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Julia was silent most of the way home, but as they approached the house she finally spoke.

“Fuck my fucking life,” she said. “That is the last thing I need.”

Mason nodded, slowing in front of the garage. “A studio?”

Julia looked at her sharply. “No, you idiot. Additional motive.” She got out of the car. “Fortunately, I already called the cavalry.”

Mason followed her to the office, half skipping in order to keep up. Julia shoved the office door open with such force that it swung all the way and slammed into the wall, dislodging a few books. It was quite an entrance.

The guy sitting on the sofa must have been startled, but the only indication of it was a pause in his hand’s trajectory between a plate of cookies and his mouth. Once his hair had settled back down (the door created quite a draft), he completed the journey and ate the cookie. Then he got to his feet, brushed off the crumbs and extended his hand.

“Hi, I’m Will Maier. You must be Mason.” His hair was messy and his face unshaven, which, in combination with his torn jeans and faded Green Day T-shirt, made him look vaguely homeless. He smiled a smile of such innocent sweetness that unless he’d spoken, Mason would have assumed he was stoned off his gourd. But his voice had been sharp as a tack, and his eyes were sharper still.

Julia walked across the room and threw herself into one of the Eames chairs. “Will, I am about to tell you something that’s going to blow your fucking mind and send you into a tailspin of research and concern. However, before we go there, because we are definitely going there, let me make a proper introduction to Mason. Mason, Will is my other assistant. My legal assistant, my king of research. We met many years ago in an AA meeting where he was able to recite the entire “More About Alcoholism” chapter of the Big Book and I realized his memory might be useful to me. I had no idea what else he was capable of, but he’s become indispensable. Will can tell you anything you want to know about the California legal code, cases we’re currently working on and any we’ve worked on in the past. Additionally, he’s pretty solid on comic books, genre TV, the collected works of Rex Stout, D. H. Lawrence and Stephen Crane, and every single gun or weapon ever made. Plus, as an added but useless bonus, he’s literally a world expert on the birds of California.”

Will corrected her. “No, no, only the raptors. The raptors of California are a fascinating category all on their own, sufficient unto any man.” He frowned. “And it hasn’t been useful yet, but you never know.”

Mason raised her eyebrows. “Very impressive.”

The guy shook his head. “No, mildly autistic.”

“And, Will, this is Mason, about whom you’ve heard some things. She’s probably the muscle, she might be the comic relief, she’s definitely the action hero. My jury isn’t completely in on her, but I’m interested to see how you two gel. We also have a new agent slash lawyer. Larry apparently had a heart attack.”

Will nodded, still smiling at Mason. “It’s hard on the nervous system, being your agent. It’s amazing Larry didn’t fall off the perch completely. Who’s pinch-hitting?”

“Some guy named Archie that Mason finds attractive.”

“I do not,” protested Mason, pointlessly. She sat on the sofa and reached for a cookie.

Will said, “No issues with nuts?”

Mason looked at him carefully and decided to take the question at face value. “In terms of allergies?”

He nodded. “Yes. The chocolate chip cookies contain finely chopped hazelnuts, so they’re a little, you know, covert.”

Mason bit into the cookie. “Covert nuts?”

Will’s mouth twitched. “Good band name, right?”

Julia said, “Will helps me help my clients, who are usually at their wits’ end and can’t afford the kind of assistance we offer. The police don’t care as much as they should, and their resources are stretched…I’m being kind. Sometimes they give up on a case if the plaintiff has no juice, but we don’t.” She paused. “And I like working with sober people. At least, people who are more consistently sober than I am.”

Mason looked at Will, who had finished the cookies and was dusting crumbs from his fingers. “Booze?”

“Sure,” he clarified, “but more seriously poker and racehorses. Five years sober, but I have a sugar habit I haven’t been able to kick.” He grinned. “Claudia is the biggest cookie pusher I’ve ever met. Thankfully, she uses her powers for good. What about you?”

Mason grinned back at him. “Everything except gambling. Booze, pot, pills, coke, speed, sex, video games…sober three years and grateful for it.” Then she relaxed, because if there’s one thing that’s true about being sober, it’s that other sober people make you feel better just by being there.

Julia was ready to get to work. “Now that’s out of the way, here’s the headline: Fucking Tony left me a third of the studio.”

“Baking powder?” Will looked shocked. “Exsqueeze me? A third? Who got the rest?”

“Christine, as to be expected, and…wait for it…the assistant, Cody Malone.”

“Shut the front door.”

“Can’t.”

“Get out of town.”

“Won’t.”

Will giggled, suddenly. “That’s hilarious. Are you furious?”

“A little bit. How can I get out of it?”

Will made a face. “It’s not very complicated in California to reject an inheritance. You can use something called ‘disclaimer.’ However, it gets complicated if you’re trying to reject something from which you’ve already taken income. Your late husband and you both had income from the studio, and from movies produced by the studio. The law tries to stop people washing their hands of companies they’ve already profited from, simply because it became inconvenient when someone kicked the bucket.”

Mason was watching Julia. She was curious. “I’m curious,” she said. “Why don’t you want the studio? Didn’t your husband cofound it with Tony? Why isn’t it already partially yours?”

