Infamous

by Alyson Noel

  SEVENTEEN

  iSPY

  Sipping from their to-go cups, Aster and Ryan stood outside the trailer and considered their options.

  “You sure this is it?” she asked.

  “It’s not like there’s a mailbox, so it’s impossible to know, but considering it’s the only thing out here . . .” He finished the statement with a lift of his shoulders.

  “It’s just . . .” Aster ventured forward until she stood uncertainly before the door. “It’s nicer than I expected. The pictures made it seem like a dump. Not some cool, vintage Airstream with a well-tended plant by the door.”

  “It’s a cactus,” Ryan said. “Doesn’t require a whole lot of TLC. But I guess it makes sense. Madison would want it to look nice from the outside at least, seeing how image-conscious she is.”

  Aster detected a note of bitterness in his tone, and it left her wondering if maybe Ryan still carried the tiniest bit of a torch for his former flame. But just as quickly, she shook the thought away. Ryan had assured her plenty of times he was totally over her—that he’d never really been all that into her to begin with. At the start of the summer, it would’ve been impossible to believe that any guy could be so blasé about having dated Madison Brooks. But a lot had happened since then, and Aster had no reason to feel insecure about Ryan’s superstar ex-girlfriend. Not after the morning they’d just spent together.

  Ryan made for the door and knocked a few times. When no one answered, he tried the latch, but of course it was locked.

  “It’s metal,” Aster said, stating the obvious. “So it’s not like you can kick it in.”

  Ryan flexed his hands and considered his options. “True. But maybe there’s a way to jimmy the window wide enough for you to slip in?”

  Aster wanted in there as badly as he did, probably more. But she wasn’t entirely sold on the idea.

  “I’ll give you a boost.” Ryan handed her his cup and slipped a credit card from his wallet, which he then ran between the window glass and the gasket. “Luckily, there’s no screen.” He spoke between gritted teeth as he worked to pry it open.

  When that didn’t work, Aster watched in amazement when he pulled a screwdriver from his back pocket and set about disconnecting the crank bars so he could maneuver them to pop open.

  “Let me guess, you were a Boy Scout.” She gestured toward the screwdriver.

  “Sadly, not for long.” He shot her a quick smile. “I missed too many meetings when I got cast as a regular on my first series, so I had to quit.” With the bar where he wanted it, he pulled the window wide open. “There.” Satisfied, he motioned that it was her turn.

  Aster glanced nervously between the window and Ryan. This was no time for second-guessing. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d broken into one of Madison’s residences.

  Setting the cups on an unseen surface inside, she placed her hands on the ledge and said, “On three . . .” The next thing she knew, she was halfway inside, gazing in wonder at the space before her.

  “Anything?”

  “No spoilers.” Aster pulled herself in, then swung her legs around until her feet hit the ground. She stared in amazement as she made her way across the dark hardwood floor and slid open the dead bolt that unlocked the front door. “Welcome.” She arced her arm wide and stepped aside to make room for Ryan.

  He stopped in the center and looked around, his expression as uncertain as she currently felt. “Not what I expected.”

  Aster readily agreed.

  The space was narrow, long, and extremely well organized into separate individual areas. At the nearer end, there was an alcove with a bed covered in a plush shearling throw and an abundance of expensive-looking decorative pillows. In place of a door, there was a screen of shimmering crystal-beaded curtains.

  There was a surprisingly nice bathroom featuring just the sort of deluxe, high-end fixtures you’d expect to find in an A-lister’s trailer.

  Aside from the small kitchen with the custom table and eating nook, there was a den set up at the far end, with large cushions for lounging, and a low carved table littered with books, candles, and an assortment of crystals.

  “It looks like some high-end fortune-teller’s trailer,” Ryan said. “The only things missing are tarot cards and a raven.”

  “It’s the perfect place for a secret, romantic getaway. You sure you’ve never been here?” She flashed him an accusatory look. There she was, feeling jealous again. She shook her head and started over. “Anyway, it’s nothing like the photos she commissioned.”

