by Luna Joya
His tight shirt showed off the tattoo she’d seen edging out his sleeve earlier. There was the curl of another on his left bicep. It was artwork, a tribal pattern with clean lines and curves. She had to stop staring at him.
She shut the door, and Sam woke. He stretched and rubbed his sleepy eyes. “Sorry. Long day.
“Bogart is good to go for now.” The dog sagged against her legs. She tapped on the computer to bring up his records. “No more poking and prodding tonight.”
Sam reached for the leash. “Listen, I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier.”
“With what?” Rolling a stool up to the screen, she clicked through the blood work results. Bogart had no other issues she could find.
“However awful the reason I got to see you again, I’m glad I did. I wanted to ask you on a date this morning.”
She swiveled to face him.
Sam scratched his jaw. “But the restaurant is my place of business.” He looked around the office. “And now I’m hitting on you in your place of business. Great.”
Even his awkwardness was charming. “Are you asking me out?”
He ruffled fingers through his messy hair. “Yeah. I know it’s bad form.” He dipped his head toward Bogart. “And with the most unattractive, uncool timing possible. I swear I’m not usually this weird.” He spoke before she could respond. “What if I helped you look into Sunny Sol? Like your sister talked about earlier.”
Cami petted Bogart, who bumped against her leg. “How so?”
He gave a lopsided grin. “I’ve got contacts in the industry. I can get you into private collections to research her. I don’t know if you’d find anything new after this long, but I’m decent at digging through old resources. If you’re interested in a study date.”
If Cami could learn from Sunny’s history of abusive and controlling relationships, it’d be worth a few hours of research. Especially if it’d prevent her repeating a bad choice, as Sunny apparently had. Plus, it might keep Mina from time slipping alone again on ground subject to rockslides.
Sam was offering her a chance to figure out who’d killed Sunny. Maybe she could discover if it’d been Sunny’s violent ex catching up with her or something less sinister. With the hot surfer guy who had an adorable dog, no less.
“You’re on.”
Chapter Five
Sam circled the block where he’d agreed to meet Cami tonight for their first date. A research field trip still counted as a date, right? He’d called in favors to get private after-hours access to the collections library.
“To impress a girl?” Marilyn, the librarian, had asked him.
Yes, actually. It’d be worth it if Cami would go out with him again.
She’d been amazing with Bogart—kind, efficient, and professional when he’d been so damn worried about the basset. Usually, Bogart couldn’t wait to bolt from the vet’s office, but Sam almost had to drag the dog away from Cami. Bribes and promises of belly rubs had done no good. His dog had wanted to stay. So he’d finally picked Bogart up and carried him to the truck.
Sam’s beat-up Land Cruiser was perfect for surf boards and Bogart to drool out the window, but maybe not for first dates. He glanced at the taped passenger seat and surfing gear in the back. Too late to worry about those things now.
He spotted Cami coming out of a 1950’s apartment building with peeling retro lettering on the front and broken blinds in the windows. She strode down steps to the sidewalk in jeans, pink Converse sneakers, and another vintage graphic shirt. His memory hadn’t exaggerated her curves in the least. She walked with purpose, turning her head back and forth. She’d scanned his restaurant the same way two days ago. Who was she looking for?
He rolled down the window and called her name. She jerked her gaze in his direction and grabbed for the chain around her neck. When their gazes met, her face softened, and her hand fell to her side. Sam pulled into a loading zone and parked.
Rounding the truck, he pulled open the passenger door for her and swiped at the drool stains along the side.
She grinned. Damn, she did have dimples. They cut deep divots in her cheeks. He wanted to stretch out a finger and trace those adorable dents.
“Bogart’s favorite place to ride?” She touched the back passenger door.
“How’d you guess?”
Her eyes had been light brown, almost whiskey-colored the other night at the clinic before she’d treated Bogart. They’d glowed golden again afterward. Now, they were back to whiskey with hints of gold.
