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
“Do you think it’s true, Summer? I mean . . . I’ve been on the same message boards and websites as him. Every one of them treats it as a definitive fact that Cooper and LeRoy both died in that fire.”
She shrugged. “Nothing is a definitive fact that happened in 1976. There was no DNA testing back then.” She opened the envelope Pollard had given them, slipped the ticket stub out.
“I know that. But.” Quentin took a breath. “I mean . . . Look. Maybe George Pollard hooked up with some crazy girl forty years ago, and she told him she was April Cooper. I believe that. But do we really want to fly to New York and freak out this poor woman and her entire family, just because Pollard says her voice sounds familiar?”
“Quentin.”
“And anyway. I want to tell the story of the survivors of a forty-year-old killing spree. I don’t want to go all CSI Inland Empire with this.”
Summer said, “We might not have any choice.”
“What do you mean?”
She handed him the movie ticket stub, soft as silk from so much holding over so many years. The revival house’s name was printed at the top along with the date: June 24, 1976. The exact same day that first responders in Death Valley found the charred remains of April Cooper, Gabriel LeRoy, and what looked to be the entire Gideon family. At the center of the ticket stub was that day’s feature—the movie George and April had watched from beginning to end three times in a row, falling deeper and deeper in love with each viewing. The letters were faded and so ghostly thin, Quentin had to remove his glasses and squint in order to read them: Easter Parade. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Way to bury the lede.”
“RENEE LOOKS LIKE someone famous,” said Dean, who was watching over Quentin’s shoulder as he viewed the Daily Culture video clip for the umpteenth time. They were in bed, and it was close to midnight, Quentin having spent most of the evening chatting up the amateur sleuths on an Inland Empire Killers message board, asking for any possible clues—however shaky, however thin—that April Cooper might have survived the Gideon fire.
TBH, one of the sleuths had written, I think there’s more of a chance that Amelia Earhart survived that plane crash, flew back to the States, and joined the Rockettes.
The Gideons were all men and boys, another had explained. Mom died in childbirth six years earlier. The remains were of a girl April’s age, height, and build. And her body was right next to the one identified as LeRoy’s via dental records.