After checking out the bathroom and the bedroom alcove, she moved toward the area at the opposite end that was set up like a small den. Her gaze drifted from the stacks of cushions to the pile of art books, before coming to rest on Madison’s diamond-encrusted gold Piaget watch sitting among a pile of crystals. Just like that, her hunch was confirmed: Madison Brooks was alive!
Despite the inflammatory stories she’d reported, Trena had never believed Madison was dead. Her provocative headlines had helped fuel her success, but the watch was the first real piece of proof she’d yet to come across.
The diamonds surrounding the bezel were dull and desperately in need of a cleaning. Even the band was scratched, which seemed odd, considering how Madison was known for being fastidious with her belongings.
Retrieving a pair of latex gloves from her bag, Trena hooked the timepiece with her finger and angled it toward the light. Trena had studied enough video footage and stills of Madison from the night of her breakup with Ryan to know it was the same watch she’d worn at the time. It was the only watch Madison was ever known to wear. And the engraved initials on the back of the case served to confirm it.
She dropped it into a plastic bag and considered how best to proceed. The only real question was whether or not to alert Detective Larsen.
On the one hand, she owed him. It was because of him that she’d been the first to break the Joshua Tree story.
Also, just because Madison was alive didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger.
And yet, the trailer showed no obvious signs of a struggle. Nothing to lead her to believe Madison was being held against her will.
No, something else was going on—something Trena couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Her phone chimed with an incoming message. Not long after she’d started reporting on Madison’s story, she’d set up a tip line. So far nothing solid had come of it, but as she peered at the screen, she had the unmistakable feeling that was about to change.
Someone had sent her a video. It had been filmed with an unsteady hand, but from what Trena could make out, it was taken at the impromptu memorial that Madison’s fans had set up just outside Night for Night.
The usual street music of honking cars and sirens could be heard in the background, as the camera panned across the crowd gathered around the collection of items left in Madison’s memory. The sound of laughter was soon eclipsed by a female voice saying, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Shhh . . . video in progress!” another voice said. And then in a mock-serious tone: “We’re on Hollywood Boulevard outside Night for Night, where MaryDella Slocum was last seen.” Uncontrollable laughter followed, prompting the video to swing wildly before someone else took over.
“And we sincerely hope she turns up dead, because that’s what she deserves for lying to us all these years! RIP, bitch!”
Trena played the video again. And then again. On the third viewing she realized the words weren’t important.
Whoever had shot the video hadn’t intentionally set out to capture the skinny blond girl placing a single turquoise-and-gold hoop earring next to a stuffed teddy bear with angel wings. But as Trena watched it unfold yet again, she narrowed her focus to that girl, noting the way she stiffened and turned after hearing the words, “RIP, bitch!” The girl’s face was hidden behind dark oversize sunglasses, though there was no mistaking it was her.
“Where are you now, Madison?” Trena whispered. “Where have you gone?”
She froze the frame to study the picture when another text arrived.
I have the earring. It’s yours for a price.
Amateurs. Trena smirked. A couple of dumb teens who could be bought off easily. Without hesitation she replied.
I’ll be in touch soon.
She dropped her phone in her bag and started to leave. Then, thinking better, she retrieved the watch from the plastic bag, placed it back where she’d found it, and put in a call to Larsen.
Let him have this one. If nothing else, he would owe her, and it was always better when he was in her debt.
Besides, thanks to the video, Trena was onto a much bigger lead.
TWENTY-TWO
LET’S HURT TONIGHT
Tommy pulled up to a surprisingly unassuming home and parked in the drive.
“What is this place?”
“A secret hideaway. Only now that you’re here, I guess it’s not such a secret anymore.” Madison glanced over her shoulder and shot him a look he wasn’t quite sure how to read.
He didn’t want to flatter himself into thinking she was flirting, because it wasn’t that, or at least not entirely, though her expression was unmistakably warm, bordering on intimate. Well, they’d shared a moment. He supposed it was an acknowledgment of that. Either way, he was done deciphering her every move. From this point forward, he planned to sit back and see what unfolded.