Her smile stretched wider.
“What?” She brushed a hand along her cheek before swiping a curl behind her ear. “What is it?”
“You’ve got dimples.”
She tipped her head to the right. “Slept on buttons, my Gigi tells me. My grandma.”
He offered a hand to boost her into the truck. She laced her fingers in his, and he resisted the urge to steal a taste of those knuckles. This close she smelled like crème brûlée. “Hope you don’t mind a drive tonight. The GPS says the ten miles to Beverly Hills will take about forty-five minutes.”
“Nice digs for a library,” she said when he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Those the private resources you mentioned?”
He reversed and eased into the street. “It’s the best place to start a search for any information on past film stars. Did you eat tonight?”
She looked out the window toward the ocean. “No, I overslept after another long shift.”
He’d have to feed her often. “I know a few places near the library to grab something.”
She tugged on the hem of her shirt. “Nothing too fancy. I should’ve dressed for dinner instead of a study session.”
“Nothing fancy.” The perfect counter for comfort food was within walking distance of the library. “Your Reading Rainbow shirt’s cool.”
She narrowed her eyes. “My sisters hate it.”
“What?” He disagreed. “That show had class. And the host was on Star Trek.”
She grinned a bright cheerful sunbeam of a smile and nodded. “Vet school didn’t call for many formal outfits. Most of my old clothes are still at my mom’s house in South Pasadena.”
She’d looked amazing in scrubs with paw prints and animal cartoons. He might have needed resuscitation and a new plan if she’d dressed up for their date tonight.
An hour drive and a demolished pizza later, the two strolled side-by-side through the courtyard leading to the library. Palm trees swayed before the large arched entrance with its round stained glass artwork, and a tower shot up out of the terra cotta roof. Cami moved closer to him as she took in the impressive façade.
“Was this a Spanish mission?” Her voice filled with the awe of facing a historic ecclesiastical site.
Sam chuckled. “It was the old water pumping station, actually.”
She stopped mid-step. “But it’s amazing.”
“Wait ’til you see the inside.” He trailed a finger down her arm to her wrist, traced the delicate coolness of her palm, and was rewarded when she slid her hand into his. He squeezed once before tugging her through the doors into the archive’s formal lobby and upstairs. After explaining cell phones weren’t allowed in the collections, he stopped to stash their phones, her wristlet, and his keys in a locker. He led her into the dim, empty reading room.
“Are they closed?” she asked in a hushed voice, sliding closer to him.
“Almost. No need to whisper.” A beautiful woman dressed in a skirt, cardigan set, and double strand of pearls approached.
Marilyn had nailed the quintessential librarian look a decade ago. She flipped a switch and light flooded the high bright arches of the ceiling. Sam kept his left hand in Cami’s as he reached to pull Marilyn into a hug with the other.
“Privileges of the Corraza family being huge patrons of the foundation.” Marilyn patted Sam’s shoulder with sisterly affection. “Thanks to your father and asshole brother.” She cast an appraising glance over Cami. “So you’re the woman he wan
ts to impress with private access?”
Cami didn’t respond, but her grip tightened on his fingers.
“Marilyn.” Sam shot the woman a look and drew Cami farther along the rows of tables and chairs lined with stacks on each side.
Cami’s chin hitched upward a fraction, but Marilyn only returned a knowing smile.
“Smart woman, then. Kimmy, right?”
“Cami. Short for Camellia.” She stood straighter.
The way she said her full name in an accent heavier than her usual Spanish-tinted lilt, with a take-charge tone, had Sam hoping she would repeat it. Or say anything, anything at all in the same strong, superior way.
“I can see we will be friends.” Marilyn ran her hand along the glass covering movie memorabilia in the center showcase. “I hear you’re interested in Sunny Sol’s life and death. How would you like to begin?”
