Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,100

silent room.

“I wouldn’t question Dr. Everly. He’s very thorough.”

Everly.

Everly.

Everly.

Then the puzzle piece snaps into place.

“Isn’t it ironic that I never knew his name until six months ago? Dr. Everly, Moss Valley’s director, likes his experimental drugs, one of which, it seems, works as quite the truth serum.”

My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh my God!”

I want to throw up. I want to call Detective Rubio and demand an investigation, but I can’t. I have nothing but a conversation no one can prove. Taking a deep breath, I turn my attention toward the blonde girl at the reception desk and force one last performance.

Clearing my throat, I flash a camera-ready smile. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you.”

She glances up, blinks, then lets out a shriek so loud my ears ring. Eyes wide, she flaps her hands in the air before slapping them over her mouth. “Holy crap! You’re her.”

I cringe, wondering if I’m about to be slapped with another scarlet letter. A woman might have been murdered and proving it all rides on which direction this girl’s moral compass points.

I don’t have time to assess her ethics, so I take a risk. “Are you a fan?” I hope.

Her palms slam onto the desk as she leans forward. “Are you serious? I’m your number one fan! I was so mad when they recast Kya Perrone in Bound Fate.”

Thank God.

“That’s very kind of you…” I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to get the hint.

“Dianne,” she squeals again, tapping the nametag pinned to her shirt. “I’m Dianne Manns. I’m thirty-eight and originally from Chicago.”

Way too much information, but okay. “Well, would you like an autograph, Dianne?”

Her jaw drops. “Are you shitting me?”

“It’s the least I can do for my number one fan.” And my only hope at getting into hospital records.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” The words keep spilling out of her mouth as she tears her desk apart looking for a piece of paper and a pen, finally shoving them toward me. As I sign Alexandra’s name, I try to figure out how to slip what I need into the conversation when she flings the door wide open. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s Alexandra Romanov doing at Moss Valley?”

“Brenda McCallum was a close personal friend.” I pause, pen in hand and look up at her. “Did you know her?”

She nods. “Interesting lady. So sad what happened. At least she got one last visitor before she passed.”

The pen flies out of my hand. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t have said that.” She knows she’s said too much. I can tell by the hurried way she stashes her autograph away and straightens her already tidy desk. But it’s too late.

“Dianne, you wouldn’t happen to keep visitor sign-in logs by any chance?”

“Of course, we do. Hospital policy.”

“Would you mind if I took a quick peek at it?” She gives me a sharp look, and I smile, covering with, “I’d like to thank whoever sat with Brenda in her last few hours.”

Her timid smile tells me she seems to buy it, but she still hesitates, worrying her lip. “That’s confidential information. I could lose my job.”

Leaning onto the desk, I go in for the kill. “But it can be our little secret.” I smile, holding up my pinkie finger. “Just between me and my number one fan.”

When Dianne’s eyes go wide and glassy, I know I’ve got her. The promise of sharing such a “special” bond is too enticing to pass up. “Okay,” she says, locking her pinkie around mine. “But don’t tell anybody. Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

But as soon as she pulls up the ledger and flips to the day in question, my smile fades. Black spots race in from the corners of my eyes and dot my vision as I stare at the name.

Ross Gregory.

Chapter Forty-One

Angel

A confrontation takes a level head. That’s why I insist that Lars drive me back to Bel Air. When the static clears, I get behind the wheel of one of the many unused Audis, and two hours later, I’m staring out the window at Silverline Studio’s security gate.

Sal, the night guard, raises an eyebrow as he peers into the car. “Kind of late on a Sunday night, Miss Romanov.”

“I realized I left a piece of jewelry on set.” Even I’m surprised at how easily the lie rolls off my tongue. “It’s a family heirloom.”

“Technically, you don’t work for Silverline anymore.” Hesitating, he glances toward the lot. “In fact, I’ve been instructed