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6

The next morning, Mason found the gates of the driveway closed. Possibly on account of the three or four photographers who were happy to take photos of her while the gates creaked slowly open and then closed behind her. They did their best to engage her in light conversation about her boss being arrested, but she wasn’t feeling chatty. Not only had there been traffic, they’d been out of cake pops at Starbucks.

As she reached the house and got out of the car, she noticed a young man standing by the door, apparently arguing with Claudia. Mason sighed, cracked her knuckles and prepared to eject a member of the press.

“I’m sorry,” Claudia was saying, “but Mrs. Mann isn’t accepting clients right now.”

“Why?”

As Mason get closer, she realized she wasn’t looking at a reporter; she was looking at a college kid.

He was still pleading. “I need her help, and I have money to pay.”

“Because,” Claudia was running out of patience, “she’s IN JAIL. I already told you. Leave me your name. We’ll call you when she’s out.”

The young man suddenly heard Mason approaching and whirled around, slipping a little on the dusty ground. He was maybe twenty, if that. Pale blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, facial hair apparent but not groomed, gray eyes and long eyelashes. That much she could see right away, that and the level of anxiety ruining what would otherwise have been a sweet face.

“Who are you?” he asked, nervously.

“I’m Natasha Mason. I’m Mrs. Mann’s assistant.” She felt mild surprise at how easy it was to say that, after only a day. She looked at the kid with an expression she hoped conveyed a no-nonsense sympathy to his plight, mixed with an all-business intention for him to leave the premises. “I’m sure Mrs. Mann will be out of jail soon, and she’ll be able to help you then. Right now, though…”

“But I need help right now. My sister’s in trouble. My mom told me if I ever needed help, to call Julia Mann.” He was literally wringing his hands.

Mason had seen plenty of people in distress. AA meetings are full of people whose lives had fallen apart or been blown up at their own hand. This kid was beside himself, and she felt a bloom of sympathy. She shot a glance at Claudia, who suddenly looked thoughtful.

“Who’s your mom?” she asked.

“Jessie Sharp. I’m Ben Sharp. She said she knew Julia in prison…” He was so pale that instinctively Claudia took a step closer.

“Way to bury the lede, kid. Your mom did know Julia. She knew me, too.” Claudia’s voice had completely changed. “Come on in, let’s get you something to eat before we do anything else. You look like you’re on your last calorie.”

Mason stared at Claudia. She’d been in prison, too? She got the feeling she’d missed the bottom step somehow, a lurching sensation that almost made her open her mouth to ask questions, when suddenly she noticed Ben wasn’t looking too hot.

Blood had rushed to his face, and his relief was palpable. “Thank God,” he said, and then he went white as a sheet, pitched forward into the hallway, and Mason only just caught him before he smashed his face on the floor.

Claudia sighed. “Strong work, Mason. Bring him to the kitchen.”

It actually took nearly a full minute for Ben to come around, by which time Mason had carried him into the kitchen and laid him in one of the comfy chairs near the enormous fireplace at one end. He weighed about three ounces more than she did. She straightened and looked around at the sunshine-filled room, already swimmy with the smell of vanilla and sugared pastry. She felt her mouth start to water, cake pops be damned.

“Put his head between his knees,” called Claudia from the stove, where she was melting butter in a pan. “Don’t let him puke on the rug.”

“Great,” muttered Mason. “I haven’t even had my second cup of coffee yet. And what’s with the press by the gate?”

“Coffee’s in the pot, grumpy, and they showed up last night and haven’t left yet. They’re only doing their job. I just don’t want them doing it any closer to the house. Keep your eyes peeled.”

“Now I’m security?”

“It’s surprising to me, too, but failing any better option, that’s what it looks like.”

The kid shook his head, and Mason stepped back. He sat up, slowly, and after a minute his color looked better. Mason turned and went to get coffee.

“How did I get in here?” he asked.

“I carried you, of course.” She put the cream back in the fridge and leaned against the closed door, watching to see if he was going to topple again.

He was silent for a moment. Then, “Thank you. Sorry about that. I drove down from Portland last night and have been waiting in my car since five this morning. I didn’t want to wake anyone.” He sighed. “I guess I forgot to eat.”

Claudia huffed at the stove. “Stupid boy.” She slammed plates about and dished up an ocher pile of buttery eggs, putting the plate on the long table along with coffee and orange juice. “Come eat. Then we’ll talk.”