When Cami didn’t respond right away, Sam answered, “We’ll start with Sol’s biographical file, if you have it. Periodicals of the time. Photoplay, Silver Screen, maybe Screenplay. Any photographs relating to her life and death.” He studied the manuscripts and correspondence displayed with care under glass throughout the reading room. This place had earned its role as the world’s premier movie research library. “Perhaps we can begin with the aftermath of her death and work backwards. Whatever Cami would like to do.”
“Any screenplays?” Marilyn asked, gesturing toward back rooms he knew shelved thousands of scripts.
“You have scripts here? Originals?” Cami hovered above costume sketches so old the paper had started to shear at the edges.
Marilyn’s noncommittal smile returned, but it seemed more reassuring now. “We house over eighty thousand screenplays, forty thousand movie posters, and ten million photographs. If you’re looking for movie star history, you’ve come to the right place.”
“Can we start with Sunny Sol’s love life after her move to Los Angeles and work forward to her death?” Cami sounded like she’d asked for the impossible. Sam wanted to tell her Marilyn specialized in difficult research missions. But why work forward?
Marilyn gave them a brisk nod. “Let me lock the doors downstairs, and I will head back to archives. Wait here. I won’t be long. I took the liberty of running a general search in advance.” She glowered at Sam. “Don’t let him touch anything.”
Cami spun on him as soon as Marilyn had gone. “What’s she mean by that?”
Sam focused on the small circles his thumb traced on her hand. She hadn’t pulled away. “Marilyn’s known my family a long time. She dated my older brother, but don’t tell her I mentioned it.” He kept his answer evasive about his own history. Discussing his family was tricky business and a risk he’d known when he brought her here. “Just you and your two sisters in your family?”
She wandered along the framed movie posters. “There are five us of all together. Mina’s the baby. Our older siblings are technically half-siblings. Same dad. Different mom.” She stopped before artwork depicting Sunny Sol with the Marx brothers. Another showed the actress in a film called Scoria.
“You met Mina and Delia. Mina studies at USC. Delia is a deputy district attorney. Ruby, our oldest sister, works as a paramedic and has the most adorable baby girl. And my half-brother John, he..well…he’s John.” Her voice trailed off. He recognized the tone she’d taken when she mentioned her half-brother. He used the same to talk about most of his childhood. She raised her head to look up at him. “You mentioned a writer brother and a sister who helped you get Bogart?”
“Older brother Joe writes for television and movies. Baby sister Lottie is a personal stylist. She works mainly in show business. She’s the best of us.” Sam didn’t want to talk about his parents. It’d lead to questions he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Her eyes widened. “No.” She pulled her hand away. “I wouldn’t be a very good girlfriend if I was, since I’m here with you. Do you have a girlfriend?”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Not unless you’re volunteering.” He moved to the stacks, running his fingers along the spines of the volumes.
Cami hummed and she reached toward the stacks but stopped. “Are we allowed to touch the books?”
Sam laughed at her avoidance. “Even Marilyn will let you handle the books. She’s probably read them all.”
“I have.” Marilyn’s voice cut around the edge of the bookcase.
“God, Marilyn. Ninja much?” Sam grumbled. Her skinny heels made no noise on the carpet. He rushed to take two large boxes from her.
“Put those on the tables.” Marilyn followed along to direct. “Have a seat, Cami. I’ll show you what I’ve got.” She spread the contents over the table. “Sam, grab legal pads and pencils from the first case. How much do you two already know about Sunny Sol?”
Sam would bet they didn’t know half as much about her as Marilyn did. “She died at age twenty-seven.” He listed off facts as he fetched items at Marilyn’s direction. “Discovered Monday morning in her married lover’s garage, dead in her convertible. A Packard Victoria. Awesome badass car with a V12 engine. The maid told the cops Sunny had worn the same clothes she was found in to a party across town at the Frontero Saturday night.”