  Ryan moved toward one of the tables and checked out her collection of art books. “Even though it’s nothing like her house in LA, this definitely represents another side of her. Maybe her real side, for all I know. Hard to say what’s real and what’s pretend. Sometimes I wonder if she even knows.”

  “Meaning?” Aster watched as Ryan picked up a large chunk of polished rose quartz crystal and turned it over in his palm, before setting it back down.

  “A lot of actresses are more comfortable playing someone other than themselves. And since Madison created a fictional past, sometimes I wonder if she maybe started to believe it. You know, like if you repeat the same lie so many times, it starts to seem real.”

  “Like in those diary entries,” Aster said. “Where she mentions how she’s always playing a role. She was just a kid when she wrote that.”

  Ryan scratched at his jaw. “Interesting as it is to speculate, none of it really gives us what we’re looking for, though, does it?” He frowned as his gaze searched the room. “There’s no saggy couch, no stained rug, no messed-up table holding a smoking gun.”

  Aster worried he was ready to call it quits, because she was just getting started. She wandered the different areas. Taking a closer look inside the bathroom, she cried, “She was here!” Her hands shook as she stood in the doorway. She’d never once doubted Madison was alive, but having the proof laid out before her momentarily robbed her of breath. “She was here—look!” Her legs trembled so much she grasped at the door frame to steady herself.

  Ryan squinted past her shoulder. “I don’t see it.”

  “Look, right there—in the sink. Madison was here! Recently, too!”

  Aster’s voice pitched high, her heart slamming wildly against her chest. She’d always thought that sort of good news would make her feel jubilant, triumphant. Not like she was on the verge of cardiac arrest.

  “Look—the sink is wet and the towels and bath mat are damp! Also, there’s stuff in the trash.”

  Ryan remained unresponsive, and Aster couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t believe her, or because he did.

  She pointed toward the bowl of the sink, where there was a dab of toothpaste stuck to the side. “She was here. I’m telling you.” She plucked the toothbrush from the ceramic cup. The bristles were wet. She turned to Ryan. “This proves it.”

  Ryan remained unconvinced. His features were arranged in what she’d come to recognize as his go-to I hate to break it to you but face.

  “Do you seriously not see what I do?” She knew she sounded hysterical, but the evidence was right there in front of them. Why was he so blind to the facts?

  “Aster, I’m sorry,” he said. “But damp towels and a glob of toothpaste don’t exactly prove anything. Maybe someone else has been staying here. It’s entirely possible now that she’s been missing so long.”

  “Like who? Who’s been staying here?”

  “I don’t know.” He squinted. “A squatter—someone who broke in, liked what they saw, and decided to hang around for a while.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  He pressed his lips together. “I just don’t think it’s enough to go on.”

  “Okay, well, then how about this?” She picked up the hairbrush that was lying on the counter. It was tangled with both dark and light hairs. “Pending a DNA test, I’m going to go out on a limb and declare these hairs came from Madison.”

  Ryan’s skeptical gaz
e met hers. “Even the blond one?”

  “Could be from a wig. Just like the one she wore in the photo.”

  “So, what do you suggest? Should we bag it for evidence?”

  Aster frowned. “Why are you being like this?”

  Ryan looked uneasy.

  “You’re acting like you don’t believe me—like I’m some desperate crazy person trying to turn the slightest thing into proof.” She reached inside the trash can, batted aside the used tissue, and retrieved an empty water bottle along with a crumpled M&M’s bag. “Here,” she said. “In case you need more proof.”

  “It’s a water bottle.” Ryan frowned. “Someone’s water bottle, but not necessarily Madison’s.” He pried the bottle away and tossed it back in the can. “Besides, Madison doesn’t eat candy.”

  Aster dropped her head in her hands. She was acting crazy. Her desperate need for answers had altered her ability to think straight.

  “I’m a mess,” she said. “I’m losing my mind. I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

  She lifted her gaze to find she’d spoken to an empty room.

