Wilmot blinked as Evvie spoke, as if he was having trouble keeping up.

—Some dessert? asked the waiter, who was leaning over the table with his pad and pen.

Wilmot looked up at the waiter as if he hadn’t understood the question.

—I know just the thing, said Evvie. Let’s have dessert in Santa Monica. I have it on good authority that until the stroke of midnight the finest donuts in all of Los Angeles are cooked on the Santa Monica piers. We can dangle our toes in the water and watch the casinos drift out to sea!

—I haven’t had a donut in ten years, Olivia admitted.

—Well, that settles it.

The girls turned to Wilmot.

—I’m actually feeling a little under the weather, he confessed while mopping his brow with his pocket square.

—What is it, my dear? asked Evvie. Are you coming down with something?

—No. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to sit here for a minute. Why don’t you two girls go on without me.

When Evvie and Olivia put their napkins on the table, Wilmot looked almost relieved.

—Lovely to meet you, Evvie said, then she took Olivia by the hand.

Evvie tugged her past a screenwriter, a leading man, and the maître d’—anyone of whom might normally have waylaid her—and Livvie found herself giggling like a schoolgirl in the midst of a narrow escape.

Outside, the wind was wild. The fronds of the palm trees rattled overhead and dust spiraled off the sidewalk in little tornadoes. Evvie slipped past the valets in order to survey the street. Halfway up the block what looked like a teenage boy in a chauffeur’s uniform waved. He was standing in front of a forest green Packard.

—Is that yours? Olivia asked.

—More a friend of a friend’s, said Evvie. Come on. Before Wilmot changes his mind.

And the two cousins made the twenty-yard dash for the car.

ONCE THEY WERE IN THE back of the Packard driving along Sunset, the blonde stuck out her hand and formally introduced herself. Then she instructed her driver to head for the Santa Monica piers.

—You were serious? asked Olivia.

—Absolutely. The donuts are the next item on the list. Isn’t that right, Billy?

—Yes, ma’am!

—So, have you really been to those others places?

—Well, not to Lon Chaney’s garage. But we’ve been to the Tar Pits and the fights. We’ve been to the Wishing Chair at Forest Lawn Cemetery and the parade on Santa Claus Lane.