Marilyn stopped unpacking the files long enough to remark, “Read all that on Wikipedia, did you? So you know an infinitesimal bit about the maid’s discovery of Sol’s body, but nothing more substantial?” She arched a brow. “Cami, anything to add?”
Cami straightened in her chair like she’d been volunteered for a pop quiz in junior high. She touched the gold chain at her neck, and Sam’s focus snapped to the delicate hollow of her throat. He could barely concentrate on what she said until she mentioned an autopsy report.
“Wait. You read Sunny Sol’s coroner’s report?”
Cami sharpened a pencil Marilyn had offered. “Of course. It’s available free online along with crime scene and autopsy photos, which I found disturbing but unsurprising. The coroner ruled Sunny’s death to be accidental carbon monoxide poisoning. They listed her under the name of her ex-husband. I dug up gossip about their short, ill-fated marriage and how he continued to abuse other women after Sunny died.” She blew on the tip of the pencil, and he couldn’t stop looking at her puckered lips. “I couldn’t get to sleep after my last shift, so I spent some time researching.”
Marilyn tapped a stack against the table to form another straight row in her neat, orderly piles. “Well done, Cami. We have an official copy of the death certificate here as well. I’ll give you my card and a list of easily purchased quick references before you go. No library resources can be removed at any time.” She stopped to glare at Sam before turning to Cami. “But you are always welcome back.”
She finished organizing the documents. “Here’s what I’ve pulled.” She started from the left side and worked her way across. “Biographical file, magazine articles, press sheets, and photographs. I found one large special collection with multiple clippings of her death and the fallout afterward. That would take days to sort through, so I didn’t bring it tonight.”
She rapped the table sharply next to a smaller stack she’d placed in front of Cami. “I also retrieved the file on Joseph Corraza, Sam’s brother, in case you want to know more about what you’re getting into with their family.”
Cami snickered.
Sam’s jaw clenched. “Bye, Marilyn. We can take it from here.”
She slid a sly glance between the two of them. “I’m sure you can. I’ll be in my office with my blinds closed until you’re ready to go.” Marilyn stalked away on those razor-thin heels. “Don’t make me check your pockets when you leave, Sam.”
Chapter Six
“I’d rather not talk about Marilyn’s issues.” Or his, for that matter. He didn’t thank Marilyn for alluding to them, either.
Cami’s laugh floated light and effervescent, like bubbles from the champagne he served at his restaurant. He raised a hand. “Let’s focus on Sunny. Where do
you want to start?”
Cami scooted closer. “I’ll take the biographical file.” She plucked an accordion file from the folder box and rifled through the contents.
“All right. I’ll go through the photographs.” He opened the first envelope and flipped through images, stopping to read the descriptions. He tried to focus, but after a few minutes of watching her play with the chain on her neck, he couldn’t resist breaking the silence.
“I like your necklace.”
She shuffled to another page. “Thanks. My mother gave it to me.”
“You get your good looks from her?”
“Wow.” She looked at him. “What a pickup line.”
Her deadpan tone and poker face revealed nothing. “Did it work?”
She gave a crooked half smile. “I thought you were going through old photographs?”
“I can study pictures and flirt at the same time. So far all we’ve got are film stills and promo photos.” He turned another staged image over to underscore the point.
“Talented.”
“I multitask.” He stopped at the next picture of Sunny Sol, Bing Crosby, and celebrities in what looked like the Brown Derby based on the caricature drawings on the walls.
Cami leaned closer. “Who’s the other actress?”
“Joan Bennett.” Sam had watched enough film noir period movies and researched more than enough Hollywood scandals to recognize her. The label on the back of the photograph read: “Cast of Three for Tomorrow, fall 1933.”
“Only months before Sunny died.” She peered over his shoulder. “The Brown Derby Hollywood,” she read out loud.
“It was the place to be seen and cut deals.” He held the photo closer, squinting to see who might be in the background. “Probably a planned photo op to boost sales with the stars all dressed up.”