Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Acknowledgments
- P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
- About the Author
- About the Book
- Also by Alison Gaylin
- About the Publisher
We can’t get caught. We won’t get caught. We’ll keep moving forward and we won’t look back and I’ll never again think about what we’ve left behind.
Here’s what we have with us: The stolen prom dress. Ed Hart’s wallet, which still has some cash in it. In the trunk, a duffel bag full of Ed Hart’s things: clothes that don’t fit either one of us, some props from the shows he’d worked on, a decent-looking transistor radio, two stereo speakers, and a watch Gabriel says is expensive. Also in the trunk: a six-pack of Coke; two bags of Lay’s potato
Oh my God there’s a cop car following us. We just exited the freeway and he followed us off the off-ramp, a right turn, a left turn, and now he’s flashing his lights. Drive faster, Gabriel. Don’t look back. But he won’t listen to me. DRIVE FASTER GABRIEL PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DRIVE AWAY!!!!!
We’re on a quiet street now and Gabriel is pulling over. The cop car pulls over too. It’s so dark outside, I can barely see my writing on this page. I ask Gabriel what he thinks he’s doing. He shushes me. He tells me to keep writing my song, which makes me feel sad for him. I am quiet and now the whole car is quiet. There’s nothing in the world but the two of us and the flashing lights and the slam of the police car’s door.
Gabriel just told me to get ready—I don’t know what for. I think of home, of Hollywood. Of anywhere but here.
Twenty-Two
Robin
MORASCO WAS AT Robin’s house less than twenty minutes after she called. As soon as he came through the door, she and Eric showed him the text. “I know who Quentin Garrison is, but I don’t understand,” he said.
They told him everything, starting with that first phone call she’d received at work, leaving nothing out—well, nothing as far as Quentin Garrison was concerned. The old Polaroid of Robin’s mother stayed hidden, as did any dim suspicion either one of them had that Garrison may have been onto something. Through it all, Morasco watched them, his jaw flexing—an attempt, Robin thought, to maintain a poker face.
When they were more or less through, Morasco said, “Any idea why he believed that your mother had a connection to April Cooper?”
Eric jumped in before Robin could say anything. “There was a video of her on Robin’s site back in May. It got a lot of views. Maybe it was something she said, the way she looked.”
“So . . . You think he could be obsessed?”