An industry party, I guessed. The film Ellen had been working on—although that was a strong term; she’d been about as involved as background scenery—was a Paramount picture. I thought of her face in the cramped room at the St. Leo—she really did feel something for Klein; I knew I was right. You couldn’t hide an eyelash in those big eyes. But maybe she thought it would make Klein jealous, seeing her with his son. Maybe she imagined he’d realize how special she was. His dream girl. Or, worse, maybe she was trying to transfer those feelings to Joel. Neither option was good business for me.

As I looked for street parking, I was already imagining a cover story to bluff my way into the party—I did not have it in me to pretend to be a lost tourist, starstruck and wide-eyed by the memorabilia of Tinseltown—when the Jag turned away from the gates, circling the block. I was surprised enough that I let another car maneuver in between us and then rode their tail until they blinkered and jerked into the other lane, sending a one-finger salute after me as I followed Ellen into the Hollywood Forever Cemetery.

I idled behind the Jaguar, not caring now if she could tell that someone was following her, and watched Junior half lift a hand to a security guard, interrupting an argument with a billboard-handsome man in a rumpled silk suit. The security guard waved them through, continued his argument.

I took a glance at the guard and weighed my odds. He seemed preoccupied enough that maybe I could squeak by without a story. I rolled down the window, not stopping the car.

“Here for the party,” I called, catching a glimpse of the two men in the dying glow of the afternoon. They didn’t stop their argument—the guest (an actor, no doubt) wanted to liberate the caged peacocks for the festivities, and the rent-a-cop wasn’t having it. They both seemed occupied and I was counting on it. I kept driving until I heard the shout behind me.

“Hey! Come back here!”

I checked in my rearview. Both men were staring at my car now, and the security guard had a hand on his two-way radio. That stopped me. I backed the car up.

“Cake delivery,” I said, adding, “special for Mr. Klein.” I patted a hand at my back seat, then gave them both a full smile. None of us liked the smile much.

“Name?”