment, with her talented hands wrapped around him, none of those things really mattered. He was merely open to receiving whatever she was willing to give.

  “So,” she murmured, her lips trailing the length of his torso. “Now that you’ve had some time to think about it, is there anything else you want to add to that list?”

  She paused, her lips parted, just shy of her hands.

  In a hoarse voice, he said, “How about irresistible—does that work?”

  Heather flashed a seductive grin. “It’s a good start.” She tipped her tongue toward him. “Anything else?”

  He forced himself to think, but it was hard to stay focused when she teased him like that. “Beautiful. Hot. Smokin’.”

  “I like those too. . . .” She swirled her tongue over his flesh.

  “Sexiest fucking girl on the planet,” he groaned.

  Heather laughed softly. “You’re about to be richly rewarded.”

  Mateo closed his eyes and sank back onto a pile of pillows as Heather made good on her promise.

  Still wet from the shower with a plush blue towel wrapped low on his hips, Mateo went in search of his clothes.

  He was heading into the den, remembering how they’d drifted from the couch to Heather’s bed, when he found himself face-to-face with a girl he didn’t recognize.

  “Oh, hey. Sorry.” Her eyes traveled from his face to his feet, then back up again, leisurely drinking him in. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”

  Mateo stood awkwardly, unsure what to
do.

  “I’m Emily. Heather’s assistant.” She thrust a hand forward, then quickly retracted it when she saw Mateo struggle to keep his towel from falling. “Anyway, um . . .” Her gaze lingered on the place where he ended and the towel began. “I’m guessing those are yours?”

  She was blatantly staring, and at first Mateo thought she was referring to his abs, but then he noticed she’d hooked a thumb over her shoulder, motioning toward a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that had been neatly folded and placed on the same couch where Heather had yanked them off the night before.

  Emily moved to retrieve them and quickly handed them over. He balanced the pile in one hand and held it before him, while he kept his towel in place with the other.

  “Heather ran out for a bit. I guess you were in the shower when she left, going by . . .” She made a vague gesture toward the beads of water still clinging to his shoulders and chest.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked in confusion. Just after climbing out of bed, they’d made plans to grab breakfast before he went to the hospital to see Valentina. It seemed strange that Heather would leave without telling him.

  “What?” Emily forced herself to look away from his body and focus on his face. “Yeah, I mean, I guess. Do you remember Madison’s dog, Blue?”

  Mateo shrugged. Layla might’ve mentioned it. But back then, he was so sick of all the Madison-related drama, he’d ignored most of what she’d told him.

  “Well, I’ve been taking care of him. I guess I grew attached. Heather too. Then from out of nowhere, Paul calls to say he wants him back.”

  “Paul?” Mateo knew exactly who Paul was.

  Emily frowned. “Legally, I know I have no right to keep him, but I’m not sure Paul does either. Have you ever met him, Paul, I mean?”

  Mateo shook his head.

  “Well, he’s pretty scary. Not in the way he looks. In that department, he’s beyond basic—all lumpy and beige, like a piece of cardboard left out in the rain. It’s more in his attitude. There’s just something vaguely threatening about him. Madison adored him, though. He’s the only one she really trusted. But I never liked being around him. And honestly—” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “I’m still not convinced that whatever happened to Madison isn’t his fault.” Her gaze held steady on his. “But, please don’t tell anyone I said that. I don’t want to get involved. I prefer to steer clear of anything having to do with it at this point. I mean, look what happened to your girlfriend.”