  “Ryan?” She peeked around the doorway and found him standing very still with his back turned toward her. Her heart sank. Great. She’d finally gone too far. And now he . . .

  He glanced over his shoulder. His face pale, he said, “You were right. She was here.”

  Aster raced toward him, struggling to make out whatever it was he dangled from the tip of his index finger.

  He dropped it onto the center of her palm, rendering Aster speechless when she gazed at Madison’s diamond-encrusted Piaget watch.

  “Where’d you find this?”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “Inside the cookie jar.” He ran a hand across his chin. “Knowing Madison’s eating habits, it seemed a bit odd she’d even own such a thing.”

  “What else is in there?”

  Aster started to move toward it, when Ryan said, “Nothing. Only the watch. She wore it on the night she went missing.”

  “And you’re sure this is hers?” Now she was the one doubting the evidence.

  “Positive. It was one of the few things she actually cherished, aside from her dog and her house. Mostly everything she owned was given to her. But the watch she bought with her first real paycheck, and she was extremely proud of it. Go ahead, read the inscription.”

  Aster peered at the back of the case, where the letters M.D.S. were engraved. “MaryDella Slocum?” She turned toward Ryan.

  “For someone so bent on hiding her past, she sure surrounded herself with a lot of reminders,” he said.

  Aster glanced between Ryan and the timepiece.

  “C’mon,” he said. “I say we search every last corner. Maybe she left us a clue on when she plans to return.”

  EIGHTEEN

  YOU ARE GOODBYE

  “You okay? You seem a little on edge.”

  Tommy gazed out the windshield. Edgy wasn’t the half of it. He felt tense, confused, and rocked with uncertainty. Miles of freeway had whizzed by in a blur, and while Dahlia had asked what seemed to be a legit list of questions, something about the whole scenario was starting to feel really wrong.

  “How much farther?” he asked, wondering, not for the first time, just where the heck she was leading him.

  Tommy had read plenty of interviews where a bit of a drive was involved, but he’d never read one that dragged on for so long. It was starting to seem kind of creepy.

  “Not much longer.”

  Tommy gripped the wheel and glanced in the rearview mirror, wishing he could rewind all that asphalt until they were back at the record store. It was weird to think how a piece in Rolling Stone had always been the ultimate dream, but now that it was happening, he just wanted it to be over.

  “Am I boring you?” Dahlia gave him a playful nudge, revealing hands that were surprisingly calloused and rough. Her nails were torn below the quick, and one of her pinkie fingers was wrapped with blue tape. What the hell had happened to her? “Do you want me to take over?”

  “Thought you said it wasn’t long.” He shot her a sideways glance.

  “It’s not.” She sank lower onto the seat and propped her injured ankle onto the dashboard, allowing Tommy a glimpse of white thigh that had him quickly turning away. “Sorry,” she said, in a voice that seemed far more amused than conciliatory. “Not trying to make you uncomfortable. It helps with the swelling to keep it elevated.”

  “And yet, you just offered to drive.” He sounded agitated but also saw no point in taking it back. After a few silent beats, he said, “Balance beam accident, huh?”

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder and laughed. “Skydiving.” She wagged a messed-up finger at him. “Just like I told you. But I guess you weren’t listening.”

  She was playing him. It was obvious she was having fun at his expense. Though he wasn’t quite ready to call her on it, that laugh of hers was hauntingly familiar.

  He stopped at a light and took advantage of the moment to study her. She reminded him of a handful of girls he knew from working at the Vesper. That was probably all it was.

  The car behind him honked, Dahlia idly brushed her hand against the inside of her thigh, and Tommy shook free of his daze and shot through the intersection like he was being pursued by something he couldn’t quite name.

  “Easy, cowboy.” Again, she laughed, causing a chill to crawl across Tommy’s skin. “Make a left up here. Followed by a sharp right. By the way, you hungry?”

  He was, but for some reason he found himself shaking his head.

