back and undo our sins, but we can restart. Maybe she was trying to start over.”
“A kindness. Trying to put their minds at ease and give back what she could.”
“Right. But it still does nothing to tell us who took on the role of Sallie White.”
Dini stopped in her steps. Her back to Quin, she twisted, moving as spontaneously as her Ugg boots would allow. The electricity in her head was nearly unbearable; her own pulse rang in her ears. The knot brazenly displayed its first vulnerable loop. “You keep saying that. Things like that.”
He dropped the Christmas ghost photo casually on the table. “Things like what?”
“The role of Sallie White. The actress who played the part.”
“Well, it’s obvious somebody did. Posing for the double-exposure plate. Filmed for that Haunted Mansion trick.”
“Pepper’s Ghost,” she corrected automatically. “It was an actress.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!”
“No. She was an actress-actress.” Dini ran (shuffled, really) around the table and stopped in front of him, taking his face in her hands and planting an enthusiastic kiss on his lips while the rest of her filled with unfurling ribbons of delight. “And you know what?” she said, pulling away and jumping out of his range of recapture, “my great-great-grandfather is in this story too. At least, I think so. I might be a descendant of none other than J. P. Haley.”
“Wait. What?” He looked so confused, so adorably confused, that every moment he’d spent nine steps ahead of her vanished in a whoosh of affection. His claim that her witch’s heart once belonged to Hedda still stung a little, but that was a matter of fresh eyes. This—this—was a detonation that could only happen with the right flame touched to the right wick. This was the final three cards in a game of Clue—only instead of the weapon and the killer and the room, the three elements needed here were the book, the notebook, and the contents of the box.
She picked up the book and held it to her heart. “Just like Hedda wrote: the only true answers are the ones you find for yourself. So, I tell you today, that if we were casting the role of the spectral Sallie White for the film adaptation of My Spectral Accuser, she would be played by”—she paused to build anticipation and smiled as he scooted closer to the edge of the sofa—“Thalia Jean Powers.”
The sound of a tenor sax, recorded half a century ago, filled the silence as Quin remained—somewhat deflated—sitting. “Who?”
Not exactly the burst of enthusiasm she’d expected, but the overwhelming relief of finding the final piece of a puzzle that had been sitting—unfinished—at the edge of her consciousness for most of her adult life would not be tainted just because she had to lead Quin a little further. After all, this was relatively new to him.
She handed him the book. “Turn to chapter 3. When Hedda goes to the theater and has her first photograph taken by J. P. Haley. See the name of the actress starring in the play?” She watched his eyes skim the pages and wanted to rip the book away to find it for herself, but patience…patience.
“Thalia Jean Powers.” He looked up over the rim of his glasses. “But—”
“And Hedda mentions mingling with the crowd after the show. The two might have met each other. I can imagine Hedda angling for an introduction, can’t you?”
“Hedda doesn’t mention meeting her.”
“Plus, I’ll bet the thin assistant helping Haley with the Christmas pictures was Thalia too.”
“With a beard?”
“Fake beard and tiger eyes. By the time Hedda writes her book, she knows it was Thalia Powers. And she chose not to disclose her identity.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Because, no matter what her past, at her heart Hedda was a good and kind woman. Thalia suffered enough.” She looked at the assembly of items from Detective Carmichael’s box and saw each in a whole new light. “Of course,” she said, coming around and sitting down with the movie magazine in her hand. “She must be in here.” For all she knew the next few minutes, Quin might have dissolved into the carpet, or disappeared behind the paint. Her full attention was given to every page of the magazine. Every advertisement for hair crème and perfume. Every story of Hollywood scandal and gossip. Every profile of new starlets—and there she was. Her hair a mass of pinned curls, her eyes heavy with kohl. She was posed on a chaise lounge—not seductively, but definitely inviting,