He got up, wavering slightly, but gathered himself and made his way over. A sip of coffee, a forkful of eggs. He opened his mouth, but Claudia raised her spatula.

“Not a word until that’s all in.”

He subsided and kept shoveling.

Once he’d finished eating, Ben looked far more on top of his game. Mason was also doing better, having joined him in packing away some more of the eggs, plus a half dozen strips of bacon. Claudia was sticking to black coffee, and now she put down her cup and spoke kindly.

“Just start at the beginning. Mason will be seeing Mrs. Mann later, and she’ll tell her what you tell us, OK?”

He nodded. “I get it. I need to tell someone because I’m going nuts.” He took a deep breath, folding and refolding the napkin he’d brought with him, like a two-ply security blanket. “We’re twins, me and Becks. We were born a few years before Mom went to prison. My grandma raised us after that. We visited Mom when we could, and we wrote and called…until she died. We still had Christmas, you know? We weren’t the only kids in the neighborhood missing a parent. It wasn’t so bad.”

“She died in jail?” Mason asked.

“Yeah. Of breast cancer. I know Julia Mann and a few other people in the jail, not prisoners, but administrators, tried to get her released in time to die at home, but the wheels didn’t move quickly enough. She was only forty-one, and she died alone.” His voice was flat, but his hands trembled. Mason shifted in her chair.

“She didn’t,” interrupted Claudia. “There were several of us with her, honey; she wasn’t alone for a minute. She asked us to take care of you, and we said we would. If Julia were here she’d tell you the same.” She smiled at him across the room. “Your mom loved you and your sister very much.”

He was silent for a moment, his head bowed. He was thin. Mason could see the bones of his back through his T-shirt. But when he looked up, his eyes were clear and determined. “Well, now we need help. Both of us.” He poured another cup of coffee and spooned sugar into it. “Becky…”

“Becky Sharp? Isn’t that a character in a book?” Mason interrupted.

“Yeah, my mom loved to read. She was a school librarian.”

“How did she end up in prison?” There was silence at the question, and Mason suddenly realized she’d broken her own unspoken rule about respecting other people’s privacy. “Sorry, never mind, carry on.”

“She had a boyfriend who sold pot. The police raided their place and found enough to convict him of intent to sell. Minimum mandatory sentencing put her in jail for a decade, just for being there. And maybe she should have known better, but she didn’t, and he was a nice enough guy. She was lonely.” Ben was defensive, even after all this time.

Claudia shrugged. “Prison is full of women who were in the wrong place at the wrong time because they loved some dumbass.”

“Was he your dad?”

“No, we don’t know who our dad is. It doesn’t matter.”

It probably did matter, to be fair, but seeing as it was history, Mason decided to stop being nosy and just let the guy tell his tale.

“Your sister…?”

Ben sighed again. “My sister kind of lost her way a bit. I was always good with my hands, you know, and I wanted to be a carpenter. I’m an apprentice now. Becky was smart in school, thought maybe she’d go to college. But she’s real pretty, and she met this older guy at some party, and before we even knew what was happening she was off to Los Angeles to get famous and be in movies, you know?” He looked bitter. “It all happened in the space of a week. I barely got a chance to talk to her about it. Then she texted for a while, and posted photos and stuff, and I knew where she was working, but for the last few months, nothing.”

“So you came down to look for her?” Mason sighed inwardly. Finding a pretty girl who wants to be an actress in LA was a fool’s errand.

“No, I know exactly where she is. She’s in the hospital, because she tried to kill herself. The cops called me when they arrested her, and I got in the car right away. She’ll be arraigned on Monday.

“On what charge?”

“Homicide.”

Claudia went still.

“Anyone in particular?” asked Mason, her pen poised above the pad.

Ben nodded, and now his eyes filled with tears. “Yeah. She killed someone at the strip club where she was working.” He wiped a clumsy hand across his face. “First she was a stripper and now she’s a murderer.” His voice caught in his throat. “Why didn’t she just come home? None of this would have happened if she’d just stayed home.” And then he put his head down on the table and wept like a child.

The two women watched him for a moment, then Claudia’s phone made a noise like a cat being stepped on. She took it out and looked at it, raising her eyebrow.

“You can go. Julia’s ready for you.” She got up and fetched a fresh towel and ran cold water on it. She came back and handed it to Ben. “Clean yourself up, kid. Julia will be home later, and you’ll want to tell her all about it.” Then she turned to Mason. “I’ll arrange everything else. And, Mason.” She reached in a drawer and threw Mason a set of car keys. “She wants the Rolls.”