“It gets weirder,” said White. “We received two sketchy pamphlets in the mail, and we immediately suspected Hubbard of sending them. One summarized Russian brainwashing techniques. The other was supposedly written by a nuclear physicist who claimed that a vitamin-supplement concoction called Dianazene could be used to combat radiation sickness. Guess what comes next?”

“Hubbard hawking Dianazene?” Margaret guessed.

“Yep,” said White. “The FDA confiscated more than twenty thousand Dianazene tablets from a company with ties to Hubbard. Guy’s a grifter.” He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

“And?” Margaret finally said.

“So?” Charlie added.

White grinned mysteriously, clearly pleased with his power. “We can’t ask you to go investigate a church,” he said. “Constitutional issues. But needless to say, the attorney general is grateful for any information that comes his way, and he will take all assistance into consideration.”

“Got it,” said Margaret as Charlie fought the urge to slap the smile off Addington White’s face.

“So, listen,” Charlie said. “We have a couple questions for you.”

“Oh?” asked White.

“We ran into my niece Violet Greeley while we were out there,” Margaret explained. “She ran away from home six months ago; she’s sixteen.”

“Right,” White said in an annoyed, almost bored tone. Margaret wondered how often he heard stories like this.

“She was with this disgusting studio exec,” Charlie said.

“Itchy Meyer,” said Margaret. “MGM.”

“We’re just wondering if you could help us track her down,” Charlie said. “We’ve called MGM but Meyer won’t talk to us. The staff of the bar where we saw her, the Daisy, say they’d never seen her before. We need to find her. She’s a kid.”

“I know it’s low priority,” Margaret said. “Young woman lost in Hollywood. But it would mean a lot to us. To me. Please.”

White looked in Margaret’s eyes, nodded noncommittally, then wrote down the relevant details in his notepad.

“I’ll see what I can do,” White said. “But to be honest, you’re not really in a place to be asking anything of us. We need you to get back to work.”

“We will,” Margaret said. “If you agree to help, that will allow me to focus entirely on the task at hand. Charlie is one hundred percent on the Sinatra case, of course.”

“Though, I have to say, we’re also really worried about my dad,” Charlie said, staring into White’s eyes, searching for some human connection. “He’s old and frail—he hasn’t been the same since Mom died. We would really love to see him. Any chance I can before we head back to LA?”

White responded with a shake of his head. “Not a chance.” He looked at his watch. “I gotta go. It’s on me,” he said and waved for the check.

Three days later, they boarded a nine a.m. flight to Los Angeles.