Without even acknowledging that I was still standing there, she scurried back the way she’d come, patting her apron pockets bewilderedly.

I was left standing behind an empty chair, holding a hot straightener in my hand, looking absolutely ridiculous in my braids and headband. One thing was clear. It was time to move, or I was going to end up caught. Chris was going to be full of I told you so’s when I showed up at the car with nothing for my efforts once again. Maybe Celeste was just an actress who Luna admired. Or someone Jones wanted to hook up with. Or maybe the pad was already in the truck when they bought it and Celeste Day had nothing to do with them whatsoever. Without flat-out asking Celeste, I would never know. And I’d already managed to make myself look suspicious enough. The last thing I needed was to have some overzealous security dork call the cops on me. Then the I told you so’s would be full of laughter that I would never live down.

I stepped forward to put the straightener on the counter, my eyes landing on the bag that had been tucked beneath. It was a Givenchy—a little pricey for a B-list actress, if you asked me, but I would never understand the people of Hollywood, even if you gave me a billion years—and it was yawning open. Something inside the bag caught my eye. A familiar flicker of color.

Orange and lunch-meat pink. A and E. But it was the shape that they were in that triggered a memory.

Mom, proudly carrying a black canvas bag as she headed off to work. The bag was full of props and lights and cameras and odds and ends that she thought she might need on one of her locations. I loved that bag, because she always slipped a few toys into the very bottom of it, just in case I should be tagging along and she needed to keep me busy. When Mom was carrying that bag, it was a mix of emotions for me. She was leaving. But she was always so happy when she was carrying it, like she was in the middle of her own dream.

And I could clearly remember the colors that emanated from the side of that bag. Orange and pink. A and E, shaped into a couple of angry-looking eyebrows, over the swoosh of an elephant trunk.

Angry Elephant.

The studio where my mom worked all the way up until the day she was killed.

I did a double take, leaning closer to the bag. I was so confused at this point, my synesthesia wanted me to see things that maybe weren’t even there. It was a matchbook. Why would Celeste Day be carrying a matchbook from my mom’s studio? She couldn’t be. No way.