I flashed back eleven years. Nikki . . . go. Mom, lying in a pool of her own blood, her hand outstretched. Me, kneeling next to her, trying to get her to stay awake, to come back.

“You’d be surprised,” I said as I got out of the car.

CELESTE DAY WAS not the type of actress to get a giant, luxury dressing room all to herself. But it appeared that, even if she was, Pear Magic was not the type of studio to give her that, anyway.

I stood in the doorway for a moment, blinking the purple after-sun shadows out of my eyes while they adjusted to the light change. When I could finally make out what I was seeing, I glanced around a sleepy studio trying to get ready to work. Off to my left was a set: what looked like a kitchen in a run-down, beat-up house with a red splash—meant, I assumed, to look like blood—up one wall. A large man in ripped clothes and shadowy eyes sat at the kitchen table, idly puffing on a cigar and talking to who I imagined to be some sort of assistant. She kept pushing her glasses up on her nose as she giggled at whatever he was saying.

Men and women wearing all black shifted around behind cameras and boom mics and lights, none of their movements looking particularly urgent. A woman wearing flannel and boots tromped around the set, softly fretting as she moved things a quarter of an inch here, a half inch there. She looked like every stressed-out director’s assistant I’d ever seen when working with Dad.

I heard the rattle of plastic tubes and turned to my right, where there was a black wall with light radiating out from behind it. I peered around the corner to see a dressing area—about eight mirrors lined side by side with soft globe lightbulbs dotting the perimeter of each mirror. There were small stools in front of each station, and a handful of actors occupied them, leaning toward the mirrors to fix their ghostly faces or leaning back for a stylist to rat their hair or worry over their faces with makeup brushes.

It was easy to find Celeste Day. She looked just like her IMDb photo. Shoulder-length chestnut hair, stiff with curls, soft, wide brown eyes that looked like pure innocence, high “actress” cheekbones, full pink lips, and curves for miles. She was exactly what Hollywood was looking for in an actress, and I guessed it wouldn’t be long before sneaking in on Celeste Day would be impossible due to all the bodyguards.