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The offices of Nutter, McClennan and Fish were on Wilshire Boulevard, on several floors of an eighties tower that featured colored glass mosaics and marble staircases. As Julia and Mason stepped out of the elevator, Julia suddenly clutched Mason’s arm and stopped.

“Wait…I see Patty Menninger.”

Mason frowned. “The woman who runs the Academy Museum? So what?”

“She’s a fiend in human form.”

Mason hadn’t thought anything terrified Julia, so she peered into the lobby of the law firm with some interest. She saw a woman wearing a kicky pink pantsuit.

“That woman there? In pink?”

“She always wears pink. It’s her signature color. The blush of the beast.”

“You’re insane. Let’s go in.”

Julia hung back. “No, I don’t want to talk to her. Not without an exorcist. Not without a unicorn carrying an iron crossbow with silver arrows. Not without a sack of sage the size of a fucking armchair.”

Mason looked at her boss. “Julia, are you drunk? Did you start the morning with a double shot?”

“No,” Julia hissed, “I’m stone-cold sober, but that woman scares the shit out of me.”

“Why?” Mason looked again and noticed a tiny pink dog next to the woman, who was talking on a pink cell phone. She really had committed to her signature color.

“Because she’s constantly on the prowl for her museum. Or for her charities, which are numerous and random. And it’s not like I don’t give! I gave her some of Jonathan’s stuff. Not all of it, but plenty of screenplays and papers and things like that. But the asking never stops. And she’s always trying to save me from myself. It’s incredibly tiresome. Eat breakfast. Go vegan. Wear crystals. Steam your vagina. Cleanse your chakras.”

Mason tipped her head. “I’m sorry, back up a bit…”

Julia ignored her. “Stop eating dairy. Save the whales. Quit sugar. Add fiber. Do Pilates. Do yoga. Eat lunch.” Other people were coming out of the elevators, and suddenly Christine Greenfield was there.

“Julia? What a pleasure to see you, even under such sad circumstances. I’m so glad you’ve agreed to be in the Codex remake. It’s thrilling.”

Julia took a deep breath and turned to her. “I’m not sure where you got that. I have no intention of being in the movie. You must have misunderstood.”

Christine smiled but shook her head. “No, Tony left me a voicemail. He said he was sitting with you and you’d just agreed to be in it. I could hear you laughing.”

“The night he was killed?”

She nodded. “Yes, I guess that’s why he came to see you.” She made a sad face. “But of course if you don’t want to do it…”

“Do you still have the voicemail?”

“Of course. It’s the last time I ever heard his voice.” Christine’s eyes welled up, but somehow she retracted her tears and pulled it together. “Do you want to hear it?”

The doors to the lobby opened, and Mr. McClennan looked uncertainly out at the elevator bay. “Uh…are you ladies joining us? We’re ready to begin.”

Behind him, Patty Menninger spotted them and waved. “Hi there, ladies!! Aquarius is squaring Libra. It’s a perfect day for this.”

Christine Greenfield waved back but dropped her voice. “That woman scares the crap out of me.”

“You’re both nuts. She’s harmless. Let’s go.” Mason grabbed Julia by the sleeve and pulled.

Reluctantly, the two women followed her into the office.

The conference room was large, and the long table boasted a display of breakfast pastries sufficient to feed twenty. Coffee, tea, fresh orange and grapefruit juices. A fruit platter. Cookies. It seemed like overkill, but Mason had never been to a will reading before, and maybe this was standard.

Julia had sailed into the room like a battleship under full sail, with Mason towed in her wake. She looked around and tried to identify everyone.

Patty Menninger, still on her phone, the dog on her lap now. It was a shade of pink not found in nature, but the bow on its head was pulling it together. It was more stylish than Mason was, and she felt inadequate.

Helen Eckenridge, the widow. Dry-eyed and elegant. Mason was admiring her outfit when suddenly Helen noticed Julia.

“What’s she doing here?” She stood up. “Who invited her?”

“I did,” said McClennan. “She’s a named beneficiary.”

Helen snorted, her face becoming increasingly red. “How could she possibly benefit when she probably killed him herself? He was found dead in her swimming pool, for crying out loud.” She turned to Christine. “You can’t allow it.”