  “Good. Because it’s been months since I last went grocery shopping.”

  Grocery shopping? He looked at her. “Can I ask where we’re going?”

  “Sure.” She inspected the ends of her hair. “You can always ask.”

  “But you’re not going to answer?”

  “And ruin the suspense?”

  He focused on driving, turning, slowing, stopping, following all her instructions. The farther they wandered from the freeway, the creepier the whole scenario became. Sure it was still daylight, and Dahlia was skinny and injured and didn’t seem to pose too much of a threat. But they were headed into an area Tommy wouldn’t even call rural. Desolate was the word that best described it.

  “Tell me, Tommy, does this remind you of home?” Dahlia made a sweeping gesture toward the windshield, indicating the countrified scene just beyond.

  Tommy glanced between the dirt road and her, and in that instant, something clicked. Something so improbable, his first instinct was to deny it.

  And yet . . .

  He cleared his throat. “Not really,” he said. “How about you? Does it remind you of home?”

  She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and arranged her features into an exaggerated frown. “Already told you, I grew up in LA. You really are a bad listener, aren’t you?”

  She scratched at the inside of her wrist, and Tommy caught himself sneaking a peek. If she’d just push her sleeve a bit higher, he’d know for sure if the unthinkable was happening.

  A second later, she dragged the cuff down until it covered her knuckles and reached past her thumb. Tommy looked away, tapped his own thumbs against the steering wheel, and tried to decide how to proceed.

  It wouldn’t do any good to let on. It was better to see where they ended up and then maybe try to confront her with the startling truth he was growing more and more convinced of.

  He snuck another look at her profile. Despite the wig, dark glasses, and heavy makeup—despite her California no-accent accent—he was left with no doubt that Madison Brooks was now sitting beside him.

  “Hope your girlfriend’s not the jealous type,” she said, seemingly plucking the words out of nowhere.

  Tommy thought briefly of Layla and said, “There’s no girlfriend.”

  “Well, that’s good. Then she won’t get upset when you get home late.” She grinned flirtatiously, just the barest curve of lip and a sli
ght tilt of chin.

  What the hell kind of game was she playing?

  “That is,” she added, “if you get home at all.”

  The way she said it, Tommy had no way of knowing if she meant ever—like if he ever got home at all—or for just that night.

  Before he had a chance to respond, she said, “Make a tight right up ahead. Then follow the long dirt road all the way down. I’m taking you the back way.”

  “I’ve no doubt,” Tommy murmured, committed to playing along.

  NINETEEN

  LADY GRINNING SOUL

  Aster was so engrossed in searching through Madison’s belongings that she failed to hear the sound of tires crunching over gravel as a car approached the trailer. Luckily, Ryan alerted her.

  “Who is it?” She looked up in alarm as he bolted toward the window.

  Ryan shrugged and whispered back. “I can’t make out the driver.”

  Aster glanced around wildly. In such a small space, there was no good place to hide. Then again, there was also no good reason to hide. It was Madison. She was sure of it. The moment she’d been waiting for from the second she’d been charged with her murder had finally arrived.

  Aster positioned herself just shy of the door. Ryan looked uncertain, but Aster just nodded and kept her gaze firm. A car door closed, followed by the shuffle of footsteps. When the door latch lifted, Aster’s pulse spiked with panic. They’d forgotten to lock the door! Would Madison get suspicious and run? It was a possibility Aster couldn’t risk.

  She sprang toward the door the same moment it opened from the outside and Heather Rollins strolled in.

  “What the hell?” Heather rocked back on her heels as her arm shot out, grasping for something to steady herself.

  “What’re you doing here?” Ryan shouted, as Aster stood gasping beside him.

  Heather righted herself, smoothed a hand over her long blond curls, and in an accusatory voice said, “Pretty sure I could ask the same thing of you two.” She pushed past them and surveyed the messy space. Whistling under her breath, she said, “Was it ransacked when you got here, or is this your doing?”