All the Lies - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,33

feel sorry for yourself, but it does mean that you should keep things in perspective.

When I feel myself spiraling into a hole of depression, I decide to do something proactive. I have the apartment to myself so I pour myself a big mug of tea, grab a bar of chocolate, and sit on Brooke's thick, upholstered couch that probably cost Dad more than just a few thousand dollars.

I put my laptop on my knees and start reading the messages in search of D. B. Carter. A few people in the Facebook groups have replied to my queries, the majority of whom say nothing of importance. Most are only interested in talking about his books, but one person by the name of Matt Lipinski mentions that D. B. Carter lives in Pioneertown, California.

I immediately friend Matt and message him about his post. When I look up Pioneertown on Google, I discover that it's a dusty desert town about two and half hours east of Los Angeles.

It's about twenty-five minutes away from the famous Joshua Tree National Park. The thing that it's most famous for is a restaurant/bar called Pappy and Harriet's, which is a small venue but has had the likes of Paul McCartney and other famous rock musicians perform there.

Its other claim to fame is the town itself, which looks like an old Western movie set. There's a saloon, a little white church, and a number of weathered-wood shops selling turquoise jewelry and handmade horse saddles.

A few minutes later, I get a message from Matt.

What makes you think that D. B. Carter lives in Pioneertown? I write.

I really shouldn’t say, he texts back after a moment.

I would really love the opportunity to contact him or her.

For a moment, I wonder if I'm actually talking to D. B. Carter in real life. Stranger things have happened.

In case I am, I add, I just want to do a small interview. If D. B. Carter isn't interested then I'm not going to write an article at all, but I haven't had any luck contacting him or her directly through social media.

Should you take that as a hint? Matt asks.

My heart sinks.

I click on Matt's name and examine the avatar of a spaceship. We are not friends and he does not accept my friend request.

The only things that I have access to are the profile pictures and they all feature different science-fiction images including a cover of one of D. B. Carter's books from a few years back.

I'm not really sure if the messages are getting through to him, I say, now almost certain that Matt is D. B. Carter, or at the very least a family member or friend.

Okay, Matt says. Here's the address: 10745 Old West Ln.

I shake my head. This has to be a joke.

I'm about to write something back, but not before first putting the address into Google. Much to my surprise, he leads me to Zillow where I see that this house was purchased two years ago for $2.45 million.

I furrow my brow, not wanting to believe what I have just discovered. There's no name listed as the owner and that will require a little bit more research.

In the meantime, I turn back to Matt and text: Do you really expect me to believe that D. B. Carter lives in almost a 2 1/2 million dollar house in an old West town?

Believe whatever you want.

Do you happen to have a phone number where I could reach him?

I wait for him to write me back, but all I get is crickets.

21

Emma

Matt Lipinski, a.k.a. D. B. Carter, does not get in touch with me again.

I decide that's his name, but I'm only 50% certain.

He must be fucking with me, right? I mean why would he lurk on these Facebook groups and then reveal his name to me, a reporter, of all people?

No, this must be a joke.

I think about it for a long time, putting my computer away and stopping the search.

I have an address, but no idea what I should do with it. Brooke comes home later that evening and I tell her what happened.

She shakes her head and then says, “There's no way that it could be him. The only thing that's going to happen here is that we waste a day driving three hours all the way to Joshua Tree to disturb some random family who lives there. Do you really want to do that?”

I hate to admit it, but yes.

I know that the likelihood of that address