Christine Greenfield shook her head. “Helen, she was released on bail, so presumably there’s still sufficient doubt…”

“There’s no doubt,” said Julia, crisply. “I didn’t kill him and I wouldn’t be here if I had, would I? I realize everyone seems to think I’m shameless, but there are limits. I’m here because I thought it might be informative and interesting.” She sat down, pointing to the chair next to her. “Mason, sit.”

Mason sat, and looked around the table. She recognized Cody Malone, Tony’s assistant. Then she looked at the selection of pastries again. With a grand total of nine people in the room, they would each have to eat a couple to make a dent. She wondered why she worried about this kind of thing, then she reached for a Danish.

Mr. McClennan coughed politely. “Good morning, everyone, thank you for coming. It was Mr. Eckenridge’s wish that you all be gathered together to hear his will, and I appreciate your attendance.”

“It’s just like Tony to want a scene, and just like an actress to show up for it,” said Helen, still clearly a little upset. Her fingernails were tapping a tattoo on the table.

Everyone pretended not to hear her. The lawyer opened a long document and coughed again.

“Mr. Eckenridge left the majority of his financial assets and various properties to his wife, Helen.”

Mason raised her eyebrows. She thought they were divorced; everyone referred to her as his ex-wife.

The lawyer continued. “He also left Helen creative rights to The Codex , specifically, although the rest of the Repercussion catalog he left to the studio.” He looked around the room. “Meaning she controls all decisions about use, distribution, reproduction and adaptation of the work, in perpetuity.”

Helen’s fingers stopped their tapping. She didn’t look surprised, so presumably she’d known about this.

The lawyer gave another little cough. Possibly, he had a cigar habit he didn’t like to talk about, or maybe he found will reading upsetting.

“His collection of Repercussion movie memorabilia he left to the Academy Museum, to be sold or displayed as they choose, for the benefit of the museum.”

Patty Menninger beamed and looked around. “As he promised. It’s a world-class collection.” She hesitated, suddenly. “Wait…only the Repercussion archive? What about everything else?”

The lawyer looked quickly at the document. “It’s specifically the Repercussion archive. It doesn’t mention anything else.”

Patty looked confused. “But he’d agreed to all of it. The Repercussion archive was the centerpiece of his collection, but for the last several decades he’s been collecting all kinds of memorabilia. He was masterful.” Mason was amazed to see what looked like tears in her eyes. “He agreed to give us everything. I’ve planned exhibits around it. His collection of famous movie footwear was going to be the centerpiece of next summer.” She looked at Mason, for some reason. “I was calling it The Sole of Hollywood .”

Mason raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly, as you might to a small child. “That sounds…compelling.”

Helen Eckenridge spoke. “Presumably, that means the rest of it comes to me?”

McClennan nodded. “As part of his personal effects, yes.”

Helen looked at Patty. “We’ll sort it out, Patty. I don’t want his dusty old crap, no offense.”

Patty looked like she was getting ready to take offense, but in the end she smiled a tight little smile at Helen and fell silent.

McClennan hesitated a second or two before continuing. “The studio itself he left in pieces.”

“I’m sorry?” Christine sounded affronted. “The studio is in great shape.”

The lawyer blushed. “You misunderstand me. I mean that he left it to several people.”

Christine was definitely not understanding that. “How is that possible? He promised it would come to me, that I was going to run it after he was gone. We discussed plans in detail, right up to the week he died.” She looked at Cody. “Right? You were in the room for most of it.”

Cody nodded, then shrugged. “That was my understanding. You’ve been essentially co-running it anyway, since he got sicker.”

McClennan was now pinker than Patty’s poodle. “Be that as it may, the document is very clear: One third of the studio goes to you, one third to his assistant Cody Malone…”

Cody choked. “Wait, what? That’s insane. I mean, he said he would take care of me, but I was thinking maybe a production deal…or his desk…maybe his collection of ties…” He looked genuinely horrified, and turned to Christine. “I promise, I had no idea…”

Christine was dumbstruck. “And the remaining third to Helen?”

“No,” replied the lawyer, looking like he wanted to crawl under the desk. “The final third he left to Julia Mann.”