“Mrs. Tomlinson,” Breisi said, “how do you know Lee was having a relationship?”
From the way her coworker asked, Dawn knew it was the Fourth of July and Christmas all rolled into one for Breisi.
A lead, Frank, Dawn thought, feeling the same adrenaline rush, too. Maybe this is it….
“I know he was involved with a significant other,” Coral said, “because the final roommate to leave California called last night and told Lane, here. That’s why.” Coral shot her family a satisfied look. “She said Lee was spendin’ a lot of recent time with someone while workin’ at a bar between auditions. He might’ve even met the light of his life on that job.”
Breisi quickly wrote something, then flashed it at an angle so Dawn could read it. WASN’T JESSICA A WAITRESS?!?
A chill zinged up Dawn’s spine. Holy crap, yes. But they hadn’t found any indication during their research that she’d worked at Bava with Lee. Then again, Dawn had come to discover that monster-affiliated bars weren’t exactly known for laying all their information out on the table, so what if Jessica had quit within the last month and no one was talking about it?
What if the Underground had erased all traces of her employment there?
“Now, you all tell me,” Coral continued, repeating her point. “How can a boy who carries on in a relationship all of a sudden do murder? Everyone should ask that.”
In a way, Dawn pitied the woman for having no imagination. People who killed could also be really great at covering it up. People weren’t always who they seemed to be—especially in L.A.
Speaking of which…Who else had Lee met in this town? Did he have any friends who were also in the Underground?
“Mrs. Tomlinson,” she asked, “did he hang out with anyone else after his roomies left, any people this last roommate might have mentioned in particular?”
Coral opened her mouth to answer, but Marg cut her off.
“Not really.” The cigarette bobbed with her tight words.
“Mom’s right,” Lane added, obviously trying to get this interview back to the whitewash job it was supposed to be. “The fact that my brother could carry on a dedicated relationship makes it obvious that he functioned normally. Even if Lee dressed weird, he wasn’t that different. He never even hurt a bird when he was a kid. He didn’t have that in him.”
Cassie was clutching the sides of her chair, staring at her mother.
And that made Dawn all the more curious.
“Are the cops aware of this lover?” Breisi asked, a polite bulldog after the real story.
“I guess they will be.” Marg plucked the still unlit ciggie out of her mouth, holding it like a security blanket to cling to.
Herb’s was still waiting like a forbidden goodie in his lap.
All the siblings were shooting mommy dearest the death eye, and she frowned at them, as if asking what she’d done wrong.
Had she revealed something she wasn’t supposed to?
There was meat here, all right. Breisi kept scribbling, so Dawn knew it.
And they obviously weren’t the only ones. Herb finally stood to his full height, thin as a matchstick. The cigarette fell to the carpet, and he absently stepped on it while moving toward the door, crushing tobacco into the shag threads. Lane followed, then Cassie.
The interview was over.
“How about those pictures?” Marg said, as if the room hadn’t just suffered a tiny mental explosion.
Breisi nodded cordially, but Dawn could still sense her disappointment.
When Herb opened the door, cloud-hued gray light slithered into the room. Head down, Cassie was the first to rush outside.
On the way to the cactus outside the lobby, Dawn saw that Breisi had written something else on her pad: LET’S FIND LOVER. MAYBE LEE SHARED SOMETHING WITH HER?
“Exactly,” Dawn said so only Breisi could hear.
Mrs. Tomlinson was the only person who agreed to pose, but the rest of the family had obviously followed her to make sure she kept her mouth shut. As the matron put on a suitably sad expression—one tailor-made for the grieving mother of a man wrongly accused—Marg sauntered over to Dawn.
“You have enough for a good story?” she asked, not seeming to mind the stench of garlic on Dawn’s skin.
“Well, we’d like more. But we can do a decent human-interest piece.” She hoped she sounded like a real reporter.
“You might wanna take Mom’s comments with a pinch of salt. She ain’t altogether here. Know what I mean?”
“I understand. These are hard times.”
This acting crap was totally easy. If Dawn wasn’t morally opposed to actually being an “actress,” she might even be dumb enough to fall into the sparkling lure of it.
If she hadn’t grown up in L.A. knowing better.