Julia went for a casual shrug, but it wasn’t super convincing, despite her being an Oscar winner. “Jonathan was an artist, a visionary. He saw money as something other people cared for…he was profligate. Over the last few years of his life, he got in and out of money troubles like other people catch a cold. He borrowed money everywhere, leveraged his ownership of the studio…Tony bought him out in sections, until there was really nothing left. Tony owned it all.” She sighed. “And then Jonathan died.” Years of bad behavior, recrimination and drama, reduced to a few sentences of retrospection. Such is life.

Will looked at her. “You still get considerable residuals from several movies, including The Codex , which shows up on the classic channels all the time, and streams pretty continuously.”

Julia frowned. “Classic channels? Fuck you.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly used to Julia. “Well, it is a classic. It regularly makes ‘best movies of the twentieth century’ lists, Directors Guild of America recommendations, etc. Despite the curse.” He shrugged. “Or maybe because of the curse.”

Julia sighed. “Alright, will you look into how I can avoid inheriting it?”

“Of course. What else?”

“The police have the murder weapon. Or what they think is the murder weapon.”

Will nodded. “Yeah, it is the murder weapon, and it has your fingerprints on it. According to my source it was a classic Springfield M1903. They found it in the initial search, of course, on the hillside below the pool deck, but it took a few days to process through forensics.”

Julia was annoyed. “I’ve never owned a gun, let alone a whatever you just said.”

Will shook his head. “You haven’t, but Jonathan did, so did Tony, and so did loads of production companies, prop houses, etc. Long guns like rifles weren’t required to be registered in the 1980s, which was probably when Jonathan got his. Interestingly, that model was used in over ninety-seven percent of all Hollywood movies made between 1965 and 1972, even though it wasn’t produced after 1949. It was manufactured in Massachusetts, of course. You yourself fired one, or appeared to fire one, in three movies you made in the late seventies and early eighties.” He frowned. “Still no memory of that night? No idea how your fingerprints got on it?”

Mason blew a bubble very loudly and Julia snapped at her. “Hey, shorty, no gum on the sofa.”

Mason swallowed theatrically. “It’s gone.”

Julia laughed. “Please.” She looked at Will and shook her head. “No, sorry.”

“You know…” said Will, getting a faraway look in his eyes.

Julia’s mouth twitched. “No, but I feel like I’m about to learn…”

“…alcohol amnestic disorder, or blackout as we call it, is due to the effect of excessive alcohol on the hippocampus, an area largely involved in memory consolidation. Basically, you behave normally, well, hammered normal, but those memories you’re making never make it into long-term storage. Thus the gaps.” He paused for a moment for all three of them to reflect on chunks of drinking time none of them remembered, then continued. “Anyway, I also did a general sweep of suspects, as you asked. Do you want to hear what I found out?”

“Sure.” Julia flicked a glance at Mason. “Are you getting all of this?”

Mason shook her head. “No, I was just listening. Am I supposed to also be retaining?”

“I have it written down,” said Will. “The list of people who are secretly rejoicing at the death of Tony Eckenridge is longer than you think.”

Mason was surprised. “I didn’t think it was long at all. Everyone seems to think he was awesome.”

Will shrugged. “And maybe he was, but that doesn’t stop his death being a good thing for people.”

“Like who?” Julia was impatient. “Who’s on the list?”

“His partner, Christine, for an obvious start. She doesn’t just inherit the studio…” He paused. “…part of the studio; she also gets everything that’s in production, plus the back catalog, which brings in a fortune in streaming fees and royalties. The fact that he split it is going to make the industry and media go berserk.” He reached for the mouse and pointed it at the screen. Front pages of several websites, all agog at the news that a major studio was now owned by a woman, a Gen Z former assistant and a suspected murderer. It was catnip; they were having a field day. “As I suspected.”

“Great, nothing I like better than being in the public eye for something that has nothing to do with me.”

“As opposed to being in the public eye for things you actually did?” asked Mason. “Didn’t you used to be a famous actress? And then an infamous drunk?”

Julia narrowed her eyes at Mason. “Yes, but I sort of grew out of the first and am working on the second, remember?”

Mason nodded. “Yes, sorry.” She looked over. “Carry on, Will. Ignore the interruption.”

Will continued. “His wife, Helen, also stands to benefit, in that she inherited the rights to The Codex , which is getting remade as we all know. Plus a load of money and several properties, as they were still married.”

“I had a question about that.” Mason frowned. “I thought they were divorced?”

“Not according to state and city records. Still very much married, although they’ve lived apart for over ten years. It seems as if their separation was highly amicable: They dined together frequently, and they never made the divorce official. Under California law, that means she gets everything he doesn’t explicitly leave to someone else.”

“That’s two. Who else?” Julia was suddenly looking pale, and Mason put up her hand.

“Is this going on for much longer? Julia, you haven’t eaten very much, and as far as I know you haven’t made a meeting yet today. Shall we…”

“Keep going, Will. Ignore her. I made her my sponsor and it was a huge mistake.”

Will laughed out loud. “For which of you?”

“Me,” they both said, simultaneously.

“Then let’s go see if Claudia is making lunch yet.” Will got to his feet and smiled at Mason. “Pro tip—don’t ask Julia if she’s hungry, or tired, or angry, or really anything. Just assume she is and act accordingly.” He grinned. “Five imaginary bucks says I can beat you to the kitchen.”

Two seconds later, as the door slammed against the wall again and Mason could already be heard rounding the corner of the hallway, he turned to Julia and smiled his gentle smile.

“Oh, I like her.”

Julia snorted. “I thought you might.”