“Of course. Get everything off your chest in the letter but never mail it. It’s great therapy and a lot cheaper than paying a shrink.”

Lorraine nodded. “I guess I really wanted to heal myself because I wrote letters to almost everyone in my life. Personal and professional. But then I carried it even further. Not only did I write to every casting director, producer, and director who hadn’t hired me but I wrote nasty letters to everyone in the business, even people I hadn’t met yet. I didn’t mean what I wrote—some of the letters are pretty vicious—but I thought the whole exercise would make me feel more confident.”

“Whoa!” Clay exclaimed. He shook his head in disbelief, then looked at her questioningly. “When did you have time to write all these letters? Oh wait, I forgot, you don’t have to work to pay the rent.” He paused. “Did you write one to me?”

“Do you think I’d be telling you this if I did?”

“I guess not. Why are you telling me now?”

Lorraine swallowed hard. “I had a safe installed in the loft that Conrad didn’t know about. It’s hidden behind a cabinet in the front closet. Those letters are in the safe. If someone finds them, I’m dead. My career is over.”

“That’s for sure,” Clay said quickly. “People in our business hold grudges.”

Lorraine winced.

Clay leaned forward. “Don’t you think your neighbors will give the letters back? If they even find them?”

“They might mail them! I went so far as to address the envelopes and put stamps on them. And if they did give them back, they’d give them to Conrad. He was the sole owner of the loft.”

“You were really committed to this project, weren’t you?”

“Wendall always told us to be committed to achieving our dream. So I was! But if Conrad gets his hands on those letters he’ll read them, then run straight to the post office to mail them himself! I know he will.”

“Is there a letter to him?”

Lorraine nodded. “It’s ten pages long.” She sighed and tightened her grip on her wine glass. “I handwrote every single letter in my beautiful penmanship. So I can’t deny I wrote them. I have to get the letters back and I need your help.”

“My help? I’m sick of playing criminals and now you’re asking me to be one in real life. What was that commercial? ‘I’m not a doctor but I play one on TV.’ Well, I’m not a criminal even though I play one much too often!”

“This would be so easy for you. You work as a handyman on the side. You could figure out a way to get in the loft. I’m not asking you to steal anything that isn’t mine. Those letters belong to me!”

“Is there any cash in the safe?”

“Yes, and it’s all yours! I put some away here and there because Conrad could be so stingy. Somewhere between twenty and thirty thousand dollars. I’m not exactly